An hour later, he waited with Jeck, Malder, and Boy in the shelter of the last trees near the crown of a lower hill. Behind them, Spliner held their horses.

Here the edge of the forest rose to a crest roughly midway between his former place in the west and the shallow vale to the east where the el-Algreb would gather. He was only four paces below the hilltop. He planned to stand there while his forces took the fight to the enemy.

He refused to think that his surprise might fail. Instead, he tried to count what it might cost. He did not know what those priests could do. If too many of his people died, success would be as ruinous as failure.

In full daylight, he watched a storm advancing from the east at its own slow pace. Its first wisps mingled with the smoke rising from his city’s death. By the taste of the air, he knew that the coming clouds were thick with snow. Already, the twigs and branches around him clicked against each other like heralds as the breeze stiffened. Still, he judged that the storm would not reach him before midafternoon, perhaps not before evening. His attack would not be hampered by gloom and snow.

With him, Malder stood like a plinth, untouched by the cold or the prospect of battle. Jeck shifted his feet restlessly, flexed his arms again and again to keep himself limber. Only Boy was shivering, but not because he felt chilled. He had the task of riding away to set the el-Algreb in motion. It was essential that Suti al-Suri’s warriors did not charge prematurely. They had to hold back until Boy reached them. Until the confusion on the trail had mounted into frenzy.

In his heart, the King trembled. He told himself that he was eager. That was true enough. But it masked a deeper truth. He feared for the people who would risk their lives at his command.

Sooner than he expected, a small movement ran like a gust through the dead leaves. It lifted them in a little swirl, then let them drop. He might not have noticed it, but it seemed to push against the flow of air carrying the storm.

Every muscle in his body pulled taut.

Another gust came, stronger than the first. Leaves drifted among the tree-trunks. A sensation like a distant rumble of thunder reached him through the soles of his moccasins.

Jeck snapped to attention. Malder shifted one foot to widen his stance. “Majesty?” whispered Boy tensely.

Another rumble, heavier, more distinct. It set the leaves dancing. The horses felt it. Snorting, they tugged against Spliner’s grip.

“Wait, Boy.” The King’s command was a hoarse croak. “This is only the beginning. They may be testing themselves”—probing the rock for fault-lines, points of weakness.

The next tremor sounded like a groan in the earth.