“No.” Hells! Bifalt wanted to spit. “I am not a child, Suti al-Suri. I do not play guessing games.”

The man pretended to look chastened. “Forgive, Brother. Not game. Not in fight. I tell.” He answered his own question. “Cleckin easy. They treat horses bad.”

Unaccountably pleased with himself, Suti al-Suri turned to watch his people struggle with their guns.

His assurance invited Bifalt to trust him; but that was impossible. Bifalt trusted the el-Algreb as allies. Amandis would not have taken Elgart to them if they were not staunch. But he suspected that they had never faced overwhelming odds. They were going to learn that rifles were not enough.

Chewing his cheek, the King waited for Klamath to rejoin him.

The General approached in a fury. “It cannot be done, Majesty,” he snapped. “They are not Prince Jaspid. It is not natural to them. They need practice. At least a hundred rounds today. And if they do that, they will not be able to lift their arms tomorrow.”

Suti al-Suri raised his eyebrows, recrossed his arms. “Sister mistaken,” he declared. “He not know el-Algreb.”

Klamath turned on the chief warrior. “I am not your pestilential ‘sister,’ sir.”

Bifalt understood. Like Elgart’s return, the arrival of allies had lifted Klamath’s heart. The General had begun to imagine at least one victory. Now he knew the truth. The el-Algreb were not ready. They were going to be slaughtered.

However, Suti al-Suri did not understand. His mien darkened. “I claim kinship,” he retorted. “How offend?”

King Bifalt put a restraining hand on Klamath’s arm. To the warrior, he said, “You do not offend. General Klamath is afraid.” His long friendship with Klamath allowed him to say such things. “He fears what will happen to your people if they cannot master their guns.”

“Then, Sister”—the chief warrior made the word into a sneer—“watch. Learn. El-Algreb able. El-Algreb do.”

The King tugged Klamath’s arm to prevent a response. “Shoulder pads, General,” he said softly, harshly. “You must have more than enough.” For years, the General had provided them to protect his new recruits. “They should help.”

Klamath appeared poised to shout in his King’s face. Bifalt’s tug stopped him. Scowling, he swallowed his anger.

When he could reply without heat, he said, “As you say, Majesty. I will send for the pads.”

At once, he strode away in the direction of his nearest aides. They would know where the leather pads were stored.

King Bifalt turned to the chief warrior. “Hear me, Suti al-Suri,” he said sternly. “This is a serious matter. Careless men with guns can harm themselves while they learn. Fire your own rifle. Then you will understand. It has the kick of a mule.

“General Klamath will give you shoulder pads. Tell your people to use them.”