For himself, Magister Rummage did not fear the Great God’s Decimate. He did not fear it for the librarian and his other comrades. They had been forewarned. But it had other uses. And it might not be the Great God’s only innovation.

What then? To defend the Last Repository, Magister Rummage had nothing more than an inexperienced assortment of Decimate-wielders, the Knights of Ardor, and King Bifalt’s failing forces.

Then? Ah, then. Through his teeth, Rummage snarled silent curses.

Wrestling with his dread, he wandered among the restricted books shelved on the upper rounds of the library. He took down books that he had read before, scanned them to confirm their contents, then put them back. The dangerous texts were scattered here and there on the highest levels, apparently at random to disguise their presence. To reach them, Rummage stormed up and down the stairs between the rounds like a man who knew what he wanted but could not find it. In truth, however, he was simply passing time. Waiting. Lost.

And listening.

Magister Avail was with the librarian and the Farsighted. Magister Oblique was there to translate for him. Avail repeated what he learned to everyone who needed to hear it. The mute sorcerer listened closely.

Several days ago, General Klamath’s forces had paused at the edge of the desert for an hour of food and rest. Then they had followed the Repository’s guides among the dunes. By that time, the horde had joined the Great God’s army. King Bifalt with his riflemen and the el-Algreb had confronted the continuing stream of infantry and cavalry, wagons and priests.

The Great God drove his forces hard. Without the eighth Decimate and the hunger of the horde, his host could not have sustained the pace he set. Clearly, he did not care how many men he worked to death. As he advanced, soldiers failed and fell. Whether or not they still lived, the horde tore them apart.

Perhaps for that reason, the infantry kept marching.

In contrast, General Klamath and his men had recovered some of their strength. After two days of steady plodding, they had reached the caravan-track. This time, they did not pause. The enemy’s vanguard was not far behind them. The priests had cleared their god’s way with frightening ease. Already, the enemy was less than a day from the track.

Instructed by Magister Avail, General Klamath and his riflemen followed their guides higher into the desert. The guides led them toward terrain that they might be able to defend effectively: the foothills above the road.

Now, while Magister Rummage perused texts that meant nothing to him, he heard that the Great God’s host had gained the caravan-track.

At once, the god sent his cavalrymen north along the track, hundreds of them, then thousands, racing at the full stretch of their beasts toward the road leading up to the Repository.

They had only a few priests with them.