The results were no better than he had expected. Harried by Suti al-Suri’s shouts, and encouraged by the riflemen who served as their teachers, the horse-warriors sprayed bullets in the general direction of their targets. Some of them fell on their backs, kicked down by the recoil of their rifles. Others dropped their guns in astonishment or pain.

They needed more than practice. They needed instructors who spoke their language.

Behind them, General Klamath had the disgusted look of a man studying a disaster. Suti al-Suri waved his arms and yelled in his rapid tongue to no apparent purpose.

While the horse-warriors shouted laughter and jeers at each other, King Bifalt nudged his horse forward. Scowling, he cantered down the slope toward Klamath and Suti al-Suri. When he neared them, he vaulted out of his saddle. Stamping closer, he snapped, “This is not going to work. Those men are children with guns. We cannot teach them.”

To Bifalt’s surprise, Suti al-Suri was undaunted. He showed the King a look of excitement. “You mistaken, Brother,” he declared. “Children, yes. Warriors also.

“Sister.” He grinned at Klamath. “Tell teachers. No talk. Show. El-Algreb learn seeing. Tell teachers show.”

“Majesty?” asked the General through his teeth.

King Bifalt shrugged. “Give them a demonstration, General. Tell your men to hit the targets a few times. Then have them act out every detail.” How to stand. Where to put their hands. How to brace the stocks. “Suti al-Suri may be right.”

He, too, did not believe the chief warrior. He himself had received torrents of instruction, seen hours of demonstrations; but ultimately he had only gained his own skill by the sensations in his body when he had managed a clean shot.

“As you say, Majesty.” Glumly, General Klamath walked away among the el-Algreb to talk with his riflemen.

While he waited, King Bifalt asked Suti al-Suri, “Has the General explained what we want you to do? There is an army of raiders coming from the south. We hope you can slow them. There is another army in the west. We cannot let them both hit us at the same time.”

Again, Suti al-Suri surprised the King. The chief warrior responded with amused outrage. “Slow?” he snorted. “No. Stop. Sending fleeing. El-Algreb do.”

Glaring, Bifalt replied, “Has Klamath told you that the raiders number at least two thousand? And they can make a smoke that cripples or kills?”

“Two thousand? Four?” The warrior thumped his chest. “No matter. No fear smoke. El-Algreb whip like dogs.

“Hear Suti al-Suri, Brother. El-Algreb know raiders. Garb. Weapons. Manner. Call ‘Cleckin.’ Speech like chickens. Raid el-Algreb homeland. Try steal horses. Women.” He thought for a moment, apparently working on a translation. “Also strong goat milk. Want much strong goat milk. Make heads spin.

“Cleckin come. El-Algreb laugh. Drive away. Know why?”

Mystified, King Bifalt shook his head.

Grinning like a boy, the chief warrior demanded, “Guess!”