I resolved to know more.

  My upbringing had been focused on winning the Sword, not living as the Sword. Yes, I had read and read as a child. Yes, I had lived many battles during my first year of the Falling. I had a sense of the rhythm of battle. Balthazar had already shown me that the most pivotal component of command was not making mistakes. The genius stroke might turn a battle, but the overreach could cost far more than that.

  I resisted the urge to react. The knights cut into the ranks of the Green Men, parting them like a torrent of acid. The Green Men died by the hundred as the Power Weapons sang and the horses charged. I strained with tension. Knights were so rare and so precious, my stomach coiled, dreading the sight of even one of them falling. I observed, with calculation, the way the Green Men’s ranks flexed and bowed under the assault. These were not professional soldiers. When a man saw his neighbor on one side lose his head, his neighbor on the other side die from the blow of a hoof, and felt his own thrust bounce impotently from the armor of his target, his spirit weakened.

  Professional soldiers, like the forces we employed, were drilled hard for this. Professional soldiers knew that turning away brought greater danger, that the rout spelled doom for them all.

  These were not professional soldiers.

  The Green Man detachment felt like a mob. As the wedge cut through them, some men scrambled and tore to reach the first rank, desperate for a chance to slay one of the knights, fervent zeal frothing from their mouths. Others, seeing the reality of their adversary, tumbled and fought to fall back from the mounted reapers.

  Numbers. I needed numbers. What portion of Boston’s forces were here? What portion of the Green Men? There had been briefings, but I had been a poor student, distracted by everything else. I cursed myself and committed to know the situation better. Balthazar had stretched our resources to increase the standing forces, the professional forces, of the city. I felt that most lands could field twenty to fifty thousand trained soldiers. My memory hinted that we could employ seventy thousand in total. I needed to know what portion remained here, how much I gambled with, how much it would risk our war effort if we rolled the dice and lost. There would not be time to train more men before this war was out.

  Olaf spoke urgently. “What are you doing, Ti? We’ve got to do something.”

  I didn’t answer at first. I understood the urgency, the panic that tugged at him. I felt it too. But there was more to be lost through error than there was to be gained through heroics. The front line of our infantry chewed up the waves of the Green Men pushing up the slope, though the weight of them seemed inevitable. Much of our force stood disengaged, ready to act as reserve or to make retreat. The Lords here had made the same assessment I originally had, and had sent detachments to preserve the option of withdrawal.

  My heart fluttered for a moment at how it must feel to be part of that front line, understanding that you fought not to win, but to ensure escape for your comrades. It was valorous and brave, but it didn’t leave your children any less orphaned.

  I shouted to Olaf, “How many men are in your train?”

  As I asked it, I stared across the field, using SIGHT to see the engagement on the slopes on the far side of the city. There, as here, a horde of Green Men had been deposited by Griidlords we couldn’t have known they possessed. There, as here, the outcome hinged on the next decisions.

  Olaf said, “Four thousand regulars and a couple hundred knights.”

  The same as we had arrayed before us. More than a tenth of all the soldiers in the land were at risk here. It was more significant than that. These were among the best of the troops, Balthazar wanting to employ a force that could punch hard while moving fast with just two Griidlords.

  Olaf shifted from foot to foot, uneasy with our inaction. “Maybe I should have split off to get back to them. They’ve got two suits in support.”

  I shook my head. “The forces here are precious, but we need to acknowledge that you and I are more precious still. Madness is at work here. There are more Griidlords on the field than there should be. We’d be vulnerable alone. Whatever else happens, Buffalo has lost two. That’s irreplaceable in the time frame before us.”

  The emotion in his voice was raw. “Ti… what are we doing now? We can’t just stand here.”

  It might have felt like an eternity, but we had barely been standing by for two minutes. I said, “Not one knight has fallen yet. Lance’s charge is working. I hate it, but his impulse is giving us a chance. Their lines are shifting, wavering, taking pressure off the front up here.”

  I ground my teeth. To commit and win would potentially cause a full rout and give us the chance to trim their numbers substantially. To commit and lose would cost us a massive portion of our fighting potential in a war where we would be spread painfully thin at best. But withdrawing would give the Green Men full access to our lands.

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  How many Green Men was I looking at? It seemed endless, like a tide rising up the hill. Twenty thousand men? More?

  I said, “This mob isn’t going to overrun us quickly. The same goes for the force you left on the opposite hill. Given time, the weight of their numbers is nearly guaranteed to crush us, to encircle both deployments. But our boys aren’t going to break quickly. We need to deal with this deployment quickly and carefully. We’ll have time to cross the valley and rescue the deployment there as well.”

  Olaf’s massive armored shoulders swelled with restrained eagerness.

  I narrowed my eyes, still searching. “I need to know how many Griidlords remain here. There must be at least three, one for each assault, and Perdinger as well, no? I don’t see them fighting.”

  Olaf said, “If Perdinger reported what you did to the two who attacked you, if they know their numbers are so thinned, they might be keeping out of the action as we are, to preserve the option of retreating.”

  I ground out, “They’re the biggest concern. Their fields can move another force to our flank quickly. They could strike us themselves or move to collapse a wing. If I just knew…”

  I clenched my teeth. I felt like they would shatter.

  I wondered if it could feel my sense of scorn. It would give, and I would give, until it wanted more, then it would just pile pressure on. It had wielded Pike Jaxwulf to teach me a lesson. I wouldn’t give it anything lightly again.

  I squeezed my fist tight. I strained to take action. We were holding, but nonetheless, our soldiers were dying before me. I wanted to bargain for the city, but I knew what I really wanted.

  Hesitation.

  Silence again. I took that as an affirmative.

  Thousands of Green Men were moving to encircle us, spreading to the left of our line. That’s what they needed. Right now they were bunched and powerless, the weight of their numbers just feeding the machine of our front line. But if they could come around, deploy more of their weight, things would change badly. More of our reserves moved to engage. The front line thinned to try to contain them. Men screamed, roared. The copper tang of blood flooded my Griid-suit heightened senses. I watched a Green Man slip in the mud that had been churned from the body fluids of the dead, watched a spear take him on the ground. It was a grimly satisfying moment, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how much Boston blood was whipped into that mud.

  Silence again. Thinking. My eyes hunted the throngs for a Griidlord, for the ambush that awaited me and Olaf if we joined the fight. I fired BEAM a few times, plucking at the chaos around the wedge of knights, trying to keep them alive. I seethed that Lance had taken the initiative and proven his choice right so far.

  Enki’s voice shifted intensity to that gleeful madness I knew too well.

  So many questions. How did Enki know this? How much did Enki know about them? Could it sense their feelings as it could mine? Could it talk to them, influence them? Did it need a heightened connection with the suit, the Griid, as I and its chosen had to communicate? Where had these Griidlords come from? Was Boston facing a coalition?

  There would be time later for those questions. What mattered now was that I could commit. I would not be squandering Olaf or myself by joining the fray. The elation was real. The excitement was crystal. But a heavy pall hung over me as I understood that I would once again become the harvester of mortal flesh.

  I drew my sword and grasped Olaf’s shoulder. “Charge.”