“Don’t worry. I’ve lived too long to die falling off a cliff.” Tanaros came back to place a hand on Speros’ shoulder. “Well done, Midlander. This was a fine thought you had.”

“Thank you, sir!” His anxiety vanished in a surge of pride. “It came to me after we rode through the Defile. Why not use the strength of the Tordenstem to greater effect? It was filling in the Well of the World that gave me the idea. You recall how—”

“Yes.” A shadow of sorrow crossed the General’s face.

“—we used skids and levers …” Speros stopped. “Forgive me.”

“No matter.” Tanaros shook his head.

“I know, I failed you in the desert.” Speros took a deep breath. “Believe me, Lord General, I have sworn an oath. I have said it before and will say it again. A thousand times, if need be. It will never happen—”

“Speros!” The General’s grip on his shoulder tightened until it hurt. “Enough,” he said quietly. “You will speak no more of it. I bear you no blame for what happened with the Yarru. What happened there …” He sighed and released Speros’ shoulder, gazing out across the gorge of the Defile. “It will be good to fight an enemy who comes seeking a battle.”

“Aye, sir.” Speros followed the General’s gaze uncertainly.

“Not yet, ladl” His mood shifting, Tanaros smiled at him. “They’ll come soon enough. And I thank you for making us that much the readier for it.”

“Aye, sir!” Speros smiled back at the General.

“You’re a good lad, Speros of Haimhault …” With another clap on the shoulder, Tanaros left him, striding across the stony ground to greet the Tordenstem. He knew them all by name. In another moment, he was gone, swinging astride the black horse and heading back toward the fortress, his figure dwindling beneath the dull grey sky.

Watching him go, Speros retained a lingering vision of the General standing on the edge of the cliff, the wind tugging at his dark hair, a specter of sorrow haunting his eyes. He wished there was something he could do or say to dispel that shadow.

He wished it was his own failure that had put it there.

It wasn’t, of course. In his heart of hearts, he knew it. That was his own specter, the ghost of his father’s voice, his family’s disapproval. It had nothing to do with General Tanaros. That was something else altogether. He had heard what the old Yarru had said about the General’s choice, and he had heard the General’s reply, his final, agonized shout: Give me a reason not to make it!