The battle began about ninety minutes later, when news reached the temporary camp set up by Medici on the southwest hill that enemy reinforcements would arrive before sunset.

The center and left wing advanced together, while the right wing initially remained in its positions, simultaneously engaging the First Corps and the Thirtieth "Unicorn" Legion.

Adrian had used the lay of the land very well, building the barriers so that they followed the line of the hill, and at the right distance that no matter which barricade took the brunt of the attack, it could always count on the support from other units. Furthermore, by placing his riflemen in the second lines, Marquis Longinus had ensured that they could take aim at the enemy without risking hitting their comrades further down.

This extremely compact and well-positioned formation immediately gave excellent results, forcing the Union army to make an expensive march across open ground and then climb up the ridge, constantly under fire from the defenders.

As a result, Lawrence's armies arrived at the confrontation already quite tired, and only the presence of the elite units prevented the attack from failing immediately.

The advance was initially much easier in the center, especially because the imperials could not count on firearms. But being closer to the banks and the two bridges, the no man's land in that area was within range of a small isolated battery on a rocky ridge overlooking the stream, which began to fire broadsides at the advancing soldiers, causing considerable damage.

However, the center was also the point of the line where Medici had brought together most of his elite units, who despite the bombardment remained in the ranks and engaged in hand-to-hand combat. At one point, a small portion of this line even tried to break away from the formation and head towards the ravine to attempt an outflanking, but found itself face to face with the Nineteenth Legion, which despite the numerical difference successfully created a blockade, thwarting the maneuver thanks to the narrow terrain.

After two hours of fighting the situation was still deadlocked, so Michael decided to open a third front and ordered the right wing to push towards the bridges.

Septimus naturally welcomed the new arrivals with cannon fire, turning the small triangle of land between the Via Magna, the road to the Castle and the bank of the stream into a sieve. And even if someone managed to reach the beginning of the bridge, the hundreds of riflemen positioned behind the barricades on the other bank were ready to welcome him with volleys of bullets.

The right wing attempted three assaults in the space of an hour, but all were repelled.

"It's useless, we can't go through there." said Lawrence

But Michael didn't seem to care, or at least not that much, and shortly thereafter he sent the order to the right wing to fall back.

At the same time, the center and left wing also began to lose ground, but if Adrian held his position Orestes decided to try to push, being able to count on the Allied cover on one side and that of the stream on the other.

As if waiting for nothing else, Septimus interpreted this as a clear sign that the battle had reached a turning point, and under his command a good part of the Second Corps descended from the hill crossing the northernmost bridge.

But it was just a deception.

Following the directions Michael had sent him, General Mart waited until Septimus' soldiers were well over the bridge, then ordered his men to immediately begin pushing again.

Caught completely off guard, Septimus' soldiers who had already crossed the bridge were attacked before they could form into battle formation, while the few still on the other bank were careful not to proceed any further.

And that was just the beginning, because shortly after the battle began, another large group of Union soldiers emerged from within the cornfield that almost completely covered the low southeast hill. They were soldiers from the third line that Mart, again following the President's suggestion, had secretly slipped behind his own lines, ordering them to remain stationary and wait the signal.

Once these new soldiers came out into the open, rather than joining the battle, they instead headed towards the small bridge further south. This time the cannons remained almost silent, considering that firing in that situation meant running the serious risk of hitting their allies.

But Medici had underestimated the power of Septimus' charisma, and what that boy was capable of doing with his mere presence.

Looking through the spyglass, Michael saw him wriggle free from his officers' grasp, leap onto his horse, and personally call the charge; spurred on by his example, the entire army followed him, rushing eagerly down the hill and thus succeeding in stopping the Union troops before they could successfully establish a bridgehead on the eastern bank.

The situation thus remained once again deadlocked along the entire battle front. On the right, the close fight for control of the bridges saw both forces unable to prevail over each other; on the left, the need to cover the center prevented the First Corps from leaving its defensive positions; and in the center, the impossibility of receiving help from both flanks was making any attempt to push further too dangerous.

