Tastis’ main camp wasn’t directly above the ford, but rather two miles to the southwest along the road, south of a thin line representing an old, small canal that emptied into the river. The purpose was clear enough: Tastis could water his horses and men in the canal without having to bring them to the river, within shot of Tegestu’s own men; and if the ford were threatened Tastis could get his men across the fields to the ford speedily enough.

  Tegestu put a stubby finger on the little canal. “Two of bro-demmin Grendis’ scouts,” he said, “went up the canal last night.” Arrandalla men in fact, two deissins’ sons in the quest of adventure. They’d certainly found it.

  “The canal has been deepened by Tastis’ engineers, and there has been a double dam constructed at the river entrance,” Tegestu said, spraying the difficult Abessla words in his haste. “We thought they did this for the purpose of keeping enough water in it for the horses and men.”

  “All our scouts,” Grendis said, “came into the camp from the south. It’s open that way. To get in from the north they would have to sweep behind the castle fortifications and then circle well behind, then cross the canal.”

  “I see,” Necias said.

  “And then these two boys,” Tegestu said, “swam across the river last night. The dam was guarded so they went around, then got into the canal to follow it to the enemy camp. They wanted to steal an enemy banner, to boast to their friends.” Necias looked up at them, bewildered. “So what did they find?” he asked.

  “Barges,” said Grendis.

  “Many barges,” Tegestu added. “Taken from the river and hidden in the canal.”

  “Boats,” Necias repeated. He seemed bewildered. “So you found boats in the canal. Why shouldn’t there be boats in a canal?’’

  Stumbling over the unfamiliar words in their haste, Grendis and Tegestu explained. Tastis had, of course, sent men up and down the river to destroy or confiscate every boat and barge he could to prevent Tegestu from using them to aid his crossing. But the barges hidden here, in the carefully deepened canal, suggested he was intending to use them for purposes of his own.

  The deep water in the canal meant that when the dam was broken down the barges would all float effortlessly into the river on the current. Tastis’ engineers could assemble them into a bridge — probably more than one bridge — in a few hours. If done at night the chances of being seen were slim, particularly since the heavy timber in the river valley would obscure the vision of anyone on the heights above; and if the cavalry forded above the bridge while the infantry crossed over the barges, Tastis could get most of his army across before dawn.

  And then, Tegestu explained, there would be a smashing dawn attack on the Arrandalla camp. The defenders would be caught by surprise, with no plan of action, probably without time even to don their armor. Such of the army as survived would be driven back in disorder, delaying the campaign for months, and allowing Tastis time to move his forces against Prypas, presumably to attempt the same sort of surprise.

  It had been only because two Arrandalla youth had gone in search of adventure that the barges had been discovered at all — all the safe scouting approaches were well away from the canal. And the cavalry raid Tastis had launched had faded away to the north, suggesting that Tastis was hoping to draw his enemies’ attention there, away from a river crossing. It was masterful.

  Tegestu felt a warm certainty filling him as he spoke. The plan was pure Tastis: an opposed river crossing to delay the enemy and lull them into security, a diversion to draw attention away to the north, a sudden crossing to fall on the enemy camp from an unexpected direction. Swift, sudden, flexible, the attack in strength and unlooked-for. The hallmarks of a Tastis campaign. It would have worked, too, but for those two young scouts. And Grendis. A seeming accident, still their escapade would never have taken place without her insistence on finding Tastis’ intentions, trying to slip into the camp from an unusual direction.

  Tegestu glanced at Grendis, standing travel-stained on Necias’ fine carpets, feeling his heart fill with joy at the sight of her. She had kept faith, believing Tegestu even though there was no evidence to support him she’d kept her scouts working night and day until, at last, the revelation had come. He reached out to touch her arm; and she glanced up at him, her eyes filled with pride.

  “I’ll reward those two young men,” Necias was saying. “Their fathers will be proud.” He looked up at them, pulling his lower lip. “When will the crossing be?” he asked.

  “Soon.” Tegestu said. “Or he will have wasted that cavalry raid.”

