With Jeck, Malder, and then Spliner behind him, King Bifalt rode in a spray of leaves through the forest, heading for the vale where he had told the el-Algreb to gather. He had used the Decimate of earthquake as a diversion, an attempt to draw the supply-train’s defenders away: a tactic that Suti al-Suri knew well. By now, the chief warrior’s army should be opening a way through the enemy’s disrupted line.

If Prince Jaspid and any of his men still lived, they would reach the vale ahead of the King and his bodyguards. As would Elgart and the Magisters. King Bifalt goaded his mount at a madman’s pace, rushing to count his losses.

Half a league south of the trail and the enemy, the King called a halt. They were sheltered behind a hill, hidden from Rile’s priests and infantrymen, and well beyond the priests’ sorcery. At last, he could afford the time to measure the cost of what he had done.

Thanks to Elgart, the Magisters were safe. For the el-Algreb, the diversion had been a success. It had drawn the attention of the priests and infantrymen, allowing the horse-warriors to break through the enemy’s line and hold the gap open with few losses. But Prince Jaspid and the riflemen had not fared so well. They had been too close to the detonations.

Cursing, Jaspid covered the contusions that marred his face. He had always hated the burdens of command. There was a haunted look in his eyes as he confessed that exploding sorcery had taken ten of his men.

“The fault is mine, Majesty,” he growled. “I did not expect”—his throat closed as if he were choking—“those globes. I left our retreat too late.”

“Hells, Brother!” Bifalt matched his voice to Jaspid’s. Ten men lost, when he could not afford to lose one. “None of us expected those globes. How could we?”

To ease his brother, the King promised, “The time will come when you must fight as you have always wished, blade to blade against uncountable numbers. On that day, you will get your chance to repay what this war has taken from you.”

“Blood,” declared Suti al-Suri unexpectedly. “We tend.”

In the fluid tongue of his people, he called orders. At once, several of his warriors hurried toward the riflemen. Many of them had been hit by flung stone and broken branches.

Grimacing, the sub-Commander explained, “They are too proud of being warriors, Majesty.” A cut on his cheek wept red. “If they could not treat wounds, none of them would survive.”

King Bifalt studied his brother until he saw some of the tightness leave Jaspid’s face. Then the brothers and Elgart went with Suti al-Suri and Hellick to watch how the el-Algreb cared for the cuts and bruises among the soldiers.