They rode in silence for a long while, or as much silence as a column of thousands could muster. Above them, the herald of the Crowned Bull of Kakunia snapped and groaned in the wind. Had Basil cared to turn his head, he would have seen his father's banners following behind, leading the long, undulating line of the legions.
The honor of the vanguard had been granted to the Kakunians; it was their mettle, after all, that had pulled the battle from the jaws of defeat. Basil still recalled the meeting in the command tent afterward. When his father had recounted the slaughter to his uncle, the silence in the room had been so thick you could have rolled a ball across it and had it come back to you.
It had been unbearable then, and it was becoming unbearable now.
