Behind them came Archer’s divisional artillery, one battery of twelve-?pounders and one of six-?pounders, still limbered to their caissons, facing backward. Marcus wanted the guns in position as soon as possible, though it risked slowing the overall march if they got snarled. Archer knew his business, though, and the alternative, to arrive with no supporting artillery, would be much worse.
On the other side of the guns was Sevran’s Second Regiment, a unit of “royals” who’d been in service since before the revolution. In theory, anyway—?in practice, Marcus guessed that casualties and replacements meant only a fraction actually had been around that long. It was part of their mystique, though, the image of themselves that the veterans passed down to the new recruits, and it showed in their neat uniforms and well-?dressed ranks, in the way they held themselves superior to the sloppier volunteers. The line of blue continued down the road, out of Marcus’ view, but he knew that de Koste’s Third Regiment and Blackstream’s Fourth were waiting for the men in front of them to step out. Nine thousand soldiers, give or take, holding themselves ready for Marcus’ order.
He’d commanded a larger force in Murnsk. But somehow it didn’t change the feeling of power, the sense of potentiality, of enormous energy coiled and ready to be hurled like the thunderbolt of a pagan god.
The sun finally crested the mountains to the east, a sliver of gold breaking clear of the peaks. Marcus, sitting uncomfortably astride his horse, beckoned to Cyte and watched enviously as she brought her mount over with barely a touch on the reins.
“Signal the advance,” he said. “Then go to Erdine and remind him that I want him to be careful. It’s four hours to Satinvol, but if Kurot’s right and Janus’ troops are advancing, we could end up in a meeting engagement anytime before then. Make sure we’ve got riders ready to send back for support.”
“Sir!” Cyte saluted, turned her mount, and hurried off.
A few moments later, the drums trilled for attention, then settled into the steady rhythm of the marching pace. The Girls’ Own started forward, each battalion’s drummers picking up the rhythm, and then the guns rumbled into motion. Within minutes, smooth as a parade, the whole division was advancing down the road. General Ihernglass certainly kept them in good shape. Marcus got his horse moving, staying by the side of the road ahead of the artillery.
The country they were moving through was farmland, with the crops mostly already harvested, so he had a good view as the sun rose higher. Hedges divided the fields on either side of the road, with a few small farmhouses and the occasional village visible in the distance. Up ahead, he could see the cloud of dust and occasional flashes of blue from Val’s Third Division, moving roughly perpendicular to his own course. In accordance with Kurot’s plan, Val was taking the road southwest to Alves, to convince Janus that the enemy was obligingly strolling into his trap. Behind Marcus, invisible through the dust of his own trailing battalions, the rest of the army was scheduled to fall in, with Fitz serving as a rear guard ready to blunt the other half of Janus’ theoretical double pincer.
Stop, Marcus told himself firmly. It was easy to fret about the overall situation, but that wasn’t his role at the moment. There’s nothing I can do for Val or Fitz. What was important today was what was in front of him, the mission of the Second Division and what the enemy might do to stop him. He tried to recapture the proper state of mind for a subordinate commander—?the firm resolution that if things did go badly wrong it wouldn’t be because his own part had been fucked up.
The sun crawled higher. They passed through the crossroads where Val had turned off, a village of a couple dozen homes whose inhabitants had either fled or hidden. Beyond it was a slight ridge topped by a few trees, and after confirming with Erdine that his men had already been over the ground, Marcus trotted to the top of it to take advantage of the slight elevation. The Pale valley was very flat here, sloping gently down to the river with only a few hills like this one, and even from its modest height Marcus could see quite a long way. Ahead of him, the fields unrolled for miles, until they reached the broad, sparkling band of the river. He could see Satinvol, a dense cluster of houses, with several high-?steepled churches. Between his leading battalion and the town, there was nothing but more fields—?no marching soldiers, no sign of defenses.
So the envelopment Kurot anticipated either isn’t coming or hasn’t arrived yet. There could be soldiers out there, lying in wait behind hedges, but Erdine’s cavalry screen would flush them out. He pulled out his spyglass and focused it on Satinvol, but at this distance he couldn’t make out much more than a mass of buildings. If they’re on this side of the river, that’s where they are. His assignment, if no enemy presented themselves for a field battle, was to take the Satinvol bridge. It was possible Janus would yield it without a fight, but Marcus doubted it.
As the column wound past, he came down from the hill to rejoin it, looking for Cyte. When he found her, he waved her over and said, “Tell Erdine to push a squadron forward all the way to Satinvol, but not to get too close. If he gets shot at, he should come back. If not, ask him to look and see if the houses have been prepared for defense—?loopholes, barricades, that sort of thing.”
Cyte nodded and rode off. Marcus glanced at the sun. It was barely nine in the morning, and already the day felt old. Ahead of him, the Girls’ Own were singing a marching tune he didn’t recognize. Whether they’d heard it somewhere or invented it themselves, it was in the grand tradition of soldiers’ road songs in being spectacularly filthy, and Marcus found himself grinning despite the tension.
Erdine’s answer came back almost an hour later. The colonel himself rode up, falling in beside Marcus, and saluted flamboyantly. The huge feather in his cap quivered with each step of his horse, and the polished silver and brass on his uniform glittered.
“Sir!” Erdine said. “Report that we got within a hundred yards of the outskirts of Satinvol, sir, and then we were fired on by sharpshooters. One man wounded, not seriously. I observed soldiers in Vordanai uniforms among the houses, and definite signs that the position had been prepared for defense.”
Balls of the Beast. Marcus had been afraid of that. Storming a defended town was always a nasty business, and there was no way of knowing how many enemy there were or what reinforcements they might have available. “No sign of troops outside the town?”
“No, sir. We haven’t seen anything larger than a rabbit since we left this morning.”
“I want you to send a rider back there under flag of truce. Tell him to ask for whoever’s in charge, and deliver a message from Column-?General d’Ivoire. The town of Satinvol is likely to become the site of fighting today, and in respect of the fact that we are all Vordanai fighting in Vordanai territory, I request that he deliver this warning to the civilians and urge them to evacuate as quickly as possible.”