Not that a unified front required the kenarang. In fact, facing the Urghul would prove trial enough without worrying that her own general might stab her just before the battle. Whatever il Tornja’s strange game was, she had no intention of letting him see it through. She would meet him in his tavern, try to glean what useful information she could from him, and then see him killed. It would have to be quiet, of course. She couldn’t afford to spread distrust through the very men she might have to send into battle, but armies were filled with sharp steel and soldiers died accidental deaths all the time.

She kicked her horse into motion.

“Your Radiance,” Fulton hissed, “I must protest. . . .”

“Less protesting,” she growled. “More protecting.”

Lehav rode up beside her, studying her askance.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Of course not,” she snapped.

He hesitated, then nodded, as though the answer made sense.

“I need you to stay with the Sons,” Adare said. “In case things go wrong in town. Set up camp, but stay ready. Keep them separate from the legions. I want a full field between the two armies with nothing in it but turnips or radishes or whatever it is they grow up here. I don’t want a battle. I don’t want a fight. I don’t even want an unpleasant look. I don’t intend to have Annurians fighting Annurians because some idiot starts quarreling with another idiot over who is flying what flag. Is that understood?”

“It is,” Lehav replied.

Adare chewed the inside of her cheek. “But make sure they keep their weapons close,” she said finally.

Lehav considered her a moment more, then nodded, wheeling his horse around, back toward the column still halted in the woods.

“What’s going on here?” Adare demanded, glancing at il Tornja’s messenger, then turning her attention toward the town below. “Why is the army stopped? Are you preparing for a siege?”

“Stopped to destroy the dam, Your Radiance,” the soldier replied, gesturing toward the wide berm of earth that loomed at the lower end of the lake. A wide, artificial sluice punctured the berm near the center. Water from above emptied through it and past a series of waterwheels, then into the channel beneath. If Adare remembered her geography, Scar Lake was, in fact, just a place where the Black River paused, widening to fill the huge natural basin, before narrowing again and flowing east to join the White. The people of Aats-Kyl had dammed the southern end of the lake to control the flow and make use of it, work that il Tornja’s soldiers were busy destroying with pickax and shovel.

Adare shook her head. “Why?” She was no hydraulic engineer, but it was clear that a major breech in the dam would endanger a quarter of the town below.