  “So,” Necias said. “We can meet him, there on the water’s edge. Push him back.”

  “May your arm never weaken. Abessu-Denorru,” Tegestu said. “I would wish to let him build his bridge and bring his army across.” He saw Necias’ bewilderment and allowed himself a grim, reassuring smile. “We should let Tastis’ plan take its course.”

  Tastis had devised such a good plan, Tegestu thought, it would be a shame to not to let him have his battle.

  *

  It was two nights later that Grendis’ watchers on the riverbank brought word that the barges were moving. Tegestu, lying in the dark repose of his tent as the tedec and bohau played outside under the stars, heard the hooves of the gallopers and their whispered conversation outside the tent. He reached out to touch Grendis’ arm as she lay on the next cot and felt her start as she came awake.

  “The news has come,” he said with quiet certainty. Comprehension came into her eyes, and she raised a hand to touch his cheek.

  “Tegestu.” A world of trust in the way she said the name. I shall ward your back from danger, she had promised; the promise was kept still.

  There was a scuffling of feet outside the tent. “Beg pardon, bro-demmini.” Thesau’s voice.

  “Once more, my heart,” Tegestu said. He kissed her hand. “I am grateful every day,” he said, and bent to kiss her, his unbound hair caressing her forehead, and then rose to his feet and told those outside to enter. Thesau was there, armored already in his leather; with him were Acamantu and Cascan.

  “Inform Marshal Palastinas and the Abessu-Denorru,” Tegestu said, after he’d heard the news. “Then have the army called quietly to arms. No trumpets or drums — make certain of that.”

  “Aye, bro-demmin.”

  He and Grendis sat opposite one another on their cots, their knees touching, as the Classani braided their hair and coiled it carefully atop their heads. Grendis looked at him with a slight, tranquil smile, not speaking — no words were needed; it was perfectly understood, all that they meant to one another.

  They stood to have their armor fitted, Grendis with her light cavalry leather cuirass and jingling coif of chain beneath her light helmet, Tegestu in the heavier linked plates of brigandine. The Classani handed them their swords and, Tegestu in the lead, they walked out of the dark tent.

  It was black. There was a glow in the west where First Moon, with her stripes of deep azure and yellow, was setting; Third Moon had risen, but he was small and provided little light.

  Ghantenis, Tegestu’s banner bearer, stood outside the tent, the heavy standard folded darkly over his head, next to others of the staff and a dark mass of whelkrani, commanders of hundreds and thousands who, forewarned by some uncharted sense, had known to migrate in this moment to the tent of their drandor. Tegestu received their salutes gravely. “Ban-demmini, Tastis is moving tonight,” he said. “I trust his welcome is prepared?”

  “Aye, bro-demmin,” they chorused softly. Tegestu could see the fervid glow in their eyes, the glow that anticipated combat and rejoiced in the anticipation... he raised his gauntleted hands, and his limbs felt younger by twenty years.

  “Blessings on you all,” he said. “Go to your places. There is no need for haste. There are many hours before dawn.”

  They bowed again in silence, and the whelkrani dispersed, the staff standing ready beneath the folded banner. Tegestu called for the horses. There was a flurry of movement on the fringe of the group and suddenly it parted for the Abessu-Denorru, moving rapidly in the dark. Tegestu hastily went down to one knee.

  “Rise, rise,” Necias said hastily, and Tegestu came to his feet again. Necias seemed agitated, shifting his weight rapidly from one foot to the other; he had a coat of chain on, with one arm fully armored and the other not, as if too impatient to armor himself fully. Necias put his fists on his hips.

  “Tastis is coming, hey?” he asked quickly. “You’re sure about it?”

  Tegestu bowed. “Is certain,” he said. “He will come tonight.”

  Necias clapped his hands. “Good,” he said heartily. “Very good. We’ll beat him, hey?”

  Tegestu bowed again. “Canlan, our arms are strong,” he said.

