He drew their attention to the map. The field on which the battle would be fought—?always assuming there was a battle, of course—?was roughly triangular, a wedge formed by the convergence of two rivers. The top was the wide, deep Pale, uncrossable except at a bridge. The bottom was the smaller Daater, narrower but still a significant barrier. The city of Alves with its fortifications occupied the tip of the wedge, pointing west. The open end of the triangle was held by Kurot’s army, stretching in a line from Satinvol on the Pale to the Daater. Somewhere in that narrowing triangle, Janus’ army was waiting for them.
On the map, a position somewhat ahead of the line was marked in pencil. That was where Val’s Third Division had made camp the night before. They’d marched farther than expected, surprised by the lack of resistance. Now they were dangerously overextended, and Marcus was glad Kurot was moving quickly to bring the rest of the army up in support. He tapped the map with his finger.
“We’re to advance into line with the Third Division, then hold position and wait for orders.” He looked around the room at the colonels. “General Kurot knows we fought hard yesterday, and he’s planning to make the main effort with his left.” The two divisions there, under de Manzet, hadn’t fired a shot the day before. “Our job is just going to be to hold the line and keep Janus’ left in play. No heroics, understand?”
“We seem to be stretched a little thin,” Blackstream said, frowning at the map. “Kurot hasn’t left much of a reserve.”
“He hasn’t got a choice,” Sevran said. “It’s a wide front, and he has to cover it or else risk Janus slipping past.”
“It’ll narrow as we advance,” Erdine said. “We’ll be fine.”
“None of that is our concern,” Marcus said. “Let General Kurot worry about it. We need to make sure everything goes well here. You should all have the written copies of your orders. Any questions?”
There was a brief silence.
“Well, then,” Marcus said. “Let’s get moving.”
*
Dawn broke to find the division on the move, long columns winding southwest, with the baggage train still packing up the camp behind them. Erdine’s horsemen were out front, probing for the enemy, and behind them was the Girls’ Own, sweeping through the fields in skirmish order.
Marcus, riding beside Cyte, was glad to see that yesterday’s fighting hadn’t cracked the division’s discipline. Despite the casualties, and the fatigue the soldiers had to feel, their formations were clean and they made good time. It helped that the sun was out and the mud had finally started to dry. While the Girls’ Own were spread out, picking their way through harvested fields and over the drystone walls that separated them, the other three regiments stuck to the Alves-?Satinvol road, which ran more or less parallel to the river.
For the moment there was no sign of the enemy. Marcus kept looking across the river, expecting to see troops on the move there, but either the Pale was too wide or there was nothing to see. There was no sign of Alves yet, either. The only other force he could see was Fitz Warus’ First Division, advancing roughly in the same direction a mile or two to Marcus’ left. That was heartening, too. Not that he’d had any doubt about Fitz’ punctuality, of course, but it was always good to know the allies who were supposed to be covering your flanks were actually in place.
“Do you really think there’ll be a fight today, sir?” Cyte said.
“You doubt it?” Marcus said, looking back at her. “The enemy certainly showed willing at Satinvol.”
“If Kurot is right, then we’ve got Janus cornered.” She shrugged. “I suppose that just seems a little too easy.”
“Even Janus makes mistakes, Captain,” Marcus said. Though, truth be told, he’d been thinking the same thing. “But let’s be careful anyway.”
By nine in the morning, it was clear the day would be hot, a last breath of summer as fall wore on. The advance was leisurely, with regular halts for water. Kurot hadn’t expressed any urgency, and after their exertions yesterday Marcus didn’t want to overstrain his soldiers. Still, he found himself fretting. When the smoke from the Third Division’s camp became visible beyond Fitz, he breathed a sigh of relief. His biggest worry had been that Janus would take the chance to snap at Val while he was stuck out on a limb.
“Come on,” he told Cyte. “We’re going to see General Solwen. If the enemy have been up to anything, he’ll know the latest.”
Barking a brief order putting Abby in command until he returned, Marcus turned his horse up a convenient farm track, threading between stone walls and making his way parallel to the front. Cyte followed him, as usual much more comfortable in the saddle. They got stuck briefly at a junction clogged by First Division baggage wagons, but after a bit of swearing on the part of the sergeant directing traffic, a passage was cleared. Another back?country trail led up to where the Third Division had spent the night.
“Odd,” Cyte said, as they rode closer.
“What’s odd?”
“Scouts.” She nodded at a pair of cavalrymen, carbines in hand, sitting on their horses in the middle of a field. “Seems a waste of manpower to have scouts facing east.”
“Val can be a little paranoid,” Marcus said. “Besides, he doesn’t know for sure when the rest of us will turn up. You’re not the only one who worries about Janus trying something tricky.” He waved at the pair of troopers, who didn’t seem to notice.
The Third Division’s four regiments were still forming up around their camp, soldiers filing into formation, the regimental flags snapping in the slight breeze. Sentries had spotted Marcus and Cyte, and a small delegation of officers accompanied by a couple of troopers mounted up and came out to meet them. Marcus didn’t see Val among them.
He’s busy. Got a late start, as usual. Marcus looked back at Cyte again. She was watching the approaching riders with an odd expression. Something seems...
Marcus looked closer, and felt the blood drain from his face.
The banners are wrong. Not the flags themselves, which were just the usual Vordanai eagles, but the banner staffs. Val, peacock that he sometimes was, had paid out of his own pocket for bronze-?banded staffs with silver caps before the Murnskai campaign had begun. All four regiments here were holding ordinary wooden staffs.
He looked back at the approaching party. There was a captain and two lieutenants, none of whom he recognized. He didn’t know every officer in the Third Division by sight, but he was familiar with most of the members of Val’s staff. So where are they?
This isn’t the Third Division.
The simplicity of the ruse took his breath away. But why not? Both sides of the war used the same uniforms, the same flags. From a distance it was impossible to tell one body of men from another. And anyone who gets up close...
“Cyte,” Marcus hissed under his breath. When she didn’t look around, he repeated it a little louder. “Cyte, keep looking ahead.”
Sir? Cyte mouthed, eyes locked.
“When I say go, I want you to turn your horse around and head back the way we came, as fast as you can. If we get separated, head for General Kurot’s command post.”
She nodded, very slightly, and didn’t ask why. Perfect.
They were about fifty yards from the oncoming group of riders. Marcus loosened his pistol in its holster.