Isak managed a weak smile. The palace records had left one clear impression in his mind as he read them: most battles were lost because of one of three factors: poor communication, bad luck or stupidity.
Chalat's men were roughly halfway between Isak, at the rear of his own men, and the Menin. It had taken them several hours to cross a mile of ground and the first river. The bridges across the second river had been destroyed by the retreating Menin, who now loitered just out of range, ready to take out anyone who got within bowshot. The problem was simple: how to get across the river without losing hundreds of men.
'I'm bored,' Isak announced. He pointed to the horsemen arrayed ahead of him. 'Sound the advance,' he ordered, gesturing towards Byora. The main gate lay between the rivers.
On the left flank were three divisions of the Palace Guard's heavy cavalry, with the College of Magic regiment nestled between them. The colourful centre consisted of various suzerains and their hurscals, a number of other noblemen, all in heavy armour, and two full legions of light cavalry. Next to them were two thousand more light cavalry in loose formation. The reserve troops, the last division of Ghosts and the remaining two cavalry legions, were on the far right.
General Lahk inclined his head. 'Bugler, sound slow advance,' he called, and behind him a set of three long notes sounded. The call was quickly taken up and Isak's army, looking like a great bloated beast heaving itself forward, began to advance.
Isak caught Count Vesna giving him a pointed look and he frowned for a moment, wondering what he'd forgotten. Then he got it and in a loud voice said, 'Gentlemen, your helms.' As he settled Siulents over his own head Isak caught a glimpse of Vesna touching his fingers to his left wrist. Even our heroes need a lucky charm, he thought with a sigh. All I've got is a contingency plan that scares the shit out of me.
In the distance he could just make out the black dot of Lord Styrax's enormous army standard. As though in response to his darkening mood he felt a tug at his mind from the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. The Reapers were stirring: they smelled death on the air. Up above him, clouds gathered, as though summoned by his call.
'Good to have you back, sir.'
Amber looked up, his eyes widening. 'Gods! What have I told you about taking your helm off, Deebek?'
The ageing sergeant grinned, showing an irregular set of broken teeth. 'I weren't t'do it, sir. Said it pissed you off when I did that.'
'Exactly,' Amber agreed, thumping the man heavily on his armoured shoulder. Standing around Sergeant Deebek was his squad, all young men he didn't know, and all wearing expressions of relieved anxiety.
'I know we give you recruits to break them into the harsh realities of a soldier's life, but for pity's sake don't make them look at your face all the time as well!' he laughed.
There was no getting around the fact that Deebek was an ugly man — he'd not been a handsome child, what with arms looking too short for his stocky torso, but getting kicked in the face by a mule at the age of five hadn't helped. Then a warhammer crumpled the front of his helm and completed the job, leaving the tip of his nose sliced off by the torn metal. His cheek had shattered under the impact and his teeth and jaw were so ruined that it was a mercy Deebek had been knocked unconscious by the blow. There'd been no neat way of removing the embedded metal from his face, so it had been done quick and nasty, and that had woken him up quick enough.
'You really are a lucky bastard,' Amber said, staring at the ruin of Deebek's face. Every time he returned from a mission and saw Deebek again, he was reminded of how close the man had come to an excruciatingly painful death — instead of the excruciatingly painful recovery that had left him looking like this. Amber was gripped with renewed fascination and revulsion, as usual.
'Don't I know it, sir,' Deebek said, 'and that's why I makes sure all m'boys gets themselves decent headgear.'
Looking around him Amber realised it was true. Every one of the recruits had the top'of-the-range one-piece Y-faced helms. Normally any decent bit of armour got nicked off the recruits soon enough, but clearly Deebek had put a stop to that, at least where his boys were concerned. No one could fault him for that; if he'd been wearing anything less that day twenty years ago, Deebek would have been stone dead.
'How's it looking over there?' Amber looked out past the wall they were dug in behind. He could see the advancing Farlan well enough, but Deebek was one of the most experienced sergeants in Amber's division, and always worth sounding out.
Deebek's face went serious all of a sudden. 'Goin' to be nasty, Major, that's for sure. Won't be long now. They're workin' their way over, and our horseboys ain't done much yet.'
On the other side of the wall, six feet away from the base, they'd dug a foot-deep trench. They'd not had the time to prepare serious earthworks beyond a few pits a hundred and fifty paces from the wall, but the trench had been easy work, and at least it would give the Farlan horsemen pause for thought when they tried to leap the wall.
Amber looked at the crossbowmen bolstering the heavy infantry stationed along the wall. There were more companies waiting behind. Their bows might not be as good — or as plentiful — as the Farlan cavalry, but they'd blunt any charge.
The minotaurs, Bloodsworn knights and a legion of light cavalry were covering the open ground on the right: they were all fast enough and dangerous enough to dissuade anyone from attempting to outflank them. On the left flank another legion of light cavalry were deployed behind a small wood, in which were two regiments of infantry and a spider-web of cables strung between the trees, guaranteed to inconvenience anyone riding through. It was the weaker flank, but only time would tell whether the Farlan would take the bait.
'Going to get close and nasty,' Amber pronounced, 'just how we like it.'
On the field ahead of them, two regiments of skirmishing cavalry moved into action, strafing the central part of the Farlan army.
The colourful robes indicated priests, and there was a regiment of knights Amber couldn't identify. They wouldn't hold for long; the numbers bearing down on them were too great. In response to their arrows a lance of flame spat out from the advancing Farlan and engulfed the skirmishers nearest them.
'Karkarn be with us,' Amber breathed, realising the fire was pinpointing Lord Chalat's position. The air shimmered above the white-eye and shapes began to appear in the sky. The archers immediately started to fall back, and he knew the cavalry would follow soon.
'Piss and daemons, what are they?' Deebek said, voicing everyone's thought.
Amber peered at the sky, then realised what he was seeing. 'Gods,' he muttered out loud, 'they're actually bloody Gods! Those mad bastard priests have summoned their Aspect-Guides!'
As though in confirmation, a figure of flame rose up from just ahead of the Farlan ranks, taller and broader than any mere human, even a white-eye. A deep roar echoed over the fields, causing one of Deebek's recruits to jump.
'Don't let that worry you, boys,' Amber yelled cheerfully. 'Stick those priests full of arrows and the Aspects'll be gone like piss in a river.' He just hoped he was right about that.
He turned to leave for his own assigned command, fifty yards further on, where a beastmaster was standing holding Lord Styrax's hissing wyvern on a long rein. The blue-green beast was saddled and ready for battle. It sat up on its haunches and peered towards the enemy, half-unfurling its pale blue wings until the beastmaster gave the reins another hard jerk and pulled the head down to his shoulder.
'Cover up that ugly mug, Sergeant, they're coming,' he called over his shoulder. Deebek's laughter followed Amber as he pulled his scimitars from their sheaths and knocked the pommel of one against his own helm to ensure it was snug.