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His kin gave a resounding shout, moving into their tight lines. In seconds, Dom found himself at the head of the immortal column, with Isibel on his right. They fell into step together, the ground shuddering as they marched between the fanged ditches, to the great plain beyond it.

Dom remembered the war council, and Andry’s quill scratching over parchment, drawing out the battle plans. Marking the different armies, the different flags. Archers, shield walls, infantry, pikemen. Spears, swords. The range of their catapults. And the elephants too. It was all there on the page, in black ink and golden paper.

Now it lay before Dom’s own eyes, a terrible nightmare brought to life.

To the left was the Kasan army, organized in neat rows. At their head, the three eagle knights blazed in their white armor. The Ibalets held the right, Sibrez and Commander lin-Lira at the front of the battle lines. Their elephants waited at the back of their company, ready to charge when called for. Flags caught the wind, the white eagle and the golden dragon wavering against the red sky.

The immortals of Iona would hold the center, where the attack would fall hardest.

As they marched into formation, Dom swelled with gratitude toward the mortal kingdoms. Not just Kasa and Ibal, but the others fighting throughout the Ward. Without the Jydi and the pirates defending the seas, Iona would face an even larger force, with even less time to prepare. Now at least, their joint effort forced Erida’s legions through the mountains, wearing them out with bitter cold and lethal climbs.

Dom stared across the valley, to the foothills sloping up into the mountainous heights. His heartbeat quickened as the Gallish legions appeared, weaving swiftly through the foothills. Above them, the dragon wheeled in circles, the beat of its wings shuddering the air.

Even from this distance, Dom saw the horses trotting at the head of the line.

It was as Andry suspected.

“Pike wall,” he shouted, and the Vedera snapped to his command.

They moved like water, one thousand immortals falling into position across the battlefield, swooping out to defend the entire length of their unified army. The pikes rolled out with them, distributed swiftly, until every hand held a long, murderous spear, the iron tips glinting. The formation took shape, three rows deep, with each line of pikes set at adifferent angle. Their front line was no longer a collection of soldiers, but a wall of spikes. Archers fell into step behind, arrows at the ready, with the rest of the combined army beyond them.

Pikes,archers,infantry.

Dom kneeled in the first row, dead center. He planted his pike against the ground, his immortal strength driving the first foot of it deep into the earth, the tip set at the correct angle.

Isibel did not hang back from the front line. She glowed in her pearly armor, standing just behind Dom, her own pike clutched between her hands, held level with the ground.

“You look like your father,” she said suddenly, breaking Dom’s focus.

He blinked beneath his helmet, hesitating to look at her and change his stance.

She took it as an invitation to continue. “He led our kin against the Old Dragon, as you lead today.”

And he died, Dom thought, heart twisting.

Isibel’s voice dropped as the sound of hoofbeats grew. “He would be proud of you. As would your mother.”

Try as he might, Dom could not picture them. The memory was too old, the moment too dire. He glimpsed wisps of golden hair, green eyes, and nothing more.

Isibel held the pike steady but one hand dropped, touching him on the shoulder for only a moment. “I am proud of you too. No matter what happens today.”

Something wet dripped down Dom’s cheek and onto his chin, tickling its way down his face. He held his position, steeled against the sensation.

Part of him could not forgive Isibel. Her inaction cost them Ridha’s life, and countless others. Her hesitance left them vulnerable. Hercowardice may have doomed the Ward. But while his anger burned, fuel to a fire he so desperately needed, it consumed too.

“For Ridha,” he murmured, the only acceptance he could give.

He could not see Isibel’s face, but he heard her breath catch with pain.

And then there was no more time to mourn, or regret. There was only the battlefield, the legions, and the red sky.

Across the field, the Gallish line grew and grew and grew, fanning out as the column reached the valley floor. The legions were a proper army, not a rabble of the undead or a lazy company of the city watch. They were trained soldiers, hard drilled, molded to the battlefield, the greatest weapon Galland could ever wield. Dom saw it written in the way they moved, even the cavalry horses in lockstep.

They marched on, until Dom could pick out individual stallions, still trotting, saving their strength for the last charge. He searched the line of green flags and iron armor, hunting for a bloody burst of red. But there were only heavy knights on the front line, spears tucked beneath their arms.

Dom cursed to himself and eyed the dragon again, set back from the front line.

Of course they will not risk themselves in the vanguard, he thought bitterly, picturing Taristan and Ronin.They will hang back beneath the protection of a dragon and leave the worst to Erida’s mortal soldiers.