I was calmer than I expected to be.

  This Orb was a doozy. We had seen it descending only a few miles from base. From the moment it emerged from the clouds on its lazy journey to Earth, even I had been able to perceive its size. Chowwick had speculated that it could be worth as much as 25 Flows, the maximum for an unlocked Orb. Alya had said that it looked to contain key fragments. I found this hard to perceive, but she said there was a pattern to the swirling colors that seemed consistent with Orbs that contained key fragments.

  The Orb had sunk exceptionally slowly over a wide, open stretch of land. It gave us time to move, not just as a squad of Griidlords but with a substantial field army as well.

  It also gave others the chance to do the same.

  Now I stood on a small rise, looking across a valley floor. Less than a mile distant stood the Orb. The forces arrayed before me marched quickly. Across the valley, about the same distance again from the Orb, were the forces of Indianapolis.

  There was a game to be played in the next minutes. Orbs projected Order Fields. Getting close enough to an Orb would allow soldiers equipped with higher Order weapons to use them. An auto-rifle was a terrific and terrible advantage in a battle where the average soldier had nothing more advanced than a sword and shield.

  But there was a risk to overextending. Specialized firearms soldiers would be the easiest of meats for a spear charge. They couldn’t dash into the open and hope to reach the Order Field without expecting to be shredded by a cavalry charge. So the armies faced off, thousands of feet rapidly chewing the ground as commanders on both sides played a deadly game of chess with living people.

  I stood aside from that. I was alone. We had spread our Griidlords out across the army, hoping to use them to greatest advantage. A Griidlord might slay a thousand men in the heat of battle, but they were rarely employed like that. One lucky blade sliding into a Griidlord’s armor at the right angle would prove that god to be as mortal as any man, and hundreds more ravenous blades descending on a suit would mean likely death.

  Chowwick had resisted the strategy I had laid out to them before the battle. He had wanted to be near me. He knew I would be seen as a weak link and a high-value target if I stood alone. That was partly what I was counting on. I might have been learning the virtues of patience, the logic of timely withdrawal, but I couldn’t resist the prize that lay before us. Capturing this Orb in this one day would equal half of what Boston had harvested in the entire previous year.

  Alya was hidden among the archers. Her shining form was wrapped in a nondescript cloak. We could use her if we needed, if she could really turn the tide, but it had been decided wise to conceal her presence. For now, she was a secret weapon. There was much speculation about how other forces would react once they knew she was on the field. There was fear it would unite other factions against us for violating tradition. There was fear it would provoke other factions into deploying their Scepter. There was very real concern it would provoke enemy Griidlords to make a concerted effort to destroy her vulnerable suit—and her along with it.

  Horns sounded from the Indianapolis lines, and a charge began. Horns flared from the Boston forces arrayed below me, and men rushed in response.

  In a sense, this would be no different from the encounters I had already faced. It did no city good to claim a pyrrhic victory. Once the balance of the battle had shifted, we could expect to see our forces—or our enemy’s—withdraw.

  In another sense, it was very different from my previous experiences. Thousands of men would fight on the field before me. Many would die. I was to be the overseer of this slaughter.

  Then chaos consumed the field. The ordered ranks and organized units began to melt. Indianapolis was known for its cavalry, and wings of horses folded across the battlefield to try and deny our firearm soldiers from reaching the Order field of the Orb.

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  Before I had even processed it, I became aware of walls of men smashing into each other further down the line. The enhanced sense of my suit punished me with sights and sounds. Edged metal met yielding flesh over and over, the screams and sounds of butchering filled my helmet. Soon, the scents of blood and shit and viscera were also pumping into my brain.

  Tara ran into the opposing Arrow as they each tried to flank the enemy ranks. The clash was a sudden fury, their quick suits lashing into each other madly. I Boosted her, and the Sword across the field boosted the Indianapolis Arrow.

  I could not spare thought to the fact that the opposing Sword was Morningstar. His power was a growing legend. I knew I had no chance at facing him myself. But if the battle played to our advantage, would I be able to press the attack on him if he was under pressure from Magneblade? What was this madness of our world that I could be forced to wound or fight or kill a man that I knew and admired?

  I didn’t turn my head as I caught the awareness of a Footfield activating. I knew what was coming. The Axe on the other side of the battlefield had used a short burst of the Field to close the distance. He wouldn’t dare employ it near lines of troops for fear of entanglement. But he could use it to cut the distance between him and his prey.

  I was the focus of his attention. I knew I would be. I was isolated and alone.

  Magneblade moved to join Tara. It was fortuitous, maybe. Between them, they would have a chance to defeat or force the knee of the other Arrow. As strong as Morningstar was, this battle could be quickly decided if we upset the balance in the numbers of opposing Griidlords.

  The enemy Shield stood close to Morningstar. Chowwick had wanted to do the same, but I had insisted. The older man was trying to respect me. He hated my choice of action, but he bowed to tradition. He would have fought me harder, but he didn’t want to diminish my authority before others. It was utter silliness that youth like me should be the leader of beings like this, but the tradition was long entrenched.

  And so, while the Indy Shield stood guard over Morningstar, and the Indy Axe came racing across the field for me, Tara and Magneblade gained advantage over the Indy Arrow.

  Chowwick worked the field. One of his skills was called Bubblefield. It allowed him to expand the protective properties of his suit to encapsulate about a hundred men. He waded into the fighting, ferrying a hundred riflemen toward the Orb. Knights charged him and died for their bravery.

  Watching a Griidlord carve a path through mortal men was something I wasn’t capable of. The carnage was almost indescribable. Stout men and strong horses turned to paste under the pulses of his terrible shield.

  The battle was fury now. The Orb was prize enough for both sides to risk much. Lines of swords and spears clashed. The sounds of metal on metal, the shouts and screams, the smell of gore—it filled the air. I felt deafened by the sights and smells as much as by the sounds that filled my ears.

  Through the churned mud, the figure raced at me, hungry for prey, axe raised high.

  We had gambled by committing Chowwick like this. We had gambled by putting two Griidlords on one wing. I imagined Morningstar’s frustration. He couldn’t have predicted a conservative force like Boston deploying in this manner. He surely couldn’t have fathomed that an army under a rookie like me would take such daring risks.

  But the initial moments of the battle were in our favor. The risk could have cost us dearly, but for now, it was more than worth it.

  The Axe was less than fifty feet from me, coming to punish my gamble. Take the Sword and scatter the army, undo the inches we had earned.

  The crack of rifles was alien among the ringing of steel and the thundering of horses. I needed to keep the Axe in the corner of my eye, but I twitched, saw Chowwick at the Orb, the riflemen firing into Indy ranks.

  As brutal as sword-on-sword might be, there was a tragedy in every bullet. The guns bought and sold lives so easily, so cheaply. The Indy ranks convulsed and wheeled in response, a fresh cavalry charge mounted.

  The ground drank the blood of the fallen. Everywhere, men died because the world saw the Falling as a zero-sum game.

  The Axe was on me. He came in fast. He was driven by the predatory hunger of his type. He was driven by the urgent need to turn the tide of a battle that had surprisingly gone our way. He was excited at the prospect of a vulnerable green rookie Sword who had so stupidly exposed himself.

  The Axe charged me with total abandon, my attention seemingly elsewhere, his terrible glowing weapon held high. The blow might have killed me.

  I used Axe-break.