After many days of marching, the army of Count Gaynes arrived at the main camp of the Coalition forces.

Almost three hundred thousand soldiers were gathered in the plains just in front of the walled mountain passes that led into the Royal Capital, a veritable fortress guarded not only by the height of its walls, but the impassable mountains surrounding it.

Prospero and Nora spent most of their time mingling among their contingents, attempting to gauge the morale of the common troops. After many days of marching with no combat, and ever dwindling rations, the enthusiasm and energy of even the most eager troops was steadily draining from their hearts.

On the first morning after they arrived, Prospero and Izra left camp with Count Gaynes and his retinue to attend upon the Council of Lords, where it was to be decided what role each of the Coalition’s most significant members would serve in the coming battle. When they arrived, Izra was invited to join the petty lords at a feast, while Count Gaynes was invited to sit with the Council. Prospero was left in an audience chamber with a number of other petty officers who awaited word from their superiors.

Knowing what he knew now about the way the nobility conducted military affairs, Prospero assumed this would be the first and perhaps the most important battle for each of them, as they jockeyed for a position that would enable them to win the most merit for their contributions, as each looked forward to the rewards they would be lavished with by their child King and his Court when they liberated them from the clutches of the tyrant Mikello Alaric.

“Report!” a soldier shouted, darting into the chamber where Prospero and the other petty officers were.

Everyone turned lazily to regard the messenger. They assumed he brought news of which offices the nobles had been assigned by the Council.

“The enemy is here! A host of one hundred thousand has ridden out of Stone Shield Pass!”

“Surely they realize how outnumbered they are,” one of the petty officers said with a laugh.

Prospero’s face turned grim. The enemy was unified under one banner, with a cohesive chain of command. Even if they were outnumbered one to three, the enemy would no doubt have an easy time dividing and conquering the Coalition forces one by one.

“No, they have the advantage of cohesion and organizational structure. Things are about to get rough. We should each to our contingents,” Prospero said authoritatively. “We must help to coordinate their defense until the Lords can be bothered to take command again.”

“Who are you, common mage, who dares to give orders to officials and nobles with true ranks and titles? We await the instructions of our Lords. Usurp command at your own peril.”

Shit, Prospero thought. That’s going to be exactly the problem.

Prospero raced to gather the Canthari Contingent. Nora appeared, abandoning the Southaster Contingent to join up with him. The two rode at the head of just over fifty shield and spear infantry and just more than fifty archers.

Prospero traced his hand down a page in his book. Swirls of blue magical energy coalesced and solidified into a large, black raven that perched on his shoulder. His eyes turned solid black, just like the bird’s eyes, as it beat its wings and took flight high into the sky.

“What do you see, Prospero?” Sergeant Marlon asked.

“The enemy have a large host of cavalry among their ranks,” Prospero answered, his void-like gaze vacant, though his face moved and he squinted as if trying to ascertain the details of a scene he himself beheld. “It seems they are sending lightly armored shock cavalry to harass the troops in the westernmost of our forces’ camps.”

“What shall we do? Should we wait for Master Eurytus to return?”

“No. Quick march to reinforce. Nora, keep back twelve troops in reserve to defend our camp and supplies from theft. The rest of us shall test our new formations against the enemy raiders. Sergeants, are each of your bands fully trained per the schedule I set?”

“Yes sir,” called a small chorus of unofficial leaders from among the conscripts.

“Good. Let’s be on our way.”

As the Canthari contingent arrived on the scene of the battle, they found their allies struggling to mount a defense from within their walls. The enemy raiders threw torches against their palisades and over the wall into their camp, causing chaos as fires erupted.

The men and women of Canthari marched onto the scene through blankets of thick black smoke.

“Soldiers!” Prospero said, raising his voice in command. “Tortoise Shell!”

With a loud cheer in unison, one hundred troops formed a tight circle formation, making and bracing a wall of tower shields, and hefting further shields on top to protect from rider’s lances and stray arrows.

The raider cavalry took notice of this new force that had arrived on the scene. Half of their number broke off their attack on the camp to address the new enemy, while half remained to keep the other force trapped within their burning walls.

Their formation was small. As the cavalry rushed toward it, they formed into a wedge to direct the whole of their mass at the small mass of troops behind a single point in the shield wall.

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“Sir, we won’t be able to stop them!” one of the troops shouted.

“Yes we will,” Prospero said with stalwart inflection. “Archers, loose!”

A volley of arrows shot freely from the center of the ring, into the tightly massed center of the enemy cavalry formation. Their effect against the speedy, light raider cavalry was immense and immediate, as men, women, and horses toppled over dead, causing collisions and mayhem inside the wedge formation.

They continued their charge. Prospero watched as the men bracing the shield wall in that direction got panicky. They lacked the experience required to have full confidence, and their flightiness might prove to be lethal in this moment for he and the rest of the Canthari contingent. It was time to inspire a little hope within them.

In the last moments, Prospero slid into the wall formation right beside the infantrymen bracing the shields. He elegantly swept his hand down one of the pages in his book, and the geometry began to glow an amber shade.

Just as the cavalry closed with their formation, stout walls of solid rock shot up around the shield wall. The cavalry smashed into the rock at full speed. Prospero heard the snapping of bones and spears. It didn’t happen all at once. The cavalry were moving too quickly, and in too tight a formation, to stop in time. The gruesome sounds of harm and death on the far side of the opaque stone wall came like sheets of rain on a windshield, again and again. When the heavy thuds stopped, Prospero broke his concentration on the spell, and his stone walls crumbled into boulders, making a ring of difficult, rocky terrain around the Canthari formation.

