As if he were helpless, the King lifted his shoulders. “I did not think of it.”

He meant, I was imagining a glorious death for myself. Until Elgart returned, I did not know that we had allies.

So that his brother would understand, King Bifalt took him to visit the man he expected to volunteer.

Master Ungabwey must have had uncommon reserves of stamina. Perhaps he needed them to support his bulk. Lying on several mattresses on the floor of the army hospital, he clung to life despite his broken bones, his lacerated organs. His physicians did not know how or why he endured. They were adamant that he could not be moved.

Of course, he would have to be. Otherwise he would be killed as soon as one of the Great God’s armies arrived: a wasted death for a man who had come so far and given so much to protect his daughters.

Prince Jaspid stayed in the background while King Bifalt knelt beside the caravan-master. Since the King had last seen Set Ungabwey, the physicians had pierced the obese man’s chest under his left collar-bone and inserted a hollow reed. “To help him breathe, Majesty,” explained the hovering physician. From the end of the reed, blood bubbled whenever Ungabwey inhaled. “He would suffocate without it.

“Numbing herbs in wine seem to ease him. It is all he can swallow.” After a pause, the physician added, “He is beyond us. We can cut into him to address his wounds, but we cannot manage the bleeding. We will hasten his death.”

Yet somehow he had survived a long, rough trek by travois. His breathing was a wet, desperate wheeze. Pain dulled his gaze. Weighed down by his own flesh, he seemed too weak to lift even one of his arms. Nevertheless he noticed Bifalt’s arrival at once. He watched as the King knelt beside him to speak.

Past the tightness in his throat, Bifalt asked, “Can you hear me, Master?”

The man blinked to signify a nod.

“Then tell me. Show me that you can answer. You assured me that you are not done. Does your resolve hold?”

Set Ungabwey’s reply was a thin whisper. “It does.”

“Can it hold for a few more days?”

The wounded man shuddered, but his gaze did not waver. “It can.”

Ah, hells! King Bifalt bit the inside of his cheek. Then he met this challenge the way he had met so many others, with anger to mask his distress.

“If it holds, Master, I have a task for you. It will not spare the library. It will not save your daughters. But it will help. It will deliver a blow the enemy does not expect.”

Briefly, he explained what he wanted Set Ungabwey to do.

“Impossible!” protested the physician at once. “He cannot be moved. It will kill him.”