Down the slope below her, the road was invisible. Night and the shadows of the Wall covered it. Klamath and his men were well concealed. Nothing in the darkness suggested movement.

But the globes of the priests made their presence vivid. They were still below the road. Their sorcery cast white light at the deep heavens; etched the outlines of the lower foothills like acid. Gods, they were many! And theirs was not the only power. Through their shining ran delicate tendrils of gold, as vague as mist, and as complex as a spider’s web.

The Great God was coming closer.

Would a storm slow him? Estie did not think so.

More to the south, night still held the hills. There was nothing to see. There might be nothing until the sun rose. Rile’s cavalry would arrive from the north.

The cold drew shivers from the marrow of Estie’s bones. The night felt as expectant as an indrawn breath. The pause before the pounce.

Waysel had cannon for both the cavalry and the infantry. But he did not have enough. And the Magisters he needed had not come. Despite Estie’s urgent demands— Without them, the priests might sweep the guns aside like toys. They might shatter the whole plateau.

Crayn gestured:

—Dawn is near, Majesty.

The hush over the hills demanded quiet. Even the men at the cannon worked in silence. Waysel’s few commands were muted.

—There is sunlight on the mountaintops.

Only the highest peaks could be seen from the Queen’s vantage, but their ice and snow caught the sun like premonitions.

The skies were still clear.

She hugged her cloak around her and waited.

As the darkness faded to dusk, Magister Avail addressed her. She heard something shrill in his voice, an edge of alarm.

Queen, he said, the Farsighted have enough light. The Great God’s supply-train has reached the edge of the desert. His servants unload the first wagons. The horde follows the priests upward. The infantrymen lag behind.

The cavalry will come soon.

Wrestling with herself, Estie asked, What of King Bifalt? Or the el-Algreb? What do the Farsighted see?

Nothing, snapped Avail. Then he made an effort to calm himself. The Farsighted have other concerns. What does the Great God need from his wagons? What does he think that the horde can accomplish against cannon? Can his priests stop cannonballs? The Farsighted have no answers.

Estie swallowed a lump of dread. No, she commanded herself. Stop. Let Bifalt go. She had to trust that he had not been lost.

With an effort, she turned her attention to the cannon.

The siege-guns were hers, forged in Amika. Fired downhill, their shots would carry over the road. They might reach farther than Magister Rummage expected. If the priests hurried, Waysel’s barrage might miss them entirely. If the hunchback waited too long, even the horde might escape.

Why did he intend to let the cavalry pass unharmed?