Even outriders ranging far from the column found only a few suspicious peasants willing to sell food or fodder, and more often came upon farmsteads whose inhabitants had fled or hidden in the cellar as though they were facing murderous Murnskai hordes. At Janus’ express direction, in such cases the scouts were to take only what they thought the peasants could spare, and to leave fair value in coin behind. There was no shortage of money, at least—the Hamveltai baggage train they’d captured at Antova had been a rich haul, both in military supplies and more conventional loot.

Soon after descending from the mountains, the road to Vordan had shifted to parallel a river called the Haggon, which was a tributary to the Ost. The Ost, in turn, joined with the Vor just short of Vordan City itself, so Janus had ordered a day’s pause to shift much of the army’s heavy baggage to river transport. Once this was accomplished, they made good time down the River Road, with the heavily guarded supply barges keeping pace beside them. It meant longer marches but light packs, and the men and women of Winter’s regiment seemed to regard the tradeoff as on the whole a good one.

Janus had given Winter’s troops the vanguard, marching at the front of the army while he rode with the Colonials at the tail of the column. It was Winter, therefore, who was the senior officer on the scene when scouts on lathered horses rode in, reporting heavy columns of infantry in Vordanai blue advancing eastward on the road, led by a party of mounted officers under a flag of truce.

*   *   *

Winter, Cyte, and Bobby waited, several hundred yards in front of the now-halted Girls’ Own, as the two colonels dismounted some distance away and approached on foot. They were accompanied by a single ranker, bearing a white flag, while several more stayed back with their horses.

It was past midday, and a chill wind was blowing. Winter shaded her eyes with a hand and examined the two men. She didn’t recognize either, but that wasn’t unexpected—outside of the Army of the East, she wasn’t very familiar with the officer corps.

The pair of them were a study in contrasts. The one on the left was obviously a Royal, an old-time army officer; he wore an expensive, tailored uniform, spotless except for the dust of the recent ride. The eagles on his shoulders were silver, though, which meant he’d graduated from the War College rather than purchasing his commission.

His companion barely had a uniform at all, just a ranker’s blue jacket over a dark shirt and trousers. His eagles were stitched outlines of white thread, already fraying at the edges, and he wore a battered slouch hat instead of an officer’s cap. He walked with an affected swagger, trying hard to seem nonchalant.