A kind of fever came over Klamath then. He was torn between haste and caution. King Bifalt needed him back in the Open Hand. The enemy had come sooner than anyone had expected. The army was not ready. That was the General’s responsibility. But he was also needed where he was, at least for an hour or two. He had done too little to prepare Captain Flisk and Commander Forguile for the threat of Father Skurn’s reawakened sorcery. And for all he knew, Flisk might be dead—in addition to several Magisters of wind. Before he left the bay, he had to deal with that cursed priest.

Klamath was an ordinary man with ordinary wits, ordinary courage, a soft heart, and no special gift of foresight; but he did what he could. Cursing himself, he summoned a messenger to carry his first report to King Bifalt. “And tell the King,” he added, “I will return when I know more.” Then he turned on Commander Forguile.

“Muster every rifleman here, sir,” he demanded. “You will need them mounted. Find Captain Flisk’s company. Bring him to me.” If he still lives. “Attend to the Magisters with him.

“And begin a search for Father Skurn. He will not linger in the camp.” He would be too easily found. “Scour the woods.” They would be full of coverts. Most of the trees were bare, but they crowded close together, hiding their secrets. “And remember that he is dangerous.”

The Commander stood at attention. Despite the snow and the gloom, his eyes showed an eager fury. He had spent ten years working on the fortifications, and Heren Flisk was his friend.

Bitterly, Klamath confessed, “The fault is mine. Magister Pillion warned me, but I did not share his fears. I should have had him guarded. I did not know the enemy is so close.

“The priest can draw on his Great God’s sorcery. It spreads confusion. At its worst, it compels others to do his bidding. Compels, sir. Make them understand their peril. Skurn cannot be allowed to claim them.”

Forguile nodded. “As you say, General. What of the guns? If the enemy is near?”

“Forget them,” snapped Klamath. “They are useless in this weather. You will have time to ready them when you have found that priest.”

At once, Commander Forguile wheeled away. His grin promised bloodshed as he ran toward the kitchens and the bunkhouses, the resting soldiers and the servants tending the horses.

General Klamath was in a hurry. “Follow me!” he barked at the Magisters of lightning. As quickly as he dared on the packed snow and ice, he led them back to the nearest kitchen.