The Second Empire: Monarchies of God Bk. 4 (Gollancz S.F.) by Paul Kearney

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It helped him think, he said. That was why they were up here now, insects scurrying along the backbone of a slumbering stone giant, Charibon spread out below them like a toy city. The Sea of Tor was still frozen about its margins, and Betanza could see crowds of the local people out fishing on the ice. The winter had been hard on them, and harder still was the billeting in their homes of troops. Lines of soldiers marched into Charibon every day, it seemed. The monastery-city was becoming an armed camp.

Tradition. Its wheels turn on tyrelessly even in a time like this. But it gave him a space to think, if nothing else. Two days since the great battle of the Torunnan Plain. “The King’s Battle” they were already calling it. Odd how people always thought it so important that a battle should have a name. It gave some strange coherence to what was, after all, a chaotic, slaughterous nightmare. Historians needed things neater, it seemed. Twenty-seven thousand men left to defend the capital—the Last Army.

Don’t be a fool. You hear the crowds? ” It was slipping away—she could feel it. Somehow Golophin and Isolla had stymied her. But how? The question was soon answered. There was a deafening blare of horns outside and the clatter of many horses. A Royal fanfare was blown over and over. Beyond the great double doors of the refectory they could hear the tramp of feet marching in step. Then a sonorous boom as someone struck the doors from the outside. ” A group of timorous retainers belonging to Urbino’s household stood there, unsure.