  “Good,” repeated Necias. “I’ll be ready to ride with you, as soon as my armor’s strapped on.” He looked at Tegestu, his eyes dark and strange. “I trust you, Tegestu,” he said. He licked his lips and glanced up at the dark sky, then looked at the Brodaini faces under their tilted helms, the shadowed faces that watched him impassively. “I’m counting on you all.”

  The faces seemed of stone. Tegestu saw spittle on Necias’ cheek. “We’ll get them, hey,” Necias said to the silence, clapping his hands again.

  He is afraid, Tegestu realized. He rose to power in a series of wars, but he has never been on a battlefield before. It has made him nearly witless. The thought unnerved him, that he served a frightened man. Yet he had always known it, that Necias was not a martial man, that he had no understanding of demmin... he pushed the thought away, that a lord could have no demmin. He should take Necias away from here, he realized, before the others realized what they were seeing.

  He took his canlan by the arm. “A word with you, Abeissu,” he said, as firmly as he dared. Necias nodded quickly, and seemed eager to be led away.

  “My force will move soon, canlan Necias,” Tegestu said. “You wish to be with them, I know, but I think you must stay here.”

  “Here? In the camp?”

  “Aye. With Marshal Palastinas. Here you shall see more. Out in the dark, with me, nothing. I shall send messages, you will be informed.” He tightened his grip on Necias’ arm, trying to be reassuring. “We shall break Tastis tonight, with the gods’ help.”

  “In the camp. Yes,” Necias said. He nodded briskly. “That makes sense, Tegestu. Thank you.” He tugged uncomfortably at the chain around his neck. “I’ll go, then,” he said, and clapped Tegestu on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you. Smash those rebels and we can all go home, hey?”

  “No worry. We’ll beat them,” Tegestu said. He leaned closer to Necias. “Tell Marshall Palastinas I’m moving my headquarters to the old farm. He knows the one.” Necias nodded, repeated the message in a breathless voice, and then hurried away. Tegestu knelt, feeling a stab of rheumatism as his knee touched the cold ground, then returned to the silent group of Brodaini. The horses had been brought and stood saddled and ready. Tegestu looked carefully at the faces, watching for a sign that they had recognized the Abessu-Denorru’s fear, for any hint of contempt. Nothing, he thought, or they were keeping it to themselves.

  His horse was brought; he put an armored foot into Thesau’s cupped hands and heaved himself up into the saddle. His horse was a mature beast, gentle and understanding of his old bones; it accepted his weight without protest. He looked down at the ring of faces.

  “We shall triumph tonight, of that I am certain,” he said. “You have all done well.” He glanced at Grendis and saw her smile; he addressed the next words to her. “You have kept faith,” he said, “and you have made this victory possible. The gods reward you.”

  They bowed in silence, the grave Brodaini response to praise; and then he signed them to mount. There was the sound of trotting hooves, and the interpreter Campas came out of the dark, looking uneasy in his unfamiliar and second-hand coat of chain. “Marshal Palastinas sent me,” he said, speaking his easy Gostu. “He thought I might make myself useful.”

  “Come then,” Tegestu said; he donned his helmet and led the party to the south gate of the camp, where he could see the regiments moving into position behind him: armored cavalry, spearmen, bowmen, heavily armored figures carrying rhomphia — Brodaini, Classani, mercenaries, and the men of Arrandal, all marshaled silently between the rows of tents. Each had two strips of white wrapped around their upper arms to aid in identification — Tegestu would have preferred the forehead, but Tastis might think to use that himself, and he didn’t want confusion. The soldiers had rehearsed this, yesterday in the late afternoon and again this morning: their officers should know their tasks by now.

  Grendis saluted and departed, to join her squadrons, the light cavalry detailed for pursuit. Tegestu watched her go, sadness in his heart, breathing a prayer for her safety. He knew that her job exposed her to no great danger — she would only be employed when the battle was already won — but still Tegestu felt the tightness in his jaw and belly, his worry for her.

  Tegestu gave a signal and the pioneers dashed out on fast horses to their marks, ready to guide the column. Then the long line of men moved out of the camp, guiding themselves by the winking shuttered lanterns of the pioneers, each of whom was standing by a stake that marked the line of march, a route carefully designed by the engineers to keep out of sight of any of Tastis’ columns. A messenger came to Tegestu as they marched.