Most of the cavalry were on the ground, wounded. Some had managed to break off, and were running to circle back at full speed. The other half of the local enemy force was nowhere to be seen as the smoke thickened.

“Break formation, dispatch the enemy on the ground!” Prospero called. “Archers, target the remaining cavalry.”

The shield wall vanished, and a ring of soldiers armed with shields and spears appeared in its place. Prospero thought about calling out his catchphrase Mercy to the Unarmed. But that was a luxury they didn’t have today. They didn’t have facilities for prisoners, nor could they easily retreat, nor could they deal with the rest of the enemy if they were busy policing surrendered captives.

At least drawing some blood will help to harden the troops, Prospero thought. This will prepare them for the reality of war.

The Canthari Contingent annihilated the raider cavalry, then formed up again and went on the offensive, using the same tactics to defeat the remainder of the local enemy forces.

“Canthari!” Prospero called. “Gather soil to extinguish the flames!”

The troops got to work, extinguishing the burning wall of their allies’ camp. Prospero assisted them, conjuring gouts of elemental water and flinging them onto the largest of the flames. As they worked, the camp’s gates finally opened, and the exhausted petty officer in command stumbled out and began asking around. The Canthari troops eventually directed him to Prospero’s side.

Prospero stopped his work and stowed his spellbook in its holster as the man drew near. He smiled and held out a hand. The man gripped his forearm in a Northern soldier’s customary greeting. “You fight like demons, to cut down such a host with so few troops.”

“We do our best,” Prospero said proudly. “My name is Prospero of Canthari,” he said. It was the first time he had introduced Canthari as his home. But since this was a Northerner, it was best not to suggest he was from Avinstown, as his initial lie might be uncovered. No one from Canthari was going to correct him. They were proud to call him their neighbor.

“Prospero, well met. I will mark your name. I am Tekesh of Bailiff’s Green. I lead the men of our village, who serve at the call of General Bryson. When the enemy arrived, he was away at the Lords’ Council. I dread to think what shame may have befallen him if you had not arrived to save us.”

“Never mind his shame, my friend. Fear for what might have happened to the innocent people in his service. Have you any casualties within the walls?”

“Scant few. Our supply train was destroyed though. Most of the provisions we brought from home went up in smoke almost as soon as the attack began. I hope the other lords will help to keep us fed while the fighting continues.”

“I hope that as well. I will confer with my master to request that Count Gaynes send relief to you, though I’m afraid I am only a commoner and a petty officer. I have seen that my words are not often heeded by my nobler colleagues.”

“Pah, that’d be putting it lightly. I share in your frustrations, Prospero. Thank you again. We can take this from here. I look forward to fighting alongside you in the future. Maybe we’ll have a chance to show our stuff too.”

“I’m sure you will. Take care, Tekesh. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The burly officer bowed his head and walked back inside his camp. In time, his own troops emerged from the camp to take over the work of putting out the last of the fires. Prospero rallied his troops and began to move across the plain toward their own camp.

When they arrived, Izra was waiting for him. “Prospero, we must speak urgently,” the soft scholar said, waving a hand toward his tent.

Prospero joined him within. Izra’s tent was spacious and comfortable. The ground was covered in soft mats, and a coal brazier kept the space nice and warm. Izra sat down and shook his head.

“Count Gaynes was not pleased with your actions today.”

“No?” Prospero asked, less concerned than confused.

“No. The Northern military commander, General Bryson, is a well-known war hero. He and his veteran troops are among the best warriors in the Coalition.”

“Then I should think it even more valuable that we saved their lives. They sound like good friends to have.”

“I agree, but you have to see things through a politician’s view. Bryson has wrangled the position of Vanguard General from the council. At the front of our advance, he and his elite troops will stand to win the most merit of us all. Today, the enemy attacked Bryson’s supply depot, and you rescued it without orders to do so. Now, if Bryson’s troops win the entire battle for us, he will reap all of the reward, and Gaynes will get nothing.”

“So, that is what this Coalition is to be. I feared as much. How reckless these ‘great men’ can afford to be with the lives of the men and women who serve at their behest. It disgusts me.”

Izra quickly shushed Prospero, looking around like a panic-stricken, traumatized man. “Never speak this way!” he whispered in admonishment. “Do you think our camp is a safe place to disparage our liege lord?!”

Prospero sighed. “No, of course. Forgive me, Master Izra, I only cannot abide his callous disregard for the people’s well being,” he said, lowing his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

Izra sighed his usual exasperated sigh and went to pour heated wine for Prospero. “This is the way the world is, Prospero. Gaynes is a man of ambition. He will always seek to manipulate situations into shapes that serve his desires best.”

“Am I at risk?”

Izra took a long sip of wine. “No, but you certainly lost whatever favor you had with him. He can’t openly admonish you for heroic feats without openly showing the rest of the Coalition that he is thinking of himself. Instead, he will likely ‘reward’ you with a promotion that keeps you far away from the fighting, so that you do not cause him any further headaches.”

“Of course,” Prospero said ruefully. “Out of curiosity, has the Lords’ Council decided what role Count Gaynes is to take?”

“He is to be Coalition Quartermaster, responsible for managing the defense, storage, and delivery of our collective supplies between camp and the front lines.”

Oh no, Prospero thought, his expression falling to one of despair. Tekesh and his troops are going to starve.