Malthus, Ingolin, Aracus; Haomane’s Counselor, the Lord of the Rivenlost, and the Scion of Altorus. Vorax took their measure as they approached, riding from sunlight into the mountain’s shadow. Their escort fanned out in a loose circle. His remained where they stood; shields high, bristling with weapons. The pale blue oriflamme in Speros’ hands trembled, then steadied.

“Vorax of Staccia!” Aracus Altorus’ voice was hard and taut. One hand rested on the hilt of his ancestral sword, drawing attention to the dull red gem set in its pommel. “We have come to demand that the Lady Cerelinde be restored to us.”

Vorax laughed. “Why, so you have, little Man. Will you go if she is?”

It made the would-be King of the West uncertain; he frowned hard, staring. Malthus the Counselor exchanged a glance with Ingolin the Wise and shook his whitemaned head.

“Vorax.” His voice was gentle; almost kind. The clear Soumanië on his breast sparkled. “Do not insult us with false promises. Your Dark Lord knows what we are about. Why does he send you? What is his will?”

Vorax smiled. It was always good to establish the principal agent in any bargain. “One that should please you, wizard. For a small price, it is his Lordship’s will to give you what you desire.”

“Cerelinde!” Aracus Altorus breathed.

“War,” the Rivenlost Lord said gravely.

“War,” Vorax said, agreeing with the latter. Broadening his smile, he opened his arms. “What else have you courted so assiduously? You have swayed him, wizard; you have swayed us all! His Lordship is willing to meet the forces of Haomane’s Allies upon the plain. And yet, we must have certain assurances.”

Aracus Altorus raised his brows. “Why should we bargain with you?”

“Ah, little Man!” Vorax bent a benign glance upon him. “Do you see these heights?” He pointed toward the Gorgantus Mountains. “They cannot be scaled. There is but one passage, and believe me, if you believe nothing else I say, when I tell you it is well guarded. You have no leverage here.”

“What is the Sunderer’s price?” Malthus asked.

“Fall back.” Vorax shrugged. “As I said, it is a small one. You seek battle; his Lordship is willing to give it. Fall back … half a league, no more. Allow our forces to assemble and meet yours in fair combat upon the plains. No attack shall begin until the signal is given.”

The Counselor nodded. “And if we do not agree?”

“Look around you.” Vorax indicated the plains with a sweep of his hand. “Can you fill your bellies with grass, like horses? I think not, Haomane’s Counselor. Darkhaven can outwait you. Darkhaven will outwait you.”

Malthus smiled, wrinkles creasing his face. The Soumanië nestled in his beard brightened, starry. “Will you?” he asked. “Oh, I think not, Vorax of Staccia. The Sunderer’s will is fixed.”