Chapters (44)
- Cover
- OTHER BOOKS BY STEPHEN R. DONALDSON
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- PART TWO
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- PART THREE
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
The King’s haste infected the men around him. They took only a moment to absorb his instructions. Then Hellick hurried away. Prince Jaspid bowed to his brother before he left. Spliner and Boy rushed to pack the King’s bedroll, rain-cape, and winter gear. Jeck and Malder busied themselves examining Bifalt’s weapons.
Elgart lingered briefly. He had questions, but he did not ask them. After a moment, he shrugged and turned away, calling for Astride as he strode toward the tents of the Magisters.
In the light of the rising sun, a broad swath of smoke plumed across the eastern sky. Bifalt was grateful that he could not see the Hand itself through the trees. He had chosen to surrender it; but watching his city in flames would have wrung his heart.
Instead, he concentrated on what he could do with his riflemen, the horse-warriors, and six earthquake-wielders. They were too few to change the course of the war, but they might be able to slow Rile’s advance. They might even infuriate him.
King Bifalt hoped for that. Enraged foes were reckless.
TWENTY-ONE
LONG SLOUGH
On a rise a league to the east, General Klamath sat his mount and watched the Open Hand burn.
Flames leapt into the dawn with an audible roar. Sparks drifted upward like dying stars. Here and there, the fire found abandoned jars of oil or volatile mixtures in an alchemist’s shop and blew up like grenades, spraying ruin. Everywhere, structures howled and crumpled: shacks, homes, old mansions, merchantries; stables and barns; smithies, woodpiles, sheds. The conflagration took everything it touched.
The sight sickened Klamath. The Hand had been his home ever since he had joined Belleger’s army, back in the days of King Abbator’s reign. Long ago, he had ridden into hell several times. He had survived arrows, blades, colliding horses, and indiscriminate sorcery. He had carried bleeding comrades out of the carnage until he felt that he had used up all the strength he would ever have and could not stop weeping. But the inferno of the Great God’s cruelty afflicted him with a different kind of pain. It was like a sword to the stomach, a cut too deep for tears.
From that wound, Belleger might never recover.
The sun had begun to rise only a short time ago, climbing above the storm clouds in the east. He could see the flames with frightful clarity. Despite the distance, he seemed to feel their heat on his face. Nevertheless he did not turn away. He was waiting for news.