Klamath swore. “He cannot speak if he does not live. He could have told you what he needs to say.”

Forguile winced. “He insisted, General.” Hells, the Commander was older than Klamath, yet he was embarrassed. “He fought me. I feared he would harm himself. Whatever it is means more to him than his life. When he started weeping, I snagged a horse and brought him here.”

General Klamath shrugged excuses aside. Harshly, he demanded, “Have you seen the priest?”

The Commander frowned. “Not since the dawn meal, General.”

“What was he doing in that bunkhouse?”

“Preaching, I am told. Only that. He wanted a larger audience. Three were all who chose to hear him.”

Cursing to himself, Klamath thought, Too late. It is already too late.

But too late for what, he had no idea.

Hurrying, he lifted Pillion out of Forguile’s clasp. The small man’s weight surprised him. Pillion’s garments had absorbed too much water. Carefully, Klamath sank to his knees in the snow, then sat back on his heels, holding the Magister against him.

“Now give us space, Commander.”

Forguile knew an order when he heard it. Magisters and riflemen had crowded closer. “Stand back!” he demanded. “And be still! Let General Klamath hear.”

After an instant of confusion, the soldiers obeyed. Brusquely, they herded the reluctant Magisters away.

Bracing Pillion’s head with one arm, Klamath rubbed the man’s chest; tried to rouse him. That had no effect. Fearing that he had already waited too long, Klamath slapped the Magister’s face lightly.

Again.

And again with more force.

Magister Pillion’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes did not focus. Perhaps they could not. But his lips moved.

Scarcely audible, he asked, “General?”

Through his teeth, Klamath said, “I am here, Magister. Give me your report.”

Pillion blinked as if he understood. Violent shivers ran through him. He hardly had the strength to form words. Klamath hardly had the courage to hear him.

“I saw!” croaked the Magister. “Here. I saw him.” His shivering threatened to break him, but he clung to his dismay. “He was nothing. No sorcerer. No sorcery. I am certain.

“But he changed. I saw it, I tell you. Any sorcerer would see it. His power was restored. I saw it given back to him. And he saw me.

“I ran to warn you. Then I—” Pillion seemed to lose track of his thoughts. “There was snow everywhere,” he breathed like groaning. “Too deep. I could not—”

The small, valiant man was done. His eyes rolled back in his head. Shivers scattered the shreds of his desperation. He slumped against Klamath’s arm.

But Klamath had heard enough. Furious with himself, frantic for Pillion, he looked around for the nearest rifleman. “You!” he shouted. “Take the Commander’s horse. Get this Magister to a stove! Warm him. Save him if you can.

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