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GIVE ARREN HIS CORRUPTED LITTLE DUE, METHSME ’ S songs were silly things, but people loved them. Elo could go nowhere without hearing her tunes, and her last named all the gods he had killed and called him Sunbringer, Fireheart, Shrinebreaker, God-king.

They could not remove the space in people’s hearts where their gods were born, Arren was simply taking up residence there. And, looking for hope and simplicity, the army swallowed it whole. If some thought on it, they didn’t care. And to Elogast’s chagrin, he did care, but he couldn’t think on it.

Instead, he rode with Arren, his days on full display, his nights making and breaking bread with his old companions. Things became easier between them, and the roads were gentler than the rambling pilgrimage trails he had followed with Kissen and Inara last time he had ascended the Bennites.

He loved it. He could not deny that he loved it; the beat of structured days, the chatter of friends over crust and stew, some flirtations, some stories, some flavours of a world he had long departed.

Being with Kissen, Skedi and Inara had given him a taste of it.

His interactions with the Yether captain, Faroch, Naiala had the strains of camaraderie and a common cause.

But they had not been trained as knights, guards and warriors.

They did not fall into rhythm like Benjen and Lotta, and their moody Commander Safidah, who was among those of high rank who weren’t noble enough for the council.

This was the life Elo had worked for. Had wanted for all his childhood when he had worked so hard to catch up with the youths who had trained almost since they could stand.

With Arren at his side, sometimes it felt as if nothing had changed. Elo hated how much he felt at home.

However, despite being offered larger, grander horses, he had refused to give up Legs.

A reminder of Kissen, her irreverence, her distrust of power and her faith in herself.

The arrow scars in the horse’s flanks too, meant Elo kept his head, didn’t grow too comfortable.

A few months before, most of these knights he rode with would have happily spat in his eye.

If Elo ever met Knight Commander Peta coming back from Lesscia, he had no doubt she would stab him through the back for betraying her god-king.

They were close to Gefyrton now, the air dense and warm with summer.

Insects and birds rattled out their song from the trees, only just audible over the shifting, stamping, chatting, and laughing of the host of fighters sore on their feet.

It was going to be a mast season for the beeches, and Elo could see seed pods growing in great clusters.

Legs was enjoying the green leaves that Elo caught for him from the lower branches, when they heard a cry from above, a bird’s sound, and looked up. A hawk. Flying low.

No, swooping down.

Then, up ahead, the hammering of hooves.

‘Protect the king!’ cried General Elemni.

Arren reined in his horse. Tulenne drew his sword, as did Elemni, determined to rectify her failure from the Silverswift , but Elo held up his hand.

‘It’s two horses,’ he said calmly. ‘Not an army.’

He was right. Two high stallions and riders charged through the Middrenite host ahead, one in colours of indigo and green, another in blue and red: Geralfi and Tiamh.

A whistle came from the captains behind them and the hawk that had been circling dived down onto the arm of its gloved woman handler in Arren’s colours and snatched a dead mouse from her hands.

The riders made it through. Elo recognised one of the vanguard who should have arrived at Gefyrton only a few days before. ‘W-we didn’t dare hope you had followed so quickly. We sent the bird ahead.’

Something was wrong.

‘What’s happened?’ he said. ‘Make it quick.’

‘The Talicians have breached the eastern gate,’ said the Geralfi guard. ‘We’re holding them, but—’

The generals and commanders were silent for a moment. Their worst fears realised: they were too late.

‘King Arren, you should retreat to safety,’ said Crolle first. ‘If the bridge is breached—’

‘They have taken only the eastern gate,’ said Arren.

‘We can fight back.’ He looked at Elo. The great train of warriors was slowing up behind them, and those closest were whispering back, knight to knight to soldier to straggler.

What would they do if they panicked? Turn and run?

Their cohesion was skin deep at best, and the slightest breath of loss down their necks might rupture it.

What Elo did now would change the momentum of the war. He had been gifted the highest rank in the army besides Knight Commander Peta and the king himself. Handed it on a silver platter.

Now he must earn it.

‘Steel yourselves,’ he said, lifting his voice. ‘Send the runners through the ranks, tell the commands to form and prepare for battle. I want every general at the front lines, ready to be briefed, on the bridge by sundown. We move at pace.’

‘Commander general,’ Crolle said. ‘If the gate is breached, the bridge will not be long to fall as well.’

‘The bridge will not fall,’ said Elo turning on him. ‘Stay with the king.’

‘But Ser—’

‘I am your commander on the field of battle, Crolle,’ said Elo. ‘And I do not take insubordination lightly.’

The general bit his tongue. A guard he was, a knight, and no matter which House he represented, he had been trained to obey orders. In council, they might be equals. Here, Elo was in charge.

Elo turned and raised his voice again, projecting certainty, speed.

‘Commander Safidah.’ She was close by, with her captains: Benjen and Lotta.

They all stood as one unit, well organised knights.

Even Perin stood tall beside his husband, waiting for Elo’s word.

‘I need your command at the front immediately. Organise yourselves for defence and battle, the rest will follow.’

Commander Safidah, all dark curling hair and proud bearing, nodded, mounting her horse and barking orders.

‘General Tiamh,’ Elo said, ‘Commanders Yesef and Tulenne.’ They sat up straight, knowing what was coming. ‘With me.’

He spurred Legs on, not looking back to see if they would follow. They would, because they had to. He was rewarded by the sound of horns, shouting, and shifting hooves. The messengers pulled alongside him on the cart road, their relief palpable as they matched Legs’s sure stride.

‘Tell me everything,’ said Elo, patting Kissen’s horse on the neck. Elo would not take him on the bridge, he was not a warhorse, but at least he was keeping his own amongst the rest of them. Elo hoped he was doing the same.

‘They reached the east bank a week ago,’ said the Geralfi messenger. ‘Our fortress towards Arga fell and the surrounding steadings, the olive groves. They burned most of them, and we saw the smoke, but by the time we sent boats upriver to take down the trees, the banks were already occupied. And …’

His voice faltered over something he didn’t want to say.

‘This morning they launched an assault with a battering ram,’ said his companion, taking over.

‘The east gate was in poor repair, and their advance got one street in before we managed to blockade them.’ She paused and glanced at the Geralfi messenger, but did not stop.

‘Commander, the Geralfis are preparing to run.’

Elo tried not to curse. He had been relying on the Geralfis holding the bridge till their arrival, and now the nobles were ready to flee after one setback.

He thought fast, moving the Houses and their units in his mind like pieces on a board of chess.

Tulenne and Yesef had brought a good number of fighters between them, and other than Crolle they had the most to gain by supporting a retreat west, to their own lands.

He would bring their soldiers to the very front and mix them with Safidah’s experienced command.

That would be enough for a first defensive line without the numbers getting in their own way.

The blockade may have felt right to the Geralfi guard, but they should have pushed the Talicians back harder before they let them gain a foothold in the narrow Gefyrton streets.

Now both sides would be limited in combat.

A second blockade, Elo would have raised at the bridge’s centre point, leaving enough space for the first line to fight, but also a place to plan a fallback should the Talicians break through.

Tiamh would command it. He took every opportunity to lick Arren’s boots, but Elo suspected he’d turn in an instant if someone offered him better leather.

Bringing him close to the fray would elevate his standing, but also put his skin in the game. Stick and sweetness.

During the God War, one of his and Arren’s first mistakes had been to keep naysayers and postulators far from the front lines.

They had sped from hard battle as fast as their little legs could carry them, pissing themselves along the way.

Let them lead from the front and know that there was the rest of the army and the king behind them to stop them running.

Finally, at the west gate, would be the weaponry, the food supplies, reinforcements and a final defensive line before the army, which would camp in the woods beyond the falls.

Three stages of defence. Elo hoped only the first would be used, but the easiest way to lose a war was through a chaotic retreat, and the best way to prevent that was to have a plan.