Today all of them had thick scarlet sashes looped around their chests too. Green was the colour of the enemy militia, and it would not do to be mistaken for them.

The tall Terrarch officer found the farewells oddly moving. Men embraced their wives and children, and shouldered their packs and their rifles. Some of the camp followers wept and wailed, others maintained a stoic silence. His own paramour, the human woman Rena, met his eyes and gave him a wave. He gave her an icy nod in return and made a small gesture with the steel hook that replaced his sword hand. He would have liked to have done more but such was not the way things were between Terrarch officer and human woman. The Elder Race needed to maintain their dignity at all times, if they were to be taken seriously as leaders, and it would not do to have his men witness an undignified farewell between him and his lover.

What did it matter? Why should he care about dignity and position now? In a few minutes, he might be dead. But it did matter to him, so he restrained himself and gave his attention back to the conflict.

It was hard to tell what was going on. The line infantry had already been dispatched into the gaps in Halim's walls. He could hear the rattle of musket fire and the shouts and screams of combat. This was it, he thought, the final assault, the end of nearly four weeks of manoeuvring outside the Kharadrean capital. First the bastions surrounding the city had been taken, then the siege equipment had been rolled up onto the nearby hills and the levelling of the city walls had begun.

So far it had seemed almost too easy. There had been no interference from the Dark Empire. No massive eastern army had emerged to challenge the siege. It looked like the Talorean plan to have three armies sweep across the border, in different locations north to south, and encircle the capital had been successful.

Not entirely, he reminded himself. So far there was no sign of the Army of the North. It had not made the rendezvous, had been bogged down fighting guerrillas en route. Fortunately it looked like the combined forces of Lord Elakar's Army of the East and Lord Azaar's Army of the South would be strong enough to take their objective. By the end of this first campaigning season the Kharadrean capital would be in Talorean hands. It was a stunning victory for his nation.

Where were the Sardeans, he wondered? Why had they not shown their hand? Everyone had expected the armies of the Dark Empress to respond with full force but so far there had been nothing but vague reports of regiments moving in the very far east of Kharadrea. Had the Talorean strike been so unexpected? Had they achieved total surprise over their foes? Or had their enemies expected the Western armies to be delayed by other things.

That seemed possible. The Taloreans had been very lucky. The rising in the hills by the Prophet Zarahel and his followers could have pinned down Azaar's army for months had it not been successfully quelled. Lord Ilmarec could have held them forever at the Serpent Tower had he not been overcome in such a spectacular way by Asea's protégé, the half-breed soldier, Rik.

Sardec quashed a flash of jealousy. The half-breed's destruction of the Serpent Tower and his rescue of Kathea, the Talorean-supported candidate for the Kharadrean throne, from the clutches of her treacherous uncle had saved the campaign in the South from certain defeat. It had also completely overshadowed his own victory over Lord Esteril. It was the talk of the entire army and had turned the half-breed from an outcast into something like a hero. There was even talk of Queen Arielle herself recognising him for his services.

Sardec told himself that any such recognition was well deserved. Rik had saved them all from certain destruction at the hands of the mad sorcerer and his potent alien weaponry.