“As you say, Majesty,” answered Elgart. As if they could not bear to look at their King, he and the Prince walked away.

At once, Malder and Jeck took the King to a campfire at some distance from the tents of the wounded. As they seated him in the embrace of the heat, Boy arrived with a steaming bowl of stew and a fresh waterskin.

Bifalt did not care if he burned his mouth. At once, he began to eat.

Hunching over his stew, he did not notice the Magister until the man stood in front of him.

“Majesty?” asked the sorcerer brusquely. He was not accustomed to being kept waiting.

Bifalt raised his head, dredged up the man’s name. He was Glower, one of Estie’s Magisters. An older man—well, older than the King—with a round face, a grizzled beard badly trimmed, and a fringe of hair around his bald pate.

As a man, Bifalt detested him on sight. As the King, Bifalt could not ignore him. The Decimate of earthquake had saved his whole company, and the war had only begun.

“Magister Glower.” King Bifalt did not stop eating. Between gulps of stew, he asked, “You have something to say?”

“If it does not offend you to hear me.” Glower showed his impatience. “We have discussed our straits, Queen Estie’s Magisters and yours. We will serve you. We can do no less. If you ask it, we will strive to match Magister Bone’s example.” After a pause, he added sourly, “Majesty.”

The King had expected resistance. After all, he had not told the Magisters or his own riflemen what would follow when the wall of the old city was breached. He had imagined that the tunnel would be ready. Under the circumstances, his people had a right to feel misused.

He sat up to face Glower. Taking his time, he chewed the lump of meat in his mouth, swallowed it. Finally, he answered as distinctly as he could, “Thank you, Magister. Your promise speaks well of you. I will hold you to it.

“But know this.” Thinking of his losses, he allowed himself a flash of anger. “I do not risk anyone lightly. I will not ask you or your comrades to hazard your lives unless I must.”

At once, the King hunched again, sank down to concentrate on stew and water. He did not see Magister Glower’s reaction. But he heard a small sigh, almost an apology, in Glower’s tone as the man replied, “As you say, Majesty.”

While the sorcerer walked away, Bifalt finished his meal, took a long drink. He did not feel equal to the challenges ahead of him. But standing to meet every demand was his duty. The remnants of his self-respect required it.

Swallowing a groan, he pushed his frailty upright.