Beorn's steadiness was the counterpoint to Miro's daring, and Miro knew that some of his bolder ideas had gone forward solely due to the veteran officer's support. If Beorn said no, Miro knew an idea had little merit; but if the marshal wavered, then perhaps a plan had potential, with a little more thought.

"Miro, I told you to call me Miro. What time is it?"

"It's two hours past daybreak."

Miro grinned. "Then it's morning. Time to wake up, isn't it?"

Beorn gave Miro a wry smile, shaking his head. "What have you learned?"

Miro turned back to the simulator, his expression once again grim. "Halaran is the answer. See," his fingers touched some of the runes, lighting up various elements of his units as he spoke about them, "we're wasting valuable men defending our southern regions from a Petryan attack that may never come."

"Surely you aren't advocating pulling them out. The Wondhip Pass could be cleared, or the Petryans could find another way in."

"I'm just hypothesising." Miro activated some more sequences. "Look, here are the constructs we left behind at the ruins of the Bridge of Sutanesta. They aren't far away, just inside Halrana lands."

"Territory held firmly by the enemy," Beorn said.

"But if we take it, we not only get a foothold in Halaran, we can add the salvageable constructs to our forces." Miro moved all of the allied units to the proposed area. At first glance, there were enough to win the region, but with a slim margin that could swing either way.

"And who would defend our north?" Beorn persisted.

"The Dunfolk," Miro said.

"I'll leave that argument for another day. And our south?"

Miro sighed. "That's where the plan falls down. The Petryans are simply too much of an unknown. Yet winter is nearly over, with the spring will come more battles, and the one thing we can't do is sit back and let the enemy devour Altura a bite at a time. In fact, I keep asking myself — why haven't they attacked yet?"

"We broke their army," said Beorn.

"Yes, but they've had time to reform. Ella thinks it's something to do with essence, that we aren't the only ones running low."

"The Primate of the Assembly of Templars, low on essence?"

Miro shrugged. "I know. Yet that's where all the signs are pointing."

"Lord Marshal," a voice called, echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

Miro turned. Many people disliked the Crystal Palace, with its arches instead of doorways, strange echoes, and scattered shadows, but Miro had already become fond of it in the short time he'd lived here. The Crystal Palace said something about the uniqueness of Altura.

A man in the raj hada of a courier stood at the arched entrance to the room.

"What is it?" Beorn said.

"The emissary from Raj Hazara, Jehral of Tarn Teharan, has presented himself. With him is the man from Castlemere, Hermen Tosch. They wish to see you."