  “They’ve completed two bridges,” the young woman said, breathless from her ride. “They’ve got men across already, clearing brush for the others.”

  “Very well,” Tegestu said. “Sit you down yonder, and rest your horse. Join us later.’’

  The march went on. Tegestu and Palastinas had divided the army between them, Tegestu taking the mobile column on its night march, Palastinas holding the fortified camp. They would crush Tastis between them as the rebels marched, strung out across country, en route to their own surprise attack.

  The last stage of Tegestu’s march was made dismounted, each trooper holding his horse’s bridle and moving slowly, careful to avoid any sound that might alert Tastis or his men, their hands ready to clamp on their horses’ muzzles in case a shifting wind brought them the scent of other horses and the beasts tried to call out in welcome.

  Tegestu turned aside to a tall stone farmhouse, his new headquarters; the inhabitants— , landowners owing allegiance to a baron who theoretically owed his own obedience to Neda-Calacas— were roused out of their beds by Classani and shut up in the attic. The column flowed past, down into a shallow fold in the ground that would shelter them from Tastis’ eyes until the time was right. The others were disposed carefully in their own places of hiding, the pioneers leading them with colored lanterns, each lantern shuttered to beam its light only at the approaching troops.

  A night attack, Tegestu knew, demanded uncommon planning; but his staff was practiced, and he himself had been over the ground yesterday and again today. He would not go out again tonight; there would be little point, and he would serve better remaining here at the headquarters where any message would reach him. And messengers began to trickle in, from the whelkrani and mercenary captains and the city soldiers, breathlessly informing him that the men were in place and ready.

  “They have all reported, bro-demmin,” Acamantu reported, ticking off the last messenger on his list. He looked up at his father with satisfaction.

  “Very well,” Tegestu said complacently. “Tell the runners to return and tell their captains there will be no action for the present. The soldiers may sleep on their arms.”

  “Aye, bro-demmin.”

  “And send one of our own runners to the Abessu-Denorru. Inform him that our force is in place and ready.” He might as well ease Necias’ anxiety if he could. He hoped the elderly, patient Palastinas would serve as an example for Necias; he was certain that, even if things went utterly wrong tonight, the Marshal would lean back, stroke his dainty white beard, and take it with what philosophy he could.

  No more messengers would come for a while: he had no watchers near the bridges, not wanting Tastis to stumble across one of them and take alarm. Instead his scouts were disposed overlooking Tastis’ likely route of march, ready to inform him when the enemy started moving. That wouldn’t be for some hours yet.

  For the present there was nothing to do; Tegestu asked Thesau to bring him tea and eyed a plush settee sitting comfortably in the next room. His Classani, used to his ways, brought the settee hastily forth, and he sat himself down, leaned against the pillows, closed his eyes, and awaited events.

  He must have slept, for when he awakened the glass of tea that had been so carefully put by his hand was cold. One of Cascan’s spies, her body and head shrouded in midnight black, had come in to report. “Tastis is moving, bro-demmin,” she said with a bow. “My companions remain and are trying to estimate his numbers.”

  “Thank you, ban-demmin,” Tegestu said. His voice seemed cracked and dry; he had an unpleasant vision of himself sleeping with his mouth cracked open, snoring while his staff watched, and banished the thought from his mind. He sipped his tea, feeling it slide welcome and cool down his throat. “Return to your post,” he said; and the woman bowed and vanished, light as a cat in her tall buskins.

  “Messengers to the captains,” Tegestu said. “Their soldiers are to stand ready.” He paused, then added as an afterthought, “And send someone to Palastinas. He will probably wish to know.” And Necias as well, he thought, who would be driving his companions half-mad, fretting for more news.

  The runners, each knowing his destination, slipped quickly from the house. Tegestu finished his tea and smiled. Other reports came in, telling of numbers, hasty estimates made in the dark, and of Tastis’ progress. Tegestu nodded his comprehension of the picture and let his staff do the work.