King Bifalt remained where he was, alone apart from his bodyguards and the Magisters.

Jeck and the others had been silent since they sat down. Now Jeck cleared his throat. “Elgart is right, Majesty,” he said carefully. “We have too many foes. You should let Prince Jaspid lead the charge. We cannot lose you.”

Bifalt swore to himself. Estie had already turned her back. What reason did he have to fear dying?

“That is why I have you,” he answered. A moment later, he added, “My brother does not need to lead. He will do more than any of us.”

Jeck glanced over at Malder. The big man shrugged. Spliner and Boy said nothing.

Later, King Bifalt lay in his bedroll under the open sky, watching the careless stars burn. On this night, their indifference had the effect of an omen. They may have been suns themselves, but they gave too little light.

He hoped that his people would get the rest they needed. Their lives were his to sacrifice or preserve. He could not sleep.

He was still watching the heavens when Suti al-Suri came to him.

“Brother.” The chief warrior made no attempt to speak softly. Silhouetted against the dying embers of a campfire, he looked threatening, as fatal as a curse. “Enemy comes. Found scout tracks.” Even the el-Algreb could not move without marking the ice and snow. “They run. Come soon.”

Hells! Those whoreson priests! King Bifalt flung himself out of his bedding, snatched up his breastplate and cloak, his weapons. “How much time do we have?”

Suti al-Suri consulted the stars. “Soon. Too soon.”

The King did not pause for thought. His voice had never lost its hoarseness, but he could make himself heard.

“Up!” he blared. “Everybody up! The horde is coming! We need daylight to fight!”

Jeck and Malder were already with him. He grabbed Malder’s arm. “Tell Spliner and Boy,” he snapped. “They have to save the wagon”—the supplies. “Tell them to go as fast as they dare. We will catch up with them when we get the chance.”

At once, the brawler seemed to disappear among the sprawl of bedrolls and tents.

A moment later, Prince Jaspid started yelling. Elgart joined him. Suti al-Suri’s fluid language ran through the shouts like a stream inspate.

Heaving themselves into motion, King Bifalt’s forces fled back the way they had come.

The King’s army was fortunate. Even running hard, the horde could not outrace his horses. In effect, the fanged men held back the priests. His people were able to keep their distance.

They were still moving at a hard canter as the sun began to rise over the eastern mountains. Slowly, the landscape around them took light.

Gnawing his cheek, King Bifalt scanned the plain. He needed hills, escarpments, piles of boulders, even a copse or two. There were none. He would have to fight in the open.

He had expected that, but he did not like it.