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a hollow pit in his gut that no bravado could fill.
    He remained at the outer edge of this cluster of officers, with Sergeant Kullis at his side, to act as a rider and flag-crier once the orders were given.
    Flat-faced and dour, Kullis was a man of few words, so when he spoke Havaral was startled. ‘It is said every army is like a body, a thing of flesh, bone and blood. And of course, the one who commands can be said to be its head, its brain.’ The sergeant’s voice was pitched low. It was unlikely that anyone else could make out his words.
    ‘This is not the time, sergeant,’ Havaral said in a soft growl, ‘to raise matters of faith.’
    As if unwilling to be dissuaded, Kullis continued, ‘But an army also possesses a heart, a slow-beating drum in the very centre of its chest. A true commander knows that he or she must command that first, before all else.’
    ‘Kullis, that will be enough.’
    ‘Today, sir, the heart commands the head.’
    The sergeant’s methodical thinking had made slow and measured steps, arriving at a truth Havaral had understood with the man’s first words. Lord Ilgast Rend was too angry, and the drumbeat’s ever quickening pace had brought them headlong to this ridge, beneath this cold morning sky. The enemy facing them here were, one and all, heroes of Kurald Galain. Worse, they had not marched on the Wardens, and so had offered no direct provocation.
    It will be simple, then, to set the charge of this civil war’s beginning at the feet of Lord Ilgast Rend. And us Wardens.
    ‘We wonder, sir,’ Kullis then said, turning to look upon his captain, ‘when you will speak.’
    ‘Speak? What do you mean?’
    ‘Who better knows the mind of Calat—’
    ‘Calat Hustain is not here.’
    ‘Lord Ilgast—’
    ‘Was given command of the Wardens. Sergeant, who is this “we” you speak of?’
    Kullis snorted. ‘Your kin, sir. All of whom are now looking to you. This moment, sir. They are looking to you.’
    ‘I conveyed Hunn Raal’s words,’ Havaral said, ‘and the lord chooses to answer them.’
    ‘Yes sir, I see the knife in his hand. But we sacks of blood now bear beads of sweat.’
    Havaral looked away. The sickness pooling in his stomach churned. His eyes travelled down the length of the Wardens waiting on their wood-armoured horses, the breaths of the beasts softly pluming, the occasional head tossing amidst the mosquitoes. His kin were motionless in their saddles, their lacquered, banded-wood breastplates gleaming in the bright sunlight. Beneath the rims of their helmets he saw, one after another, faces too young for this.
    My blessed misfits, who could never in comfort wear the soldier’s garb. Who forever stood outside the company of others. Could face down a dozen scaled wolves, and not blink. Ride to the Vitr and voice no complaint at the poison air. Wait here now, for the call to advance, and then to charge. My children.
    My sacks of blood.
    ‘Sir.’
    ‘Urusander’s Legion is eager for this,’ Havaral said. ‘Once at strength, it would have had to march on the Wardens, before closing on Kharkanas. The Legion could not countenance us at its back. We meet it today, on dead grasses and in a bitter wind, and dream of a gentle spring to come.’
    ‘Sir—’
    Havaral turned on the man, his face twisting. ‘Do you think the captains have all remained mute?’ he hissed. ‘Did you fools actually imagine we swallowed down our bile, and did nothing but bow meekly before our commander?’
    Kullis flinched slightly at his captain’s words.
    ‘Hear me,’ Havaral said, ‘I do not command here. What shame would you have me suffer? Do you think I will not be riding down there with you? With my lance drawn and hard at your side? Abyss take you, Kullis – you have unmanned me!’
    ‘Sir, I did not mean such a thing. Forgive me my words.’
    ‘Did I not warn you against matters of faith?’
    ‘You did, sir. I am sorry.’
    Voices rose then, drawing their attention to the