“And how can you be sure you know where this fighter is?” Boris demanded. “A distraction will only cause commotion for so long before it wakes the whole camp. Our horses are tired; remember that.”

“Where would you keep the most valuable prisoner you possess?” Johnis asked.

“At the command center.”

“Exactly. That’s where they have her.”

“But if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

A small flame flared to life from a tall hill on their right, then faded and died. “What was that?” Silvie asked.

But she didn’t need to ask again, because she now saw the dark outline of a rider, unmoving against the distant horizon where the flame had burned.

Had they been seen?

“SO SOON,” QURONG, LEADER OF THE HORDE, SAID. “BECAUSE of one ring. How could you know?”

“I have my ways. We are agreed then?”

They stood in the courtyard of the royal tent, gazing west toward the hill from which the signal had come. The Horde army was four hundred thousand strong, and although they left most of their women and dogs at home, they still moved slowly. It wouldn’t have taken long for the Guard to catch them.

Most of the heavy equipment was loaded on carts dragged behind horses and mules—carrying tents that each slept ten, cakes of sago bread and taro root, barrels of wheat wine, hay for the horses, and blacksmith’s wares. Mounted warriors carried the rest.

They’d pitched the tents and bedded down so that all would appear to be business as usual, although the traitor had made it clear that the Forest Dwellers didn’t really know what business as usual was among the Horde. They didn’t send spies for fear of catching the skin disease. This was the one advantage the Horde held.

Qurong rolled his neck and felt it crack. A pain in his spine had kept him from sleep—so he’d spent the hours pacing and drinking. The Dark Priest had suggested he offer a prayer to the winged serpent they worshipped, to ease his pain, but Qurong didn’t trust this black magic business. He was more interested in destroying the Forest Dwellers.

How leaving one ring on a boulder could have led the Guard into the desert, Qurong had no idea. But if the traitor could lure them so easily, he would command as one of their generals, as agreed.

“Of course, agreed.”

“And I will be called Martyn,” the traitor said.

“Fine, Martyn. How many are there?”

“Our scout says only a handful. A few hundred. We’ll slaughter them. We have ten thousand on their flanks, closing on them as we speak. They have no escape. The battle I promised you will be over in minutes.”

“If Thomas isn’t with them, then it will be a shallow victory,” