“Suti al-Suri, I am glad to see you.” He showed his pleasure with a brisk bow. “You saved our lives twenty years ago. You may be able to save us again.

“Will you dismount? I am General Klamath. I command King Bifalt’s soldiers. He must have offered you the best welcome we can manage, but I want to welcome you as well. Only tell me what you need, and I will find a way to provide it.”

The King confirmed Elgart’s promise. “They need a thousand rifles, General. With ammunition and training.

“Also, they must be ready in two days.” Hegels believed that Rile’s host would reach the Open Hand in four. If the raiders from the south quickened their pace, they could strike in three. “You will be busy.”

Then he added for Klamath’s sake, “But you will hear Elgart’s account of himself when I have heard it.” Half the people in the Fist would want to hear it. Howel, who had taken Elgart’s place as the King’s spy, would be delighted. “If he claims that he is tired of explaining himself, you can put him in chains until he satisfies you.”

At the promise of a thousand guns, Suti al-Suri grinned again. Each of his warriors would have two in case one failed. He swung out of his saddle and dropped to the ground. Sure of himself, he came forward. His people stayed astride their mounts.

To the King, he said, “Elgart say call you ‘Majesty.’ Silly word. I call you ‘Brother.’ ” To Klamath, he announced, “I call you ‘Sister.’ ”

Without success, Elgart tried to stifle a laugh.

The General looked nonplussed. However, he was too good a soldier to falter. “And you, Suti al-Suri?” he countered. “What should I call you? Do you have a title among your people?”

“Title?” Over his shoulder, Suti al-Suri unleashed a spate of words in his own tongue, a rush of language like a tumbling stream. His people responded with a scattered guffaw, sharing a joke that King Bifalt missed. Facing Klamath again, the man answered, “I call Suti al-Suri. For convenience”—his sudden grin made him look almost boyish—“you call Suti al-Suri.”

Reflexively, the King scowled. For convenience— The man must have learned that phrase from Tchwee.

General Klamath managed a smile. “Suti al-Suri, then.” Under the circumstances, he could ignore incomprehensible jests at his expense. “If you will follow me, I will take you to the camp. While we get you settled—tents, beds, food, care for your horses, whatever you need—I will send men to gather rifles and bullets. That will take some time. But later this afternoon, this evening at the latest, my riflemen will be ready to teach you how to handle the guns. Tomorrow, you can start learning to shoot.

“It is a skill, Suti al-Suri. It takes practice. And shooting from horseback is a rare skill. You will need practice.”