The albino answered for his companion. “None of the city’s streets are straight. But when we were able to see it, the march tends northward.”

“Toward your road, Queen,” hummed Magister Bleak sourly. “First into Amika. Then east. It is the quickest way.”

“Keep watching,” urged Estie. “King Bifalt will not allow Rile to take my road.”

Surely there would be something to see. If Bifalt had not escaped the city. If he now led the opposition.

No. There was no if about it. She knew Bifalt too well. He was there. He would not hazard his men unless he shared their peril with them.

Her whole heart depended on his ability to surprise her.

The Magisters around her hardly seemed to breathe. Despite the wall of windows and the deepening cold of night, the chamber felt unnaturally warm. Apprentice Travail wiped sweat from his brow. Avail stood with his eyes closed, apparently concentrating on Travail’s touch; waiting for news that he could relay to the rest of the Repository. Magister Rummage glowered at the Farsighted with his own fire in his eyes. Magister Oblique’s attention was fixed on Bleak and his comrades. She might not have noticed if Estie had fainted.

Amika’s Queen was not a woman who fainted.

She needed some reason to believe that Bifalt would survive.

“Joyly?” asked Magister Threnody.

“Nothing, librarian,” murmured the woman. “Just those small winks. They are erratic, but they persist.”

“Still tending northward,” put in the albino.

Threnody turned to Estie. “Queen? What do you expect the Ki—?”

“There!” Magister Bleak’s sharpness cut off the librarian’s question. At the same instant, the other Farsighted flinched. “Fire! A line of fire! A distinct line. And it is intense. Wood and oil do not make such a blaze. Their flames would spread and diminish. This fire does not. It is fed by a Decimate.”

“Yes!” snapped the albino. “At last! Real opposition.”

“It sheds light.” Excitement masked the tune in Bleak’s voice. “We see its surroundings. It forms a diagonal across the enemy’s march, blocking an intersection of streets. It does not harm the buildings. People flee there. The way north is open to them. The infantrymen must charge through fire to pursue.”

“They will not,” declared the stranger, the Knight. “Their armor is iron. The heat will roast them.” With a touch of grim humor, she remarked, “It is not a pleasant death.”

“They hesitate,” said the albino. “Now they march again. But not through the barrier. They take a street westward.” Bitterly, he concluded, “They will turn north at their next opportunity.”

“Do you still see muzzle flashes?” asked Queen Estie.

Joyly answered without hesitation. “No, Queen. The fire is too bright. But infantrymen still fall.” Clearly, she understood the point of Estie’s question. “The King’s men knew that this would happen. They are in position to shoot.”