Klamath drew a deep breath, released it slowly. He understood Brighten’s point, and Solace’s. Privately, he may have believed it. But it changed nothing. His concern—his only concern—was the first battle. It would come during the night, in a snowstorm; or perhaps tomorrow morning. He had to be ready.

Turning his back on the Open Hand’s ashes, he gave his officers their orders.

“Return to the army, First Captain. Take the Magisters with you. Find suitable terrain at a safe distance. Establish our camp. Then choose two hundred men. They must be ready”—he glanced at the sky—“no later than midday. I have heavy work for them.”

Hegels scowled, but he did not hesitate. “As you say, General.” Klamath’s manner did not invite questions.

“Captain Rowt,” continued the General, “you are now my aide.”

At one time, the young man had saved Queen Estie’s life.

Rowt snapped to attention while Klamath commanded, “Assist the First Captain. Later, I will make other demands.” Because he was an ordinary man, no better than Rowt, he added, “If you wish to refuse my service, do so then.”

Beneath the ruddiness of cold, the Captain’s face betrayed a deeper flush. He seemed shocked by the idea that he might refuse his General.

Moving on, Klamath instructed the Magisters to accompany Hegels. “When he makes camp, you must eat and rest. Sleep if you can. And tell your comrades to do the same. I will need you at your best.”

Only Magister Crawl replied, “As you say, General.” But the others turned with him when he pulled his mount’s head to the east. Following the First Captain, the company cantered away down the side of the rise.

General Klamath studied the sky and scented the air to assure himself that the storm would not come too soon. When he was satisfied, he allowed himself to mutter, “Where are you, Bifalt? Are you even alive?”

Then he rode east. He had no time for fear.

As the first flakes of snow began to fall early that evening, the General rested in his saddle on the vantage he had chosen for himself. He had already positioned the Magisters of drought, fire, and lightning where he wanted them. Only pestilence and wind waited near him. The men who had worked all afternoon on the slope below him had returned to the camp. Commanded by Captain Rowt, eighty fresh riflemen were spread out on both sides of the General. The soldiers had left their horses in a hollow behind them. They would shoot more accurately on solid ground.

As dull as the last twilight, the waters and muck where the army had crossed Long Slough lay directly below Klamath. Here, the ridge where he waited rose higher than the hills opposite him, but its slope was as gradual as theirs.