On the ride to the place where the el-Algreb had left their stolen supplies, King Bifalt chewed his cheek and raged to himself. He had entered Belleger’s Fist with a hundred riflemen. Only fifty remained, Jaspid’s surviving forty and the ten who had guarded the Magisters. He had hoped to escape with an effective fighting force. Even with the el-Algreb and the Magisters, fifty riflemen were too few.

Going slowly so that the wounded could rest, the King’s diminished army did not reach their immediate destination until after midday. There on a broad plain the el-Algreb had left their wagons of supplies. While the warriors and the men guarding the wagons greeted each other with eager shouts and good-natured taunts, King Bifalt took in the unexpected bounty.

The Cleckin had left a treasure-trove of stores. Suti al-Suri had brought four wagons loaded with fodder, grain, bedding, tents, food-stuffs, and barrels of water. Grinning, the chief warrior added that his people had also retrieved casks of fermented goat’s milk. If any of the riflemen or Magisters needed relief, they could get drunk.

King Bifalt scowled at the suggestion. The storm front was coming closer. The first snows might begin to fall in an hour or two. General Klamath’s army had left the Open Hand a full day ago, riding east. He was probably deep in the storm by now—and well ahead of both the King and Rile. That was good for the moment. Still, Bifalt was anxious to gain on Klamath: a difficult task in heavy snow. He could not afford the indulgence of strong drink.

“Do not unload the wagons,” he told Suti al-Suri. “We will rest here until the men are fed. Then we must go.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “For why, Brother?”

“You know why,” answered the King drily. “It was your idea.” Then he shrugged. “We will talk while we eat.” Thinking, he added, “But we need scouts to watch the enemy. Hellick says that your warriors are good at that. Will you—?”

“Done,” interrupted Suti al-Suri. His expression conveyed an amiable disdain. “The el-Algreb wise. Fight many battles. Not need orders. Scouts there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Open Hand. “With”—the word he wanted eluded him for an instant—“relays. Send reports.”

King Bifalt stared. He considered himself a war-like man. The el-Algreb had war in their bones.

He gave the chief warrior an honest bow. “Accept my thanks, Suti al-Suri. You knew it when General Klamath made a mistake. Tell me when I make one.”

The man’s answering bow mocked Bifalt’s, but his laughter was genuine. “You wise also, Brother. Wise different. We”—he touched his chest, then tapped the King’s breastplate—“beat any foe.”

Still chuckling, Suti al-Suri walked away.

Apparently, King Bifalt had more to learn about being humbled.