The noise and motion of the camp fell along with the day, and when it was dark, the camp became quiet. There were over twelve hundred horses and yet a traveler in the dark could have passed by without knowing. While his men prayed to the Field God, Sarengerel let his mind drift to where it often drifted, to Perenenda. Months had passed since he last saw her. Though he had gone off to war before, this was the longest he had been away from her. He found it odd that fate would force them apart for so long after they became man and wife and were finally allowed to be together.

The thought of their wedding day brought a smile to him. He remembered the gold embroidery of her blue dress, the pale pink gardenias woven into her dark hair like a crown, the rosy blush upon her warm cheek. She looked and smelled like a spring garden. Most of all, he remembered her eyes. From head to toe, she was inviting, open, charming. But her eyes, they were deep and grey and haunting. He had gotten lost in them so many times, even when they were children. She used to hate the grey as it made her different from the dark eyes of of her family. As she grew older, she knew it meant she was supposed to be different. Through the summer lessons with his mother, the Lady Namsuren, they all learned that she had a rare talent in connecting people’s hearts to purpose, and that she was meant to be greater than even a princess.

The stars were beginning to appear in the clear sky. Sarengerel looked west and waited for Besenyasha to appear. Besenyasha, the daughter of the Foam God, was the patron saint of merchants, the demi-goddess who held people to their promises. While all the stars stayed fixed in their constellation, Besenyasha was the only star that moved across the sky every night, and when the moment afforded it they would lie still until the Foam God’s daughter revealed herself in the sky. Promise me before Besenyasha, Perenenda had said to him when the moving star had finally appeared. Promise me you will return to me whole and unspoiled by war. He could make no such promise. He only promised that he would return to her in this world or the next. He held her as she wept.

He had looked for the star again, later in the open courtyards Kienne while he waited for Menquist to arrive from the Scales. He thought then of how Perenenda must have felt, having her new husband leave after their wedding day. He thought of all the promises that he made to her as a child, how he promised to be a mighty warrior, or that he would lead her father's men in battle, or that he would win her hand in marriage. He had kept every promise, and yet there was only that one promise he could not make, which was to come home. Surely, Sornam the Peer would be watching over her now as he and Menquist had instructed him to do. He knew her to be at times rash and ambitious toward satisfying her impulses, so he was grateful when Menquist offered the Peer and the boy to watch over the princess. Sornam had asked for the best way to be in her service, and Sarengerel told him that there were many traveling merchants in Neredun, that he and the boy could pose as such.

He knew much about the abilities of the Peers through the countless discussions with Menquist over the years. He knew that under Sornam’s watch, she would be safe. It was the start of summer, the floods would have begun. He thought of how she liked to wear her hair during the humid summers, with braids running down and pinned behind her. He thought of the time they laid together on the field of grass and leaves, with her staring at the sky and with him looking into her haunting grey eyes. On this night he stared by himself at where he knew Besenyasha would be and waited for the slow trek across the sky.

As it grew darker the campfires burned brighter. He thought for a moment of the night before his first battle, all those years ago before he took the field against the Berenmen. It was just as quiet then, but it had been much darker. The fires continued to burn, brighter and bigger.

Sarengerel then realized the fires were too big. There were bonfires in the distance, and soon the shouting echoed through the night, killing the silence. The camp was on fire.

Sarengerel sprinted back to the tent where his men were gathered. “Hananisus, sound the alarm. We are under attack.”

Hananisus stepped out of the tent and blew on his goat horn in the customary three long blasts signifying an attack. The men mounted their horses and gathered around Sarengerel.

“There will bound to be a lot of confusion,” he told his riders. "Ride in pairs wide around the perimeter of camp, make sure there are no saboteurs nearby. As you circle the camp, remind the soldiers to keep order."

Sarengerel rode to Delger's tent. The captain was barking orders to his men. "We have to abandon the camp," Sarengerel said. "We cannot expend resources in fighting the fire if we are to also fight the Isnumurti. We need to gather our troops in the northern fields."

"That is exactly what Gnonobod wants," Delger said. "The northern fields are an ambush waiting for us to regroup. We need to attack now, straight away down the hill."

"That is also what he wants," Sarengerel said. "Our horses will be weary from the descent while his forces are well rested."

"He has the advantage, no matter our course of action," Delger said. "We might as well press now. Are you not tired of idling away the hour?”

Sarengerel nodded. Delger gave the order and his lieutenant blew on his buffalo horn, sounding three deep, short blasts, waiting and sounding three more short blasts. Soon other horns sounded the same pattern in return until horns trumpeted in unison. All at once the sound of horns ended. Delger blew on his own horn three times in a higher note and the sound of hooves began.

It started as a rumble but grew to a thundering force that shook the ground. Wave after wave of the thunder passed by Sarengerel, some of the riders carrying torches. He had to rub his horse on the top of her neck to keep her calm. When the thunder passed him, the Aredunian infantry charged down the hill, the torches dancing down the battlefield. The Field Riders rallied to their general. "Remember the plan,” Sarengerel told them. “Though we ride down the hill, our role remains the same.”

The Field Riders held firm to their bows and followed the Winged Spears down the rocky hill, with the infantry and archers following closely behind. When Sarengerel got to the bottom of the hill, the Winged Spears were already riding in a loose and wide formation on the uneven ground. Sarengerel reminded his men to keep to the rear.

The Isnumurti had constructed barricades of sharpened logs. The Winged Spears circled their side of the battlefield, unable to break through the barricades.

Delger rode back to Sarengerel. “The enemy must have hastily put these together after lighting our camp on fire. They do not appear to be too steady, but enough to break the flow of our horses in the dark.”

“We need to destroy them, or make them seen in the dark,” Sarengerel said.

“We can do both,” Delger said. “The Spears carry flasks of oil for such a purpose. Get the arrows from our archers lit, and when I give the signal, we’ll loose them to the barricades. Galbrey! Get some flasks of oil to the archers!”

Sarengerel nodded and rode off to the archers. Galbrey and a few others were dousing the tips of arrows in oil.

“Ready the oil!” Sarengerel heard a call from the distance.

"Oil!" voices shouted back shouted back.

A stream of riders formed a fast line while the remaining riders held fast to the middle. The line rode with their shields facing the Isnumurti. The beating of drums began. As they rode past the defense, they flung bottles of oil at several spiked logs. Sarengerel raised his hand and Galbrey lit the nocked arrows with a torch. “Aim for the barricades!” Sarengerel cried as he dropped his hand. Over a hundred burning arrows lit up the night, many finding the spiked logs. After the second round of arrows, most of the spiked logs were burning.

Several Isnumurti soldiers who had been hiding by the barricades started running away from the burning logs, some of them on fire themselves.

The barricades roared in flames, the embers flickering up the night sky. Sarengerel thought of all the promises he needed to keep. The fires masked the night sky and hid all the stars.

Delger drew his sword. “This will not be your last song, but theirs,” he said to Sarengerel as he charged down the battlefield.