“And send more men!” A heartbeat later, he added, “Mounted!”

Captain Flisk’s company had to be warned. Klamath could not reach them fast enough on foot. He did not know the rims of the cliff. No yell would carry through the snowfall.

In a rush, the rifleman settled himself on Forguile’s horse. At once, the Commander took Magister Pillion from Klamath, handed him up to the soldier. The horse wheeled away, goaded to risk a canter on the track to the kitchen.

The beast and its burdens seemed to dissolve in the snow. At the same time, Forguile arranged his remaining riflemen to shield the Magisters. Lambent and others shouted frightened questions. The Commander ignored them. He could not explain the threat. But he was a veteran: he could draw obvious conclusions.

Hells! thought Klamath. Oh, hells! How much time had passed since Pillion left the bunkhouse? Enough to almost kill him while he tried to fight his way out of a snowdrift. His warning came too late.

I have not seen the other two. They both had rifles.

There was nothing Klamath could do. He did not even have his own gun. He had left it behind as a sign that he was not taking the Magisters into danger. He wore only his saber and dagger.

But he was the General of King Bifalt’s army. The challenge and the failure were his.

Painfully, he climbed to his feet. For no good reason except that he was afraid, he spent a moment brushing snow off his legs. Like the Commander, he ignored the Magisters. To Forguile, he said only, “Until we know more, we are safer where we are.”

If he tried to take his charges back to the kitchen, they would spread out. The track was too narrow to keep the Magisters in a clump. And Klamath did not have enough men to surround them. Lambent, Brighten, and the others would be easy targets.

Privately, Commander Forguile urged, “Tell me what you can, General. What did he say that was worth his life?”

Klamath meant to answer, The enemy is closer than we knew. He practiced repeating the words in his mind. But he could not force them out.

He had not earned his place as King Bifalt’s lead commander. Pretending that he deserved his rank was not enough.

His power was restored.

While Klamath tried to rise above himself, he heard a distant sound through the gabble of the Magisters. Nearby, it could have been the snapping of a twig. Far away, it could have been anything. A heavy bough cracking under its burden of snow. Ice breaking against itself as it shifted. A chunk of the cliff-edge shearing away.

Klamath had been a soldier for twenty years. He knew the specific bang of a gunshot.

It was followed almost immediately by a second shot.

Forguile recognized the sound as well. So did the riflemen. But falling snow masked directions. Did it come from the camp? The woods? Somewhere else?