Hellick’s response was prompt. “As you say, General.” To his men, he repeated Klamath’s orders.

Groaning and muttering, the riflemen obeyed. Most of them shuffled their mounts through the crowd and moved away. Some who had not been exposed to the smoke lowered poisoned men to the earth. Then they, too, headed for the camp.

None of them saluted. Klamath had always discouraged that show of respect. But many of them met King Bifalt’s gaze and nodded gravely as they passed. At one time, they may have doubted that the war would ever come. Now they knew the truth. And they had not known that the Decimate of pestilence could heal.

Before the sub-Commander turned away, he assured General Klamath, “I left scouts to watch the raiders. They will warn us if that army’s pace increases. I estimate that it numbers close to two thousand men, armed and mounted. A long train of wagons follows them.

“When you decide your response, General, I suggest an attack on that train. The raiders have no other source of supplies.”

Klamath took a moment to acknowledge Hellick’s diligence. Then he dismissed the sub-Commander. In a short time, only the General, King Bifalt, and Jeck remained with the Magisters and the poisoned men. The remnant of the rearguard waited at a little distance, five riflemen who had walked all the way from the mountains so that their mounts could haul the travois.

Those men stayed where they were. Their exhaustion showed in their faces, their trembling arms and hands. The broken arm and gashed forehead Bifalt had noticed earlier were among them; but none of them were uninjured. They must have spent hours clambering over the debris of the avalanche, heaving stones aside, hoping to find survivors. To ease the strain of their exertions, they had all discarded their breastplates. Without that protection, they had suffered innumerable bruises and contusions. They looked like men who had been beaten by thugs.

King Bifalt still could not see who required a travois.

The Magisters attended their patients as the King and Klamath approached the makeshift carrier. By that sign, Bifalt knew that the travois bore someone injured, not poisoned.

In a moment, the King and Klamath passed Ulla kneeling beside a man stretched out on the dry stubble of the winter grasses. The boy clung to the man’s hand. In a low voice, he babbled about everything and nothing: a child trying to reassure his father—or himself. The man’s strained gaze never left Ulla’s face, but he was too weak to reply.

Cursing privately, Bifalt walked past them.

As he drew near the rearguard, one of them ventured, “We did what we could, Majesty.” He seemed to believe that an apology was necessary. “It was not enough. He was badly”—he coughed awkwardly—“well, you will see. I am astonished he still lives.”

When the King saw the size of the travois’ burden, he began to suspect—