Why had he refused to give Waysel Magisters?

Her Commander knew no more than she did. Nevertheless she breathed, “Reassure me, Crayn. What does Rummage hope to accomplish?”

Crayn did not reply directly. Cocking his head, he signed:

—Wait, Majesty.

A knot in her guts coiled tighter. “Why?” She tried to imagine what had caught his notice, but she felt only the slow sigh of air past the boulders, the flow of winter. “What is it?”

He hesitated.

—Hooves.

Then he shook his head.

—Now it is gone. Some trick of the hills must have brought it for a moment.

She bit her lip. She was beginning to understand the impulse that made Bifalt chew the inside of his cheek until he drew blood.

Below her, the enemy rose toward the road. The deeper twilight of the Repository’s shadow still shrouded the priests, but their globes lit their way, bobbing and threshing as they hastened. They aimed to join the rush of the cavalry. Or they would gather and pause at the edge of the road, ready to surge upward when the cavalry passed.

Gods! she thought. Where are Waysel’s Magisters?

Faint with distance came the low tremor of massive hooves striking smooth stone. She felt it.

Crayn snapped upright, cupped his ear to the gap.

The trembling sensation vanished. Then it came again more strongly.

He reported:

—They are near, Majesty. We will see them when they round the next turn.

Reading her mind, he stepped aside, let her stand where she could watch what came.

She held her breath to concentrate. Waysel’s men were poised around their cannon, crouching to conceal themselves from below. Prone at the shelf’s rim, Waysel watched the road.

The priests were still climbing, running with the horde at their backs.

There. North of the plateau, Rile’s cavalry appeared past a bulge in the hillside.

She had been warned, but still the sight stung her. She had never seen such beasts. They were larger than the zhecki of the Nuuri, larger even than the illirim Set Ungabwey had used. They made their armed riders look like dolls. Their tusks gleamed through the froth on their muzzles. They had been galloping since they had reached the caravan-track, yet they came at a furious pace. The impact of their hooves made Estie’s covert quiver.

They were some distance north of the cannon, half a league or more; but at that speed, they would be within range in moments.

Waysel had been forbidden to fire. Not until he received a signal from the Repository.

That was madness. The line of cavalry stretched out of sight. It seemed to stretch to the limits of the world. Those beasts had to be stopped now. Only the siege-guns could do it.

Waysel’s guardsmen did not move.

Below the lip of the road, the white blare of sorcery scrambled higher.