The preparations that had occupied the camp through the night ended as they always did, with every man in place before dawn had fully broken. Frost still coated the ground when Batu rode onto the rise overlooking the Golden Gate. The morning air bit with cold, turning every breath into pale mist. His own drifted away only a short distance before fading, joining the clouds rising from the men and horses around him.
Few voices broke the silence. Everything worth saying had been decided the night before, when the ladders came down from the wagons and every rope had been checked twice.
Suuqai waited at Batu's shoulder with a dozen warriors from the Khar Kheshig, silent and ready.
