He prayed often and hard, beseeching the Lords aid in his most desperate hour.

El Nadim roused his men before dawn. He addressed them passionately while they ate a cold breakfast, claiming the whole future of the Movement hinged on their courage. He then arrayed his infantry across the end of the pan, with horsemen stationed on the wings. The slave volunteers he posted in front of his primary line, carrying shovels as well as weapons. His army was in place when dawn broke. A morning breeze rose from behind him.

He assembled his officers. Keep the men to the standards, he told them. Set an example. If the Lord wont yield us the day, lets die facing our enemies.

He had expressed the same sentiments to the troops, only now he indicated a willingness to cut down any officer who forgot his courage. He told his cavalry commanders, The breeze is rising. Begin.

Moments later horsemen began riding back and forth ahead of the infantry. The westbound wind filled with alkaline dust. Horns and drums sounded in the distance. The enemy formed ranks. El Nadim smiled. The Wahlig would challenge him. He moistened a finger, felt the breeze. Not as strong as he had hoped. The dust was not carrying as well as he desired. Trumpets, he snapped. Speed them up.

Bugles called. The cavalrymen urged their mounts to a trot, kicking up more salty dust. El Nadim turned. The sun was about to break over a low, distant mountain, into enemy eyes.

He examined what he could see of the Wahligs dispositions. Guild infantry in the center. Light horse on the wings and behind. And the heavy cavalry forming for the first charge, that should be enough to shatter his line. Good again. They were doing the obvious. Exactly what he wanted.

The breeze was not rising. Trumpets. Speed them up again. Messenger. I want the slave volunteers to start digging.

The volunteers used their shovels to hurl the fine, salty earth skyward, putting more dust into the air.

Let them breathe that, el Nadim thought. Let them become parched of throat and sore of eye. Let them want nothing so badly as they want to break away for a drink. He glanced back. The sun was up. Let them advance into the face of that, glaring off the white lakebed.

Let the men in iron come, he thought, half blinded as they charge....

Theyre coining, General, an aide announced.

Distant trumpets called. Dust boiled up as the chargers started forward. Recall, el Nadim ordered. Let them bury their infantry themselves.

His trumpets sounded. The cavalry fled to the wings. The slave volunteers retreated through the front to form a reserve.

The enemy advanced, armor gleaming through the dust, pennons fluttering boldly. Youre great, Hawkwind, el Nadim murmured. But even you can become overconfident.

His heart hammered. It was going exactly as he wanted. But would that be enough?