Nevertheless he did not accept death. He had not given in to Makh. He did not falter now. The stakes were too high.

As he ducked under a slashing longsword, he snatched out his garrote. Leaping behind his assailant, he whipped his killing wire around the man’s throat. But he did not pull hard enough to end the man quickly. Instead, he used the strangling man as a mount. With all of his strength, he forced his victim to go where he wanted.

Briefly, he crashed through other infantrymen, riding his shield. Foes were knocked aside. Blades clanged off the breastplate of Elgart’s mount. But then the man stumbled. The jerk tightened Elgart’s garrote. Dying, the man fell on his face.

Elgart rolled away. Stones, snow, and slush slowed his rise to his feet. As he struggled to stand, a broadsword caught him across the face. Angled downward, the blade sliced above his right eyebrow and through his left eye. The weight of the blow stunned him. Weeping blood, he toppled.

He was finished then. He knew it. He had done what he could, and he had failed.

He had no idea what was happening when the rock under him lifted, sent him tumbling away from the nearest infantrymen.

Abruptly, the hillside became a hailstorm of gravel and scree. It pelted infantrymen off their feet. Blasts of wind pummeled them. Other foemen scrambled away.

To stop the bleeding, Elgart clamped a hand hard over his streaming eye. With the other, he wiped away the blood from his brow. The impact of his wound still rang in his skull. He was too numb to feel pain. That would come later. But he could not focus his eyes.

Blinking frantically, he tried to identify the woman standing over him.

“Get up, Elgart with no title,” snapped Magister Astride. “We cannot hold this position. Or carry you. You must walk.

“We have a conversation to finish.”

She looked taller than he remembered, stronger. Her steps seemed to shake the ground as she turned to defend him.

Magister Astride. He had dreamed about her. Her control of her Decimate had saved him again, as it had when Belleger’s Fist had collapsed. She had credited her success to desperation, but clearly she had acquired new skills since then.

Elgart did not know how to refuse her. Covering his ruined eye, he straggled to his feet and went after her.

If any infantrymen threatened him, he did not notice them. Magisters watched over him. He felt the caress of distant flames on his face, the swift kick of winds. He seemed to recognize Magister Trench.

In a blur of sorcery and feverish combat, he approached Klamath.