They had turbans on their heads, bands of cloth draped with gauze to protect their faces from flies and dust. Their blouses above their scarlet sashes were loose to let their skin breathe. Below the sashes, they wore wide pantaloons tucked into dull black boots. For weapons, they had cutlasses at their hips, bandoliers of throwing knives across their shoulders. Some of them carried short bows, quivers of arrows. Most of the archers were women.

King Bifalt recognized their leader. The man had once been the chief scout of Set Ungabwey’s caravan, younger then, but sure of himself despite his marginal grasp of Belleger’s language. Twenty years had leathered his cheeks, given him deep squint-lines around his eyes. But the luster of his gaze belied his age. Since Bifalt had last seen him, he had acquired the predatory eagerness of a wolf.

“Hail, Suti al-Suri!” called Elgart. “Hail, horse-warriors of the el-Algreb! You have come because you were given a promise. King Bifalt of Belleger will honor it!”

The former chief scout drew rein ten paces from the King and Elgart. He had at least three hundred warriors with him, and more were coming.

From horseback, Suti al-Suri looked down at Bifalt. “I remember,” he said like a man accustomed to being heeded. “Then Prince Bifalt. And dying. Now King. We are el-Algreb. We bow to no man.” He bared his teeth in a thin smile. “But we meet honor with honor.”

Bifalt needed to steady himself. He widened his stance, forced his shoulders back, lifted his chin. With an effort, he forced words past the tension in his throat.

“Elgart called you allies. Did you come to fight for us?”

“For you?” snorted Suti al-Suri. “No. We come for sticks with lead arrows. You call rifles. Elgart promised.” This time, his smile was a grin of pure relish. “But you give, we fight where you ask, when you ask. El-Algreb fight.”

With one fist, he punched the air. As one, the riders behind him gave a bloodthirsty howl.

The last of them had caught up with the others. Simply because Elgart had mentioned a number, Bifalt guessed that the spy had brought five hundred horse-warriors.

If he had brought fifteen hundred, they would still be no match for Rile’s host. But they were far more than Belleger’s King had dreamed of getting.

While the riders gathered, Elgart came casually to stand with his King, showing the el-Algreb where his loyalties lay.

“Then, Suti al-Suri—” began the King. But he stopped when he heard galloping hooves. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched General Klamath arrive.

At the last moment, Klamath flung himself out of his saddle and strode to King Bifalt’s side. The look of joy he flung at Elgart was as vivid as a shout; but for the occasion, he swallowed his impulse to greet his old friend. “Your absence was noted, Majesty,” he murmured. Then he addressed the former chief scout.