Cool heads; now, there was one. She didn’t bat a lash at his query, just stared at him with those unsettling eyes and said, “Why should I assist you, Lord Vorax? It is not in my interest to give you tools with which to bargain.”

He shrugged. “Lady, your only chance lies in this battle. If I’m not satisfied with the negotiations, it will not happen. Do you want to take that chance?”

She turned her head. What thoughts were passing beneath that smooth white brow, he could not have said. “Is Lord Ingolin in the field?”

“Your Rivenlost Lord?” Vorax scratched his beard. He hadn’t picked him out from atop the crag, but the Ravensmirror had shown him leading the Host of the Ellylon. “Aye, Lady. He’s there.”

“Then tell them I said Meronil must have rung with the sound of horns this morning.” She spoke without deigning to look at him. “By that token, they will know I live.”

“Ladyship.” He bowed with an ironic flourish. “My thanks.”

He took his leave of her, accompanied by a pair of Havenguard. Tanaros had insisted upon it. The General might be hotheaded, but he was cautious of the Ellyl bitch’s safety. Wisely enough, since Vorax would as lief see her dead.

His escort was waiting at the Defile Gate; ten of his Staccians, a company of thirty Fjel including a pair of Kaldjager scouts, and the young Midlander Speros. Vorax had his doubts about the lad—he was untried, desert travail or no—but he knew when to hold the line and when to quibble. It was what made him a shrewd bargainer; that, and the fact that he didn’t look shrewd.

It felt strange to pass through the Gate, to abandon the safety of the thick walls and unscalable heights and enter the narrow Defile. There was little danger here—the Defile was well guarded from above—but it brought home the reality of the folly of his Lordship’s decision; aye, and the excitement, too. His skin crawled at the same time he found himself humming battle-paeans.

“If it be folly, let it be a glorious one,” he said aloud.

“Sir?” The Midlander glanced at him.

“Battle, lad. This battle.”

They passed through the Weavers’ Gulch without incident, the Kaldjager striding ahead to part the sticky veils. Vorax regarded the scuttling spiders with distaste. The Dreamspinner was fond of them, finding some arcane beauty in the patterns they wove. Small wonder he was mad, though it was a madness he shared with Lord Satoris. One of several, perhaps.