For a moment, General Klamath glared around the kitchen, daring anyone to challenge or question his account. Then he found that he could no longer bear to remain where he was. He needed to talk to King Bifalt.

He surged to his feet. “Captain Flisk,” he ordered as if he were sure of himself, “take command of our defense. While Commander Forguile searches for Father Skurn, prepare the guns and cannoneers for battle. I will return with reinforcements. And King Bifalt. For the present, keep these Magisters with you. Explain what you require of them. Protect them with riflemen.”

Flisk’s look of bafflement said plainly that he did not know what to do with Magisters of wind and drought. But General Klamath was in a hurry now.

He added, “Remind Commander Forguile. That priest’s sorcery is fatal. We need him dead.”

While Lambent howled protests and Trench shouted questions, the General strode out of the kitchen, slammed the door, and called for his horse.

The snowfall was dwindling. Perhaps the storm would pass soon. When the fighting started, the bay’s defenders might be able to see. Klamath told himself that would help. But he did not believe it. Rile’s forces would be able to see as well.

FIVE

NEWS COMES TO BELLEGER’S FIST

Following two days of heavy snow, the sky over the Open Hand began to clear toward midafternoon. Winds from the east nudged the storm toward the sea. Finally, the sun shone on homes and merchantries and stables roofed with dazzling white; on the fortified walls that enclosed the old city; on bright icicles and small, poised avalanches hanging from the many eaves and sills of Belleger’s Fist. The streets resembled clean satin where they had not been torn by the stubborn passage of men and horses, women and wagons, children and servants, all clinging to the demands of their daily lives. Where use and breezes had made drifts, snow covered stoops and porches, rose as high as windows. Large dogs intrepid enough to venture out disappeared entirely in the flurries of their own romping. For a few hours, sunshine gave even the most ramshackle, haphazard regions of the city an air of enchantment.

But the winds also delivered a ferocious cold. In the freezing air, icicles broke with a sound like rocks snapping. Loads of snow slipping from the canted slates of the keep’s towers fell like grenades and burst on the lower roofs, the crenelated fortifications, the twisting lanes. The curses of people as they floundered along the streets echoed everywhere. The shrieks of giddy children resembled screams.