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.

The younger man dropped onto a bench opposite the General, propped his elbows on the table, hid his face in his hands. His arms and shoulders trembled, but not from cold. When the servant set a steaming flagon in front of him, he did not glance at it.

With both hands, Klamath clasped his own flagon. He would have preferred to give Flisk kindness. The man had not been an active soldier since the time of Prince Bifalt’s search for the library. During the intervening years, he had lost the habit of carrying his weapons. To protect the Magisters of wind, he had worn only his dagger. No one could hold him accountable for the people who had died.

But the Captain held himself accountable: that was obvious. At that moment, he did not need kindness. Like Klamath himself, he needed demands he could answer, duties he was able to perform.

“Report, sir,” ordered the General softly. “I have been waiting too long. I need to know what happened.”

Flisk flinched. He may have expected a stinging reproach. Nevertheless he had never lacked courage despite his self-doubt. He uncovered his face, raised his head.

“As you say, General.”

Klamath sipped cider to steady himself as Heren Flisk began.

“We were nearing the place I had chosen for the Magisters to raise their Decimates. Beyond the reach of our lanterns, the snow veiled everything, and they did not reach far. An army could have crept up on us, and we would not have known it.

“The shots came from the woods. The first took Magister Shallow. The second killed Magister Scurry.”

Two out of seven.

“You trained your men well, General. Before I could move—before I could think—they placed themselves between the Magisters and the line of fire. One of them died for his bravery. Another was grazed. I do not know their names. Many of your riflemen are new to me. But muzzle flashes exposed our attackers. Your men returned fire. Our enemies were killed.

“Now I am here. What more do you need, sir?”

What more do I need? thought Klamath. I need a hundred men like you. A thousand. And I need that priest dead. But he did not say so. “Did you look for bodies, Captain?”