“I came to do what I can. I am too old for children.”

Bifalt hid his shock behind a severe frown. Amandis seemed to be saying that she believed in him. A most holy devotee of Spirit? He might have challenged her, but he felt too shaken to take the risk.

Under the circumstances, Magister Marrow’s death meant nothing to him. He had chosen his path despite the former librarian’s manipulations and dishonesty. He saw no reason to step aside now.

Sternly, he said, “You have not come too soon, Devotee. How will you help us?”

That question she answered without prodding.

“The el-Algreb serve you better than you know, King. They will lead you to the caravan-track. Beyond it, I will guide you. I know paths that the enemy does not. You will travel more swiftly.”

At once, Bifalt asked, “Will we catch up with Rile before he attacks the library?”

She snorted. “Another wasted question. I have no sorcery. I see only what you see.” Then she appeared to relent. “Suti al-Suri’s scouts will know more when we reach the foothills.”

The King had more questions. Some of them might not be wasted. But while he tried to choose one, Elgart intervened.

“Will you share a meal with us while we rest, Devotee? We have enough.”

The King expected a brusque refusal. Instead, Amandis studied the former spy. “A game of two players?” she mused. “An interesting notion. If you had mentioned it while we rode together, we might have done it justice.

“This is not the time,” she said more firmly. “Rest if you must. It would be better to ride on. We require haste.”

King Bifalt took the hint. “Prince?” he asked his brother. “Can your men wait to rest? We should go.”

Jaspid did not hesitate. He lacked the instincts of a commander. His responsibility for the riflemen hung over his head like a personal storm. But his brief success seemed to restore his spirits. He almost smiled as he replied, “As you say, Majesty.” Together, he and Suti al-Suri began calling orders.

Most of the King’s soldiers had dismounted. The horse-warriors had not. While the riflemen swung up into their saddles and resumed their formation, Bifalt examined himself. To his surprise, he found that he no longer felt lost.

Amandis knew quicker paths. If the chief warrior did not, neither did Rile. And the foothills of the Wall Mountains were not the desert. Their obstructions could not be swept aside like dunes. They would slow the enemy.

There was still a chance that King Bifalt would arrive in time for the last battle. An hour ago, he would not have believed it. Now he was able to hope.