Khulgen had assembled the count through the night.
The field camp was still dark when the last relay rider came in with his unit's tallies and the sorted counts from the healer's line. Khulgen had the totals arranged on the felt by the time the light came up, and he arrived at the camp table without ceremony and set it in front of Batu.
The morning was cold. The camp sounds came through from every direction, the horse lines and the men moving between them, the low activity of a formation that had fought the day before and was not done yet.
The air still carried the dry smell of churned ground from the south, faint now but present.
Khulgen read the junction numbers first.
Chaidu's riders had lost one hundred and eighty dead. Ninety more were wounded badly enough that they couldn't ride under field conditions. A hundred and twenty had wounds they could manage from the saddle.
