He recognized the Magister watching over Matt, a Bellegerin called Solace. He was a tall man with a beard like a spade on his chest, a man worn thin by a hunger that food could not satisfy. His lined face and greying beard showed his years. He seemed to want to speak, but the King’s attention was fixed on Matt.

Klamath’s old friend lay like a dying man. Clearly, he had not been injured, not cut, broken, or pierced. His breastplate was unmarked. But his throat or his lungs had swollen shut, and the labor of his breathing rasped like agony. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. The dark red of burst blood vessels covered their pupils, their irises. His cheeks and forehead had a parched look that made Bifalt think of fever.

As Klamath arrived in a rush at his side, the King asked hoarsely, “First Captain? Can you hear me? Can you speak?”

Matt flinched weakly. His mouth only moved to gasp for breath.

Magister Solace cleared his throat. “It would be a kindness, Majesty,” he said firmly, “to provide a stretcher. I have done what I can, but he was one of the first to breathe the smoke. The men with him then are all dead.”

Bifalt wheeled away from Matt. “Spliner!” he snapped. “Boy! A stretcher for the First Captain. See to it!”

“And more for these other men,” added the General sharply. “Those who cannot sit their mounts.”

At once, both Boy and his father turned their horses; galloped away. Jeck stayed with the King.

The needle in Bifalt’s forehead dug deeper. Through the pain, he asked Solace, “Will he live, Magister?”

Solace shrugged. “I cannot say, Majesty. He is strong. I will do more for him. If I can open his throat to swallow broth, he may endure until the poison leaves him. After that—” The Magister hesitated. Less steadily, he said, “But he will be blind. I did not reach him in time to save his eyes.”

Bifalt snarled, “Hells!” There was nothing else he could say.

As if to himself, Klamath murmured, “He has a family. A wife and children. They were ordered to leave their home. If they are in the Hand, I will find them. He needs their care.”

The Magister nodded. “As you say, General. My Decimate has many uses. Constant care is not among them.”

Mentally, King Bifalt slapped himself, trying to restart his mind. He was Belleger’s monarch. While he stood over Matt, he inadvertently kept all of the soldiers with him. Too many of them required beds and physicians. The others had earned rest.

He turned to bark orders; but General Klamath forestalled him. “Sub-Commander!” called Klamath. “Leave the rearguard with us”—the survivors of the avalanche. “Release the men who need stretchers. Let them rest here while they wait. The Magisters will watch over them. Take everyone else to the camp. See that they are given what they need.”