I paced back and forth nervously in the kitchen, certain that were any chefs present I would be receiving the famous glare and dire threats of vengeance should I fail to leave the kitchen.

For better or for worse, though, the cooks in this kitchen had been replaced with the remaining twenty or so soldiers of the 2nd Battalion in fighting shape. The only ingredients they knew were powder and lead, their only recipes cartridges, and the only things they served piping hot bullets and ice cold steel -- a remarkably poor dinner, in my estimation, but occasionally quite a useful one.

Something bounced off my head, and I all but jumped out of my skin.

“Heavens’ sake, Schreiner, stop pacing like that! You’re making me dizzy,” Otto complained from where he was lounging against a counter, next to a suspiciously diminished basket of apples. The low sun peeking in through the high windows cast everything in a golden light that went a long way towards forgiving the dirt coating everyone present, but it was still incongruous in a place dedicated to preparing food.

I stooped to pick up his improvised projectile, polishing it on my coat. “Can’t help it, Otto, my blood knows what’s coming and it won’t sit still.” I gave the apple an appraising look and squeezed it into my cartridge pouch.

“Ah, come on, all you’ve got coming is a leisurely stroll through the city at night! Only thing missing is a welcoming tavern at the end. It’s the rest of us what ought to be pacing like that, we’ve got real work to do.”

“I can’t fault you there,” I said, “But I’m afraid I can’t calm down either. Even if I sit down, I’ll be drumming my fingers in no time and then you’ll be on my back about how I’m an infantryman not a drummer boy and I don’t know how I shall respond to that.”

“Ah, the blood really has all gone out of your head. We’re dragoons, remember, not infantrymen!” Otto shot back.

I cast around the kitchen for something non-lethal to throw at him, but came up empty handed. The counters and tables had largely been tidied before the staff evacuated, leaving plenty of space in the gargantuan room to fit the battalion but precious little for us to throw at each other.

My dreams of victual violence were cut short by Captain von Holzt stepping into the room. Immediately we all stopped lounging and chattering and snapped to attention like we’d always been at it, saluting.

“At ease, men,” The captain said. “Fall in as we discussed. I want the front two ranks of the column with scimitars drawn, everyone else, charge your flintlocks. His Highness the Prince will be here in minutes.”

Grateful for the opportunity to do something, I set to the familiar routine quickly. It felt almost unnatural, now, to be doing it wearing a clean uniform, out of the rain, with everything dry. The last couple of weeks had set a new standard in my head for how things should normally be, one which I was not displeased to be rid of.

Unfortunately, the distraction was short lived, as it took less than half a minute for everyone to go from loafing around to formed up with weapons shouldered. I hung back, awaiting Prince Franz’s arrival. We would follow a very short distance behind the rest of the battalion, far enough the prince would not be at undue risk from stray musket fire but not so far we could be picked off by enemy outriders. Or outrunners, or outfliers, or whatever other mischief they had up their sleeves -- although I doubted it was cavalry.

I fidgeted nervously, the minutes feeling like hours and myself feeling terribly out of place with the rest of the battalion formed up and I waiting on the side. I ran over all the checks what felt like a thousand times. Scimitar to hand, cartridge pouch full -- wait, what’s that round thing? Oh, the apple -- arquebus at half cock, ramrod returned to the pipes, belts fastened…

An eternity later, 1st Company Guards arrived, Prince Franz walking behind. We all seized up, tightening to even further attention and saluting.

The prince was dressed sensibly, I noted with approval. His coat was well-decorated but of a good cut for riding and it looked sturdy, and likewise his boots and breeches. A bag hung at his side from his shoulder, hopefully filled with useful goods, and I touched the strap of my own rucksack, loaded with water, rations, clothing and shot. The rest was in the saddlebags, carried by other men of the 2nd in lieu of their own packs -- they would, with luck, be returning here; and in any case if they didn’t they would have no need of provisions.

“Your Highness,” Captain von Holzt said, and I frowned slightly -- speaking first was a breach of etiquette, but I supposed in the circumstances it was understandable -- “We are prepared. Please remain close to Gefreiter Schreiner at all times. We are about to enter into a little-known battlefield.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Understood, Captain,” The prince responded. I absently noted that his voice was still on the high side, despite his height. It struck me as at odds with his calm demeanour in the face of what was undoubtedly the greatest danger of his life. “I am ready when you and the men are.”

The captain glanced up at the windows, marking the sun’s position. It was hanging on the cusp of setting fully, throwing its dying rays almost level over the city. The spring cloud had cleared to very high combs, the sun lighting them orange and the red spires deepening it to an unnatural rusted hue. The screaming had continued unabated all day, the twin tears calling out over the city like a piper who knew only one note.

