He had been here once before, but he did not remember it. He had traveled in a drugged sleep. And when he had left the Repository, he had been given a map that took him almost directly to western Belleger. The road was new to him.

Nevertheless he knew approximately where he was. To his left, the road followed the contours of the foothills northward, descending slowly toward its junction with the caravan-track. To his right, it ran well past the Repository before beginning its long curve back up to the keep’s vast porch.

Studying the hills, he saw a rim of rock a considerable distance above him, an outcropping of some kind. It jutted out from the slopes in a way that implied a level space behind it. And high above it rose the Repository itself, thrusting its rounds of books and papers skyward. The white stone held the sunlight like a promise. Set against the cloak of snow draped over the Wall Mountains, that white threatened to dazzle him.

After uncounted leagues, he was near his goal at last: the cause and prize of the Great God’s war.

General Klamath would have preferred to send his army south toward the Repository by the easiest route. But Magister Avail had been speaking in his mind, and he knew his duty. Leaving Prince Jaspid and Elgart to watch over the riflemen and Magisters, he called for First Captain Hegels, sub-Commander Hellick, and Captain Rowt.

He had orders to give and expected protests. For privacy, so that they could express themselves without being overheard, he led them a short distance away. There they dismounted. Standing stiffly on legs that had forgotten everything except riding, they faced each other.

None of them looked as worn down as Klamath felt. Hegels kept everything hidden behind his humorless mien. Hellick had not been part of the General’s desperate flight ahead of Rile’s cavalry. And Rowt was young.

“Here it is, sirs.” The General’s voice was hoarse with weariness. “We have new orders.” He tapped his forehead. His officers knew what that meant. “We are told to make our stand there.” He gestured up at the foothills. “We must do what we can to prevent the enemy from climbing higher.”

His men turned to study the slopes. In many ways, that terrain was ideal for riflemen opposing a superior force. The ground was a chaotic litter of boulders and scree, stony soil, narrow gullies like gulches, dead or wintering brush clinging to patches of dirt. More men than Klamath had could have hidden all over those hillsides and fought without exposing themselves.

Captain Rowt was the first to ask a question. “What of our Magisters, sir? Those hills suit us. They will not suit them.”