The reaction of the light infantry confirmed it. Half of them ignored Suti al-Suri’s attack. Instead of fighting, they adjusted their ascent to wrap themselves around the cluster of priests. No matter what the el-Algreb did, they would not get close to those priests. The rest of the foot soldiers barred their way.

Magister Rummage clutched his chest as if his heart were bursting. The people with him did not appear to understand that their doom had arrived. When those protected servants scrambled up the hillside to deliver their burdens—when the Great God’s minions were forced, willing or unwilling, to take their places at the trestle-table—

Driving his fingers like spikes into his friend’s hand, Rummage wrote:

—Now! Strike now!

Magister Avail winced at the pain, but he did not falter. As loud as a rank of trumpets, he blared, “NOW!”

The sudden crash of sorcery and rifle-fire began the battle.

In her covert of boulders above and south of the lower plateau, Queen Estie heard Magister Avail’s call. The force of his shout shocked her.

Commander Crayn shook his head as if his ears were ringing. His mouth shaped questions that she could not hear.

But he knew what the command meant as soon as she did. The clamor of rifles was unmistakable, some nearby, others faint with distance. Ungifted as he was, he felt the abrupt sizzle and slam of the Decimates. He could not sense their unleashing as Estie did. He recognized them by their effects.

Every rifleman in General Klamath’s command was firing, every soldier with a clear shot at the enemy. His Magisters unleashed their Decimates. And from the high balcony of the Repository came a torrent of destruction.

Fighting her weakness, Estie forced her head into the gap that gave her a view of Rile’s pavilion and the slopes below it.

The migraine theurgy of the priests protected them and their god. Lightning broke high over their heads and scattered, wasting its force. Waves of fire splashed against the Shields and sank away. But everywhere else—

Sorcery poured onto the horde. Blasts of wind tossed the fanged men despite their unnatural strength. Pestilence flowed down the slopes, spreading sickness. Drought sucked single men and packed groups dry, shriveling muscles. When the Magisters of lightning and fire turned their power on closer targets, they delivered slaughter.

General Klamath’s people had not positioned themselves to fight the horde. His riflemen and Magisters struck at Rile’s heavy infantry below the pavilion. But Estie could not see what they accomplished. They were on the north side of the enemy, out of her sight. Instead, she watched the horde.