To reach the top, Winter’s soldiers would have to cross the open field at a run, struggle over the first ditch and up the wall. Having reached the lane, they would once again be in the open, facing the deadly close-range fire on the next line of defenders, and an even taller wall to scale. To make matters worse, the star-shaped design of the whole affair meant that each side of the fort was in easy range of at least one other side, so the attacking force would be taking fire from behind as well as ahead.

De Ferre was confident that di Pfalen’s men were demoralized, after their succession of defeats, which Winter didn’t doubt was true. But it didn’t take much morale to stand behind a rampart shooting down helpless enemies. Even de Ferre must see that this will be a bloodbath. If the general could see it, now that he’d had time to inspect Dreiroede’s masterpiece, he refused to admit any error. The minutes of the hour’s grace he’d given the Hamveltai ticked away, and the moment of the assault approached.

Winter, standing in front of the line, looked at the assembled ranks of the Royals and the Girls’ Own. They’d grown somewhat fuller since the battle, bolstered by recovering casualties and stragglers who’d caught up or been brought in by the wagons. The men and women in the front rank were staring at the defenses, and no doubt making the same mental assessment Winter was.

Will they go, if I tell them to? She was almost certain they would. Why? It was idiotic—anyone could see it was idiotic. Some would go because they were afraid of being disciplined, others because they didn’t want to look like cowards in front of their fellow soldiers. But mostly they’ll go because they think I know what I’m doing. They trust that, if I give the order, it must not be certain death after all.

It was that kind of faith—in her, but most of all in Janus’ guiding hand—that had held the Army of the East together. And it was about to be broken beyond repair, thousands of lives thrown away for the pride of a puffed-up nobleman. Janus is right. This will be the end of the campaign. It wasn’t just the casualties. If this assault goes forward, even if we take the walls, the army will never fight again. Not for de Ferre.

“Sir,” Cyte said. Forty minutes had passed. “If we don’t get word, are we going forward?”

“We have our orders.”

“A lot of the volunteer officers talked about refusing.”

“They’ll go.” Winter’s voice was bleak. “Nobody wants to be the only one to disobey. They’ll go, until the wheels come off the cart, and then it’ll be too late.”