She let out a long breath, staring up the road in the gray light. Jane was up ahead, somewhere, in the midst of a city of frightened people caught in the midst of the clash of armies. It had been more than a century since the capital had suffered invasion.

“Send a messenger to Janus,” she said to Cyte, who waited patiently at her side. “Tell him the Patriots seem to be planning to resist, and I’m going to push ahead until I run into something solid.”

“Sir.” Cyte saluted. Something about the occasion seemed to encourage formality.

The Third Regiment was lined up behind her, the Girls’ Own in the lead and Royals in the rear. Winter studied the faces she could see, and found no hesitation there. The women in the front ranks looked eager. For a good portion of them, this was their home, and they were here to retake it.

“Abby?” Winter said.

“Sir!” Abby stepped forward from the front ranks of the Girls’ Own.

“Go ahead and move up the causeway. Loose order, and stop as soon as you find anything serious.”

“Yes, sir.”

Abby turned and began shouting orders. The lead companies of the Girls’ Own fell out from their neat ranks into a rough skirmish formation and started up the road at a jog. Winter turned Edgar about and rode past them until she was level with the Royals, where Sevran saluted crisply.

“Once they’ve cleared the road ahead, move up, but stay in column.” There wasn’t room for a wider formation, not until they’d cleared the marshes. “You’re the reserve, so keep back and be ready to pass skirmishers if they counterattack.”

Sevran saluted again, and turned to his tasks. The sun had cleared the eastern horizon, and the low mist of the marshes was beginning to burn off. Winter could see the blue-coated women of the Girls’ Own, up ahead, still moving briskly. No firing yet.

The approach to Vordan City presented a series of challenges, and the central question was where the Patriot Guard planned to make their stand. The Green Road passed through the Bottoms along a causeway, an earth-and-stone roadbed built several feet higher than the surrounding marshes to protect it from the occasional inundations of the Vor. It was wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, which was barely room for a single-company front. A barricade here, especially with artillery to defend, would be a nightmare to storm from the road, and Winter had been expecting to see one emerge from the mists as the sun rose.