Hilgard motioned the fighters slowly forward on panting horses. Some leaned over, rubbing the mounts’ noses or feeding them water from a canteen. Most held at least one weapon loosely in hand as naturally as a cook might hold a spoon. In the desert the Guard slept with a blade half-swung, so the saying went.

Silvie pulled out her sword and laid it across her lap. Eight-inch knives rested in sheaths, two on each calf. She could use a knife more effectively than most who’d fought a hundred battles, but in pitched combat arrows and swords fared better than knives.

The Third reached the scout, who waited in her saddle. She nodded at the crest. “In the valley ahead, as far as the eye can see.”

Hilgard dismounted and ran forward, with Johnis and Silvie close behind. They dropped three abreast and were joined by Captain Boris.

Silvie didn’t see them at first for lack of fires. But they weren’t looking for fires—it was the dead of night, and the Horde would be asleep.

Slowly the faint outlines of the massive Horde camp separated themselves from the surrounding desert sands. The pale tents blended well, only slightly darker, like honey on bread. At the camp’s center, far away, several much larger tents rose above the others. To the right, thousands of horses slept on their feet or gnawed on straw, their heads bent.

Silvie’s pulse pounded in the silent night.

The single greatest advantage the Guard cavalry had over the Horde was the fact that Horde horses couldn’t smell as well because of their own stench.

Guard, on the other hand, could smell perfectly well the horrible stench that rose from the camp ahead. A nauseating rotten-egg smell hit Silvie in her face like a blast of Shataiki breath. She spat into the sand.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to give us the plan,” Captain Boris whispered.

Johnis just stared into the valley. It struck Silvie that he wasn’t prepared for this. None of them were, really. Following idealistic whims, even throwing yourself in front of stampeding horses for a cause was one thing. But leading fighters into battle was another.

“The ring was left intentionally,” Johnis said to no one in particular. “It’s the only reason the Roush could have found it. We have to assume that they wanted us to come after her.”

“Roush?” Hilgard said.

Except Johnis and Silvie, none of them had seen a Roush in many years. Johnis was prohibited from speaking of their experience. He’d slipped. So Silvie deflected the question.

“Figure of speech. He means scout. Unseen and silent.”

Hilgard nodded. “You’d need to be Roush to get in there, I can tell you that much.”

“Not if we create a distraction,” Johnis said.