Following the season of rains and drizzle, an unruly sheet of lead covered the region from horizon to horizon. Bruised and twisted clouds shrouded the landscape with gloom. The atmosphere had a heavy feel, an expectant hush, that promised snow. But the threat of storms did not trouble General Klamath. He could have found his way in any weather. For the First Captain, however, the beaten track was new. Until now, his duties had kept him in the vicinity of the Hand.

Without qualms, Klamath and Matt left the army to Second Captain Hegels. A former Amikan Commander, he was a humorless veteran with a literal mind. He demanded precision from himself and expected the same from his men. He would not waste time while the General and the First Captain were away.

The company they led were not soldiers. Eleven of them were youths, hardly more than boys, who had volunteered to join the bay’s defense because they were fiercely interested in learning to fire cannon. No doubt, they sought adventure and a sense of manhood. To Klamath’s eye, they had neither the strength nor the endurance to carry cannonballs or wrestle with the guns. On the other hand, he was confident that they could light fuses all day. In any case, Captain Flisk and Commander Forguile would find some use for them.

But the twelfth volunteer was a different matter. He was Father Skurn, a priest of the Great God Rile.

To Klamath’s certain knowledge, Skurn was the last priest in the Open Hand. He may have been the last priest in Belleger. Father Knout was dead, and all of the others had been captured. Since then, they had accepted King Bifalt’s offer to let them join Set Ungabwey’s caravan. Perhaps they had been as lost as they seemed without their Archpriest.

Apparently, Father Skurn had made a different choice.

In his heart, Klamath believed that Elgart was dead. He considered Skurn a party to that crime. He had felt an instant fury when he recognized the priest. But he had not shown it. He had the soldier’s gift for setting himself aside in the face of threats. He had seemed calm as he approached the priest.

Despite the heavy stillness, the air had teeth. Father Skurn had covered his black robe with an oiled rain-cape and wrapped a heavy shawl around his neck. Still, he suffered in the cold. His distress showed in the bursts of vapor from his mouth. The hood of his cape hid his features, but the jut of his beard betrayed that he was shivering.

Drawing his mount to the priest’s side, General Klamath had said almost mildly, “You surprise me, priest. Your comrades have gone south. Why are you not with them?”