The temperature turned cool as they left the warm Petryan lands and the mountain ranges no longer blocked the cold weather from the north. On one side, to the west, Ella could see the jagged tops of the Elmas, the range that separated Petrya from the lands of Altura and Halaran. On the other side of the Gap of Garl, the mighty Emdas rose in the east, looming over the riders, the mountain tops white and covered with clouds, the summits so high they could hardly be seen.

A speck grew on the red horizon, a returning scout from the flat land in the north. Their journey through the Gap of Garl took them first north, and then east. It was a long way around, but it was the only way.

A cloud of dust rose behind the single rider. He was clad in Hazaran costume, and soon his yellow sash could be seen against the black. The man pulled up in front of Prince Ilathor.

"A small army," the scout said, his breath coming between gasps, "up ahead. Just past that rise."

"What banner?" Jehral asked.

"A withered tree on grey," the scout said.

The prince looked first at Jehral, who raised his eyebrows, and then Ella, who shook her head. Bartolo shrugged and even Shani's face said she didn't know the markings.

"How many?" Prince Ilathor asked.

"Perhaps two thousand, it is hard to say."

"Go and speak with them. See if you can find out who they serve."

"Yes, my prince," the scout said, wheeling his horse and riding away.

"If he doesn't come back by the time the sun hits that tree," the prince said, "he isn't coming back."

"You have a cold heart, desert prince," Shani said, low enough that the prince wouldn't hear, but close enough that Ella could.

"This is a poor place for a battle," Bartolo said. "There are hills to either side. We should move to higher ground and fortify our position."

"He speaks sense, my prince," Jehral said.

"Thank you, bladesinger," Prince Ilathor said, "but that is not our way. Two thousand is nothing to an army this size."

~

AS THEY waited, more and more of the Hazaran riders arrived, to be deployed in fighting formation as a long line of riders, but the scout did not return.

Prince Ilathor prepared for battle.

The elders — those women who had been chosen to receive the lore of Raj Hazara — summoned illusionary warriors, storms and whirlwinds. The sky overhead flashed and lightning stabbed down at the earth. Dust rushed one way and then another as the elders struggled to keep control of their lore.