Another year folded into the campaign, measured less by the turning of seasons than by the steady arrival of dispatches. The Majar plain still lay beyond the western hills, close enough that scouts had begun returning with reports of river crossings broad enough for an army this large, yet still far enough that no man could say when they would reach it. Batu's wing kept moving as fast as its wagons, herds, and supply trains allowed, the same pace it had held since Kiev.
Subutai still spent most mornings riding with the forward screen, as he always preferred when there was no city ahead worth planning around. Their talk rarely strayed beyond supply lines, river depths, forage, and whatever the next month's march would demand.
