Too recently, Hellick had seen Matt’s suffering. He had watched poisoned men die in brutal pain. He had to ask, “Fires?”

He meant, Smoke?

Suti al-Suri motioned for silence again. He stepped close, leaned his mouth to Hellick’s ear. “Cleckin came,” he breathed. “We killed. No fires. No smoke.”

Brigin and pestilence! The raiders had to be nearby. Had they come so far since Hellick and his command had fled?

Worse, they clearly knew that the el-Algreb were here. Why else would they try to set their venomous fires?

Hellick forced himself to a choked whisper. “Where?”

The chief warrior waved a hand southward. “Camp there. Past hills. Wagons make slow. Two days from city.” After a pause, he admitted, “Cleckin scouts see el-Algreb. Plan attack.”

Even speaking more softly than the breeze, his tone conveyed assurance.

The sub-Commander wanted to ask, How can you fight them? Where are your horses?

What good were horse-warriors without mounts?

But Suti al-Suri was touching his arm again; gesturing. “Come,” the man murmured. “You watch.”

Drawing Hellick with him, he moved away.

Hellick pulled his arm free, unshouldered his rifle. He checked his sword in its scabbard. Then he tightened his cloak around him and nodded, pretending to understand.

Quiet as air, the chief warrior walked south along a shallow valley, then started up a hillside on his left. He moved like a man whose feet did not touch the ground, without any rustle of dried grasses or clink of shifting pebbles. Wincing at the noise of his own steps, Hellick followed.

The slope was not steep, but it stretched upward a long way. For a while, Hellick managed to cover his breathing. Then he began to pant openly. When Suti al-Suri brought him to the summit at last, he had to spend a few moments heaving for air before he considered his surroundings.

Clear skies gave the cold a whetted edge, but he was grateful for them nonetheless. They granted him moonlight.

On all sides, silver stroked the hills. Some of them were both distinct and elusive. Deformed by impenetrable shadows, the others seemed to crouch at obscure angles. All of them were lower than Hellick’s vantage. When day came, he might be able to see farther. In darkness, he knew little more than what he could have deduced from horseback.

His guide indicated the south again. “Cleckin camp,” whispered the warrior. Then he pointed at a vague gap between hills a bit to his right, a curving clot of thicker night. “Attack there.”

He stepped aside, giving the sub-Commander a better view.

Squinting, Hellick discerned nothing that implied movement or foes. Moonlight and darkness defined the gap, that was all. Shadows closed it like shrouds.

“How do you know?” he asked softly. The Cleckin could come from any direction.

The chief warrior did not answer. He was already gone.

Brigin! thought General Klamath’s witness. What was he supposed to see?