The group was at the northern gate before Batu arrived.
Kirsa had them dressed and ready in the dark, ten riders in total, their horses rested and loaded with a day's supply. No screen formation.
A small body moving with a destination.
Bayan was at the right edge with his horse's head angled outward, reading the open steppe beyond the gate.
Batu came through the camp with his right arm in the sling and mounted from the left side. He had done it every morning since the physician fitted the sling before the march north.
The horse stood still for it.
He took the lead without speaking and the group moved out through the gate.
The steppe ran south in the dark. Cold at this hour had the flat specific character of the night's last depth, the frost hard on every surface, the grass standing stiff along the track.
The horses moved at a steady pace, their breath rising white, the sound of their hooves on frozen ground clean and specific in the still air.