“As soon as the sun sets fully, the Scholar in Residence and the other mages will close the second tear,” Captain von Holzt said. “As soon as that happens, we will move, counting on the twilight.”

It was not long before it happened. The last rays of sunlight had already faded for us, but perhaps had been visible for longer from the higher spires, when thunder clapped once again and one of the cries abruptly ceased. There was no blessed silence this time, the first tear still screaming its dirge, but it was the best we would get.

“Steady on. Front ranks, open the doors. Watch your flanks, and check the skies. We don’t know what’s out there.”

In perfect synchronisation, the Mourners at the front threw back the bolts on the heavy delivery doors and threw them open. A moment later they were out, moving at the double with the rest of the column following and spreading into a line as they cleared the doorway, Captain von Holzt bringing up the rear. It was bare seconds before I heard the first report of an arquebus, a soldier I realised was Wagner firing on a too-large moving shadow behind an ornamental wall. A moment later the battalion, such as it was, was on the move again and I bowed to Prince Franz.

“Your Highness, sir, we should be following, sir.” Arquebus in both hands, parade discipline abandoned, I jogged out after the 2nd, my head turning left and right and up and down like a globe being spun by a curious child. The prince followed close on my heels.

To my great surprise, we reached the stables without much difficulty. The company ahead of us stopped at intervals and sometimes the bark of flintlocks was heard, but there was no organised resistance. It was a great surprise, but made me concerned for the rest of the journey. Few to no soldiers here meant they must be elsewhere, and I found it unlikely they would be solely concentrated in any kind of frontal assault on the palace.

Inside the stables it was a hive of noise and activity. The horses, unsettled by the late hour and by not having been run all day -- the assaults had forbidden it, of course -- were whinnying and nickering, soldiers were rushing hither and thither with tack, weapons, and tools, and everything was lit by orange lanterns and bathed in the smell of an unwashed stable mixed with the heavy smell of leather and polish.

I glanced about, decided discretion was the better part of trying to be of use, and ushered Prince Franz to one side of the main entryway, where we were clear of Mourners -- now acting as dragoons in truth -- trying to saddle or lead shying horses, or other tasks. I could swear I even saw a sergeant jog past with an armful of half-pikes.

“Sorry, sir, your Highness, sir,” I said, “We’re best off keeping clear. There’s a great deal being done, sir, and the horses are a bit wild. They don’t like the noise, your Highness, nor being kept inside all day, sir.” I caught myself before I could run on further, or throw in any more extraneous “sir”s.

“Of course, gefreiter,” Prince Franz said, but whatever he may have been about to say next was drowned out by the sound of a flintlock firing across the courtyard.

If the stable was a hive of activity before, now it was a kicked wasp’s nest. In a second, five Mourners skidded to a halt in the doorway, raised arms and returned fire, a blanket of smoke pushing away the cool evening air and hanging over the doorway. I peeked out around the doorframe, but before I could see anything I heard someone call my name.

“Schreiner! Here, Schreiner!” Across the stable near one of the stalls, Wagner was waving and leading a bay horse. I held up a hand in acknowledgement, but waited before going to him. The prince and I would have to cross the doorway, and if the Torrean foot were formed up across the yard we were due a second volley any second now.

My caution was rewarded when a hail of bullets, more than the first wild shot, rattled off the stone walls of the stable or embedded themselves in the doorframe. Some flew through, and I heard a bit off cry from somewhere inside but I was already on the move with the prince’s arm caught in my hand.

In the delay, Wagner had turned the bay around to face towards the stable’s rear doors.

“His name’s Munter,” He shouted by way of greeting. “Gelding with a lot of spirit, fast too. Saddlebags are on, and two dragonets. They’re the newer type, I’ve charged them with ball.”

I hooked a foot into the stirrup and vaulted up, barely missing knocking my hat off on a rafter beam.

“You’re a marvel, Wagner,” I shouted back over the thunder of our soldiers returning fire, twice as loud in the enclosed space. Munter flicked his ears, but to his credit did little else, as Wagner stroked his cheek. “Your Highness, sir, you’ll need to ride pillion, sir. Safest that way.”

I leaned down and offered my hand, and the lad scrambled up with surprising aplomb. I clapped Wagner on the shoulder. “See you when I get back, then!” I spurred the horse forward, leaning forward over his neck to duck the doorframe. “Mind your head, your Highness!”

“You bring Munter back in one piece or I’ll bury you with ‘im, you hear?” Wagner shouted after me, and I laughed more for the adrenaline rushing through me than for mirth. Gunfire echoing behind us, red sky above us, and the whining of the rift all around us, we galloped into the twilight. Toward the enemy ahead of us.