If Klamath had been alone, he might have allowed himself to find comfort in Pillion’s survival. But of course he was not alone. He had eight Magisters with him, all clamoring for explanations. He had hoped to show them the fortifications, the positions of the cannon; but that had become impossible. When Rile began his final approach, they would have to fight for their lives and their homelands without so much as a glance at the terrain of battle. Only Magister Lambent had seen it before.

Nevertheless the General ignored them. He had larger concerns. He belonged in the Open Hand with his army, or in Belleger’s Fist with his King. But he could not leave until he knew what happened to Captain Flisk’s Magisters—and to Flisk himself. King Bifalt would demand an answer. More than that, Klamath hoped to hear that Father Skurn had been captured or shot. Preferably shot. Alive, the priest might be capable of astonishing harm.

With his fists and his jaws clenched, General Klamath paced around the long tables and the stove, measuring the accumulation of his faults and fears while he waited for someone to tell him what he had to know.

The Magisters were not disposed to wait. For a time, the General’s glare rebuffed them as they argued among themselves, trying to decide who would dare Klamath’s ire. Then Magister Lambent put himself squarely in Klamath’s path. Stretching himself to his full height, the lightning-wielder put on an imperious air: the mask of a man entitled by birth and power to make demands. Unfortunately for him, he could not conceal his alarm. His voice quivered as he spoke.

“Answer us, General. Explain the priest’s power. It is like nothing we know. As we are, we are helpless. How can we defend ourselves if we do not understand what we face?”

Klamath had no patience for this. He faced Magister Lambent in silence until the man began to wilt. Then he said as if he were cursing, “You heard what I told Commander Forguile. That is all I know.”

Pushing past the Magister, he continued pacing. While he walked, he watched the kitchen door, willing it to open.

Eventually, Captain Flisk came in from the snow. He had left with seven Magisters. He returned with four, and no one else. He must have sent his soldiers to join the search for Father Skurn.

Among the Magisters, only Trench had regained his composure. The others had the haunted aspect of people who had seen their own deaths, and could not stop seeing them. In the old wars, they had always killed from safety. They had never experienced violence directed at them. They hurried to the stove to warm themselves, and to share their dismay.

Heren Flisk looked worse than haunted. He looked shattered.

At once, General Klamath waved to one of the servants, called for flagons of hot cider. Then he seated himself at one of the tables and waited for Flisk to join him.