“While Marshal Jindenau’s army approaches from the north,” Janus went on, “I am curious, sir, if you have any thoughts on what our next move should be.”

De Ferre frowned. “Obviously, we storm the fortress at once, before the enemy can unite his forces. Basic strategic principles.”

“It is my opinion that any attempt to storm Antova will very likely be repulsed with heavy loss. Sir.”

“Oh, I see. That’s your opinion, is it?”

“Yes, sir. I’d like you to consider—”

De Ferre drew himself up and sucked in the considerable stomach that his tailored uniform could not quite conceal. “Let me tell you what I think, Vhalnich. I think you’ve bought in to your own legend. The military genius, the hero of the hour. Of course you know better. Us ordinary mortals can only watch and learn, eh?” He waved a finger under Janus’ nose. “The fact is that there’s nothing special about you. You’ve been lucky on the battlefield, that’s all. That may be enough to make the rankers worship you, but it will not work on me, do you understand?”

“Of course, sir. But I might offer some suggestions—”

“So you can take credit for my victory?” De Ferre snorted. “I think not. I have been commanding troops since you were in britches, and I like to think I know my way around a siege. All I require from you is that you obey my orders and provide such information as I request. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Janus said. His huge gray eyes were impassive.

“Now. You will instruct your colonels to prepare detailed reports on their strength and dispositions. Send along any plans you’ve already drawn up for the assault so my staff engineers may assess their merit.”

“As you wish, sir.” Janus saluted, as crisply as any War College sentry. “If you’ll excuse me, then? I have a great deal of work to do.”

“Indeed.” De Ferre turned around with a jangle of spurs. Colonel Pahn, a small, rat-faced man with an unhealthy-looking mustache, gave Winter and Fitz a sneer and followed. Janus stood silent and unmoving until their footsteps had faded away.

“I wonder,” he said thoughtfully, “if that was as satisfying as he thought it would be. He clearly spent the whole ride over practicing.”

“Sir . . . ,” Winter said hesitantly.

“Colonel Warus,” Janus said, still not turning around. “In the small case by your feet, there’s a crystal bottle. Would you be so good as to hand it to me?”

Fitz bent, plucked up the bottle, an elegantly carved thing that looked out of place in the sparse tent. It was half-full of something that looked like liquid gold. Janus accepted it, opened the stopper, and took a deep breath.