Its ruin was absolute. Magisters of earthquake had joined the Repository’s fury, ripping up sheets of rock, crushing fanged men in the rubble. Bolts of lightning still reduced men to scorched bones. Fire made bodies burn like torches. Everywhere, Rile’s enslaved allies died, killed by sickness or thirst, or flung off their feet and broken. Warm blood raddled the snow on all sides, transforming deep white blankets to red sludge.

Deaf to the carnage, deaf even to herself, Queen Estie croaked, “Why?”

She meant, Why does Rile not Shield them? They are helpless.

Crayn could not have heard her. Nevertheless he answered:

—He no longer needs them. Like his cavalry, they have served their purpose.

In silence, Estie protested, Has he not abused them enough? But she understood.

The Great God was testing the reach of the Repository’s Magisters. Exposing the positions of Klamath’s men. And wearing down the defenders.

Unaccustomed to their exertions, the library’s theurgists might need hours to recover.

Gods! she cried out to Avail, to Rummage, to anyone who could hear her. This is madness! It is what Rile wants!

Crayn heard her as well. He gestured urgently:

—There is more. Look.

Too shaken to react, she did not move. He took her by her shoulders, shifted her look downhill.

The extermination of the horde lingered in her sight. At first, she could not see what Crayn tried to show her. Rile’s cruelty— He had forced the Repository to act. Its defenders had no choice except to kill the men he sent against them. If they had not dealt with the horde, they might not be able to counter his next atrocity.

But to the west below her covert, there was no sorcery. As her vision cleared, she saw muzzle flashes, hundreds of guns spitting bullets. Klamath’s hidden riflemen were firing. And other men had appeared lower down, closer to the road, men clad like nomads. They carried guns and cutlasses, bandoliers of daggers. As they rushed closer, they were shooting into the mass of Rile’s light infantry.

On her shoulder, the Commander tapped:

—The el-Algreb. They must be.

Then he added:

—I do not see King Bifalt.

As if that name had the power to command her, Estie concentrated.

The el-Algreb. The Farsighted had spoken of them. They came up the foothills and onto the road south of the enemy, firing as they ran. She did not know how anyone running could shoot accurately.

Apparently, the el-Algreb lacked that skill. The infantrymen responded like men who did not fear rifles. Instead of dropping to the ground or scattering until they had a chance to close with Suti al-Suri’s warriors, they stood to form a wall on this side, and on the north as well. Anyone—even Estie—could have fired at that barrier and hit some foeman.