“Diagonal barricades of fire should allow our people to flee on one side while the enemy advances on the other. I have nothing better to offer.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, King Bifalt hesitated for a moment. He had a particular antipathy for Magisters whose Decimate was fire. Twenty years ago, his search for the Last Repository had been betrayed by a man named Slack who had that gift. Deprived of his power by the seventh Decimate, he had turned to treason. Then, much more recently, the traitors who had ambushed the Queen-Consort on her way to Amika and her father had relied on a fire-wielder. Such men were inclined to treachery.

Nevertheless Slack’s declaration of his own convictions, then and now, struck Bifalt like a condemnation. A man is not a man at all if he cannot enter and enjoy every chamber of himself.

But if the Royal Surveyor had no other ideas, there was nothing better to be done. Of Crawl, the King asked, “What will you do if sorcerers of fire come to counter you?”

The young man winced, momentarily nonplussed. Then he brightened. “Perhaps they can be shot?”

With an inward sigh, the King announced, “Then I am persuaded.

“Magister Crawl, I leave the training of other Magisters to you. Command them in my name. If they are reluctant to share your peril, they will answer to me.”

Almost bursting, the young sorcerer answered at once, “As you say, Majesty.”

He may have wanted to say more, but King Bifalt had moved on. He gave the Royal Surveyor instructions that Wheal already understood. In Land-Captain Erepos’ name, the King promised oil, wood, and labor for the work of making barricades. Then he thanked both men and dismissed them.

The young Magister left with a surge in his steps. Walking away in a different direction, back bent, head bowed, the Royal Surveyor resembled a mole burrowing through a mound of responsibilities and unhappiness.

When Crawl and Wheal were out of hearing, King Bifalt gestured his bodyguards closer. “Be wary of that Magister.” His memories made his voice more hoarse than usual. “Have him watched when you cannot do so yourselves. You know what I fear. His eagerness troubles me.” When Bifalt spoke to his Magisters in person, his commands were usually received with sighs or rolled eyes; suppressed impatience. “If he is true to his word, he may be the saving of many lives. If he is not—”

“Then refuse him, Majesty,” suggested Jeck. More than his comrades, he occasionally presumed to advise his King. “You do not need him. You know his proposal. Some other Magister can take his place.”

Without hesitation, Spliner promised gruffly, “If he is false, Majesty, he will be stopped.”

“Do so,” ordered King Bifalt. “But be sure of him first. If he is true, his excitement may prod other Magisters to match him.”