But with reinforcements on the way, a stalemated battle was only playing into the hands of the defenders; and when it became clear that even if they prevailed, the Union troops would have neither the strength nor the time to consolidate their positions, Medici knew it was time to throw in the towel.

"That's enough. There's no use insisting. We've tried, and we failed. Sound the retreat."

Lawrence tried to object: "Mr. President, we still have time. Their left wing is exhausted, they may soon give way."

"Even if we take the eastern bank, if they remain masters of the field on this side, we won't be able to hold it. Haselworth and Lady Montgomery will be less than two hours away by now."

"We could try to destroy the bridges," Tom said.

"The siege convoys are still far away. Even though Haselworth has improved the road system, it's hard to move such monsters over this mountainous terrain. The rest of our army shouldn't be far away by now. Order the crossbowmen to cover the retreat. We'll regroup in the hills behind us."

The Northern Army's crossbowmen were known as the Walls of the Union, as they carried large rectangular shields on their backs to protect themselves while reloading. As the trumpets blared through the valley, the soldiers engaged in combat were able to fall back in order, well protected by their fellow shooters, and flee the battlefield without being pursued.

Just before Michael and his staff left the hill, the first advance guard of reinforcements from Eirinn appeared in the distance toward Basterwick.

In the end, Medici thought, they had retreated just in time.



"You, idiot!"

It was rare for Daemon to lose his temper like that, and Septimus couldn't remember ever seeing him so angry.

"I listened to your officers' account. They tried everything they could to dissuade you from attempting to cross the bridges, and in return you accused them of being cowards. Even a child would have noticed that trivial trick."

Septimus kept his head down, knowing he deserved the anger Daemon was pouring upon him. But he was Septimus, so he couldn't help but speak up.

"You always say to trust our instincts. I thought I could take advantage of the moment, and—"

"That wasn't instinct, just protagonism. The truth is that you were annoyed by having to obey Adrian and fight alongside General Orestes. I thought you had matured after all this time, but you are clearly still the impulsive and self-centered boy you were. I have news for you, we are no longer children playing war in our backyards. Our decisions affect the fate of entire nations and their peoples."

"I don't see why you should be so upset. In the end I still managed to sort out the situation, so everything went well-"

Daemon slammed his fist on the table so hard that the guard entered the tent, spear in hand, fearing an attack, only to retrace his steps after a simple glance.

"A man is nailed to a cross in Orestes' camp because you can't control yourself! If you've ever wondered why I didn't choose you for command, now you know the answer! Your stubbornness and immaturity were about to cost us everything!"

It took a few deep breaths and a glass of water, but Daemon finally calmed down. "If you weren't my best friend, and if this hadn't worked out, I would have you shot. But remember, I won't be so lenient next time. And consider yourself lucky that none of your officers I asked accepted my offer of promotion, or you'd have been demoted already. Now, scram."

Septimus walked away crestfallen and emotionally broken, passing Aria on the way in.

"Maybe you were too harsh on him."

"I didn't like telling him those things. I gave him an army not because he's my friend, but because I admire his courage and resourcefulness. But he needs to stop thinking that his actions have no consequences."

"Have you seen many friends die in the war?"

"More than you can imagine. And I don't want to lose any more. What news do you have?"

"It's as we suspected. Medici has set up camp further south, in the plains, and has received reinforcements. He has also taken control of some of the high ground."

"What's the mood of your men?"

"Still confused. I would have preferred Orestes not to have had to go this far to restore discipline, but as you said, we cannot afford any insubordination at this time."

They hadn't had much opportunity to spend time alone in the past few days, and in that rare moment of intimacy, the same memories came back to them both.

"It's very different from defending a village from a band of raiders."

"Not so much, actually. It's like in mathematics. Different values, same procedure; you analyze the problem, study the elements at your disposal, and when you have a clear idea of the situation, you formulate a theory. That's why I say that mathematics is a General's best friend."

"That seems too simplistic to me. The world is not so simple that its laws can be written down on parchment like a theorem."

"I agree. There's always room for the unexpected in war, and not even the most astute of Generals can foresee every eventuality. But believe it or not, a battlefield is nothing more than a chessboard. And since lives must be sacrificed in this madness, we might as well try to limit the losses."

"I'm not naive, I know very well that in war saving everyone is utopian. So, as you said, let's at least try to save as many as possible. What do you propose?"



It was quite common for Septimus to seek relief from his frustration at the bottom of a glass, and after such a dressing down all he wanted to do was to swallow a couple of pints.

At first, he felt offended, insulted and angry, but as the hours passed, the alcohol, instead of clouding his judgment, helped to clear his mind.

Looking back, he realized that up to that point his conduct as a General had been anything but admirable. He had always believed that the first duty of a commander was to inspire his men by setting a good example, and for this reason, he had never asked of any of them anything that he would not have done himself.

But this way of doing things, however useful it was in gaining the respect of his soldiers, had put him in danger several times, and it was not certain that luck would always give him a hand in making it out alive.

Daemon was not easy to fool, but thinking back now, the excuse he had used to justify his behavior in battle had been truly pitiful.

What strategy! What intuition! He had spent the whole night tossing and turning in his bunk, gnashing his teeth in rage at the thought of having to obey Adrian. Being sidelined from the battle had convinced him that the opportunistic fop had no faith in him, and was more interested in colluding with his Imperial friends than in wanting to do the right thing to win the battle.

Not to mention that Centurion, whose death he had felt responsible for from the first moment.

When he had seen the Union soldiers retreat, the first thing he had thought was that this would be the perfect opportunity to make those two arrogant nobles swallow all their self-confidence, showing them that he was more than capable of doing his part.

Now he understood that the position Adrian had assigned him was perhaps the most important of all, and for a matter of stupid pride, he had almost ruined everything.

Maybe his friend was right: he might have had the body of a young man on the threshold of adulthood, but inside he was still the child who threw stones at wild boars to appear brave and then ran away as soon as they charged. In short, it was as if he had never grown up.

"I feel like slapping myself right now," he said, downing his fifth glass of beer. "Daemon's right, I deserve to be shot."

Usually his confessor in these cases was Giselle, Oldrick, or one of his officers; but tonight there was the last person he would ever have imagined looking so forlorn drinking with him.

"I'm the one who almost screwed everything up, and yet you seem even more depressed than me. Is something wrong, Scalia?"

She glanced at the other tables, where soldiers from different armies were drinking together as if nothing was wrong, even humans and monsters.

"Are you okay with this?"

Septimus looked down as if ashamed. "I can't say I'm pleased, if only because these men are tied to an Empire I never believed in, even though I served it. I don't pretend to understand how you feel, because our stories are too different. I was born and raised free, and I joined the Imperial Army because I thought I could do good things for my people."

"I'm not judging you, Septimus. But all these Imperials... I bet a lot of them have slaves in their homes, and they just see us as monsters. How can Daemon ask me to fight alongside them? I thought the Revolution was more than that."

"Daemon has not renounced the Revolution, and he never will. I know that for sure. But think about it for a moment. Many of us were once soldiers of the Empire, too, including myself. Yet here we are. We have forgotten what divided us, and now we look only at what unites us. Do you remember that friend of mine, the one who surrendered after the first battle? I hear he was largely responsible for our victory at Arendt. We killed his brother that day, but that didn't stop him from risking everything for Daemon and the Revolution. What about the people of Eirinn? Thousands of them fight alongside us, yet we have killed many of them because of the war Victor wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"One of the first things you learn in war is that personal feelings are a soldier's worst companions. If you dwell on things like resentment or revenge, you end up going crazy. I thought I understood it, and instead at the first opportunity I pretended to forget about it. But what hurts me the most is that a man had to die to make me come to my senses."

Some noise drew the two's attention to a small group of Imperials and soldiers of the Grand Guard who were singing together to the tune of a famous ballad, accompanying the off-key strumming of a werewolf.

"Perhaps we just need to give them a chance after all. Our cause is just, Scalia. Maybe it doesn't take a war for others to see that. But we can't expect them to change if we aren't willing to do the same."

"You've become a philosopher, too? That must have been a great scolding."

"What do you want, Adrian? I'm not in the mood right now."

"You both need to come. Daemon and Lady Montgomery have called a Council."