The sun was burning clear of the horizon. Pale-winged birds flitted over the humped hills to the north. Duiker glanced down at his boots. The morning dew had seeped through the worn leather. Strands of snagged spiderwebs made a stretched, glittering pattern over the toes. He found it unaccountably beautiful.
'Shouldn't dwell on what's to come,' Lull said.
Duiker smiled, looked up at the sky. 'What's the order?'
'The Seventh's marines are the spear's point. Crow riders to either side are the flanking barbs. Foolish Dog — now a Toggthundering heavy cavalry — are the weight behind the marines. Then come the wounded, protected on all sides by the Seventh's infantry. Taking up the tail are the Hissari Loyals and the Seventh's cavalry.'
Duiker was slow to react, then he blinked and faced the captain.
Lull nodded. 'The refugees and herds are being held back, this side of the valley but slightly south, on a low shelf of land the maps call the Shallows, with a ridge of hills south of that. The Weasel Clan guards them. It's the safest thing to do — that clan's turned dark and nasty since Sekala. Their horsewarriors have all filed their teeth, if you can believe that.'
'We go to this battle unencumbered,' the historian said.
'Excepting the wounded, aye.'
Captains Sulmar and Chenned emerged from the infantry encampment. Sulmar's posture and expression radiated outrage, Chenned's was mocking if slightly bemused.
'Blood and guts!' Sulmar hissed, his greased moustache bristling. 'Those damned sappers and their Hood-spawned captain have done it this time!'
Chenned met Duiker's gaze and shook his head. 'Coltaine went white at the news.'
'What news?'
'The sappers lit out last night!' Sulmar snarled. 'Hood rot the cowards one and all! Poliel bless them with pestilence, pox their illegitimate brood with her pus-soaked kiss! Togg trample that captain's ba-'
Chenned was laughing in disbelief. 'Captain Sulmar! What would your friends in the Council say to such foul-mouthed cursing?'
'Burn take you, too, Chenned! I'm a soldier first, damn you. A trickle to a flood, that's what we're facing-'
'There won't be any desertions,' Lull said, his battered fingers slowly raking through his beard. 'The sappers ain't run away. They're up to something, I'd hazard. It's not easy reining in that unwashed, motley company when you can't even track down its captain — but I don't imagine Coltaine will make the same mistake again.'
'He'll not have the chance,' Sulmar muttered. 'The first worms will crawl into our ears before the day's done. It's the oblivious feast for us all, mark my words.'
Lull raised his brows. 'If that's as encouraging as you can manage, Sulmar, I pity your soldiers.'
'Pity's for the victors, Lull.'
A lone horn wailed its mournful note.
'Waiting's over,' Chenned said with obvious relief. 'Save me a patch of grass when you go down, gentlemen.'
Duiker watched the two Seventh captains depart. He'd not heard that particular send-off in a long time.
'Chenned's father was in Dassem's First Sword,' Lull said.
'Or so goes the rumour — even when names are swept from official histories, the past shows its face, eh, old man?'
Duiker was in no mood to rise to either jibe. 'Think I'll check my gear,' he said, turning away.
It was noon before the final positioning was completed. There had been a near riot when the refugees finally understood that the main army was to make the crossing without them. Coltaine's selection of the Weasel Clan as their escort — the horsewarriors presented a truly terrifying visage with their threaded skin, black tattooing and filed teeth — proved his cunning yet again, although the Weasel riders almost took it too far with their bloodthirsty taunts flung at the very people they were sworn to protect. Desultory calm was established, despite the frenzied, fear-stricken efforts of the noble-born's Council and their seemingly inexhaustible capacity to deliver protests and writs.
With the main force finally assembled, Coltaine issued the command to move forward.
The day was blisteringly hot, the parched ground rising in clouds of dust as soon as the brittle grass was worn away by hooves and tramping boots. Lull's prediction of eating dust proved depressingly accurate, as Duiker once more raised his tin belt-flask to his lips, letting water seep into his mouth and down the dry gully of his throat.
