Before he ate, Bifalt called Elgart and Prince Jaspid to join him. Together, they walked a short distance away. There they honored the men they had lost.

Gruff with loss, Jaspid named all of the fallen one by one, the soldiers who had died in Belleger’s Fist as well as those slain by thrown sorcery. Elgart expressed gratitude and sorrow in his own way. Last, King Bifalt recited the old Bellegerin salute for the dead. Some of the fallen had been Amikan, but Bifalt did not think that they would refuse Belleger’s respect.

“Your blood for your people. Your blood for your comrades. Your blood for your King. No man can be asked to give more.”

Jaspid added, “When we have won this war, we will acknowledge you better.”

Bifalt hugged his brother and his old friend. That was unlike him; but he did not expect to get another chance. He gave them a moment to recover from their surprise. Then he sent them back to the others.

King Bifalt took a moment to clear his mind. When he felt ready, he went to share a meal with the people he relied on most: his bodyguards, the Prince and Elgart, Hellick, Suti al-Suri, and Magister Astride.

While they ate sitting on the hard ground, the first relay of el-Algreb scouts returned. They spoke to the chief warrior at length. With Elgart’s help, and Hellick’s, King Bifalt understood Suti al-Suri’s version of their news.

No doubt in response to what the King’s Magisters and riflemen had done, Rile had dispatched some of his cavalrymen west to defend the damaged supply-train. Others were returning toward the Open Hand, turned away by their failure to enter Amika. The rest were in pursuit of General Klamath’s forces: more than a thousand men mounted on their fearsome beasts. That was bad enough. The tusked creatures were faster than horses, stronger. Even in heavy snow, they would chase down Klamath in a matter of hours. Worse was the horde of skirmishers keeping pace with the cavalry. And worse still were the priests mounted on their own heavy beasts, carrying their bright globes.

With Rile himself, the foot soldiers followed the trail of the cavalry at their own iron pace.

Hells, thought Bifalt. Hells. Klamath was in trouble. He could not hope to survive without help.

The King had no more time for doubts—or for lessons in humility. Briskly, he gave his orders. His small army would head east as fast as possible on a line that paralleled Klamath’s retreat. Bifalt aimed to gain ground until he could strike at the enemy’s rearguard. To accomplish that, he would have to drive his forces into the heart of the coming storm.