Abelar raised his hand for a halt and the whole of his force came to a stop along the rise. Only the soft chink of metal and the occasional whicker of a mount broke the silence. All eyes looked below them on the plain. Perhaps three long bowshots in the distance, a force of cavalry rode. They numbered perhaps twice that of Abelar’s company. Abelar could not make out their standard but he noted the color of their tabards— Ordulin’s green. A murmur moved through the men. Horses pawed the ground, snorted. Armor chinked as men shifted in their saddles. “The sun sets and rises, Abelar.” Regg said, a sharp edge in his tone. “That it does.” Regg said, “They are many to our few. Twice us, I’d say, but not the thousand we’d heard. What are they doing out here, I wonder?” Abelar knew the answer. “Forrin split his force to cut off retreat from Saerb. They’re angling around from the south. The rest of the army is hitting Saerb directly from the east.” “Forrin cannot be far from Saerb, then,”
