With a wrench, Bifalt put himself aside. To his brother, he said harshly, “Elgart is right. We must rely on gunfire. Arrange our men along these hillcrests”—he gestured eastward—“out of sight. When the signal comes, they must drop as many priests as they can.”

Jaspid’s nod promised that he understood. Every dead priest would be one less weapon in Rile’s arsenal.

Grimly, King Bifalt turned to the chief warrior of the el-Algreb. “Can I trust you, Suti al-Suri?”

Bifalt often made the mistake of thinking that the chief warrior was a young man; but his impression was an effect of Suti al-Suri’s manner and fragmented speech. He was probably older than the King. When he chose, he could restrain himself. Instead of reaching for his weapons, he demanded, “Why ask? I el-Algreb. I call you Brother. Why insult?”

King Bifalt held his gaze. “General Klamath asked for your help.” Against Rile’s cavalry, Klamath would need help desperately. “You turned your back.”

“Ah.” Suti al-Suri snorted his scorn. “That. Sister not ask. He tell. Make mistake. Give bad order. Help you help him. You will see.”

The King needed a heartbeat or two to sort his way through the man’s reply. Then he grasped Suti al-Suri’s point. The chief warrior understood Klamath’s circumstances. The General needed allies who could ride to his aid when he was desperate.

“Good,” answered Bifalt. “Now I see what you see.

“But understand this. My men will come last. I need your warriors to break through that line”—he pointed toward the enemy’s advance—“and hold it open so that we can follow.

“We may be some distance behind you.”

The man’s grin was like Jaspid’s nod: a promise. “El-Algreb do.”

“Good,” said King Bifalt again.

At once, he turned to Elgart. He was in a hurry now. Every delay put him farther behind Klamath. “You have the Magisters,” he told his old friend. “When the el-Algreb are ready, I want Astride and the others to use their Decimates. But remember the priests. They can sense sorcery. Whatever happens, keep the Magisters safe. Get the men you need from Jaspid.”

Earlier, he had wondered how any of them would last without supplies. But Hellick had informed him that the el-Algreb had taken more than enough from the abandoned Cleckin camp. The horse-warriors were more than clever. They were capable of foresight as well.

Gathering himself, the King gave his last orders. His officers knew what he expected of them, but they would need time to reach their positions. Only Hellick saluted as they left.

Bifalt should have left as well. He still had to choose a hilltop for himself, a vantage that would give a view of the enemy’s line in both directions. Nevertheless he lingered for a few moments, watching the priests while he ground down his emotions for the alchemy that transmuted pain and shame into cold, calculating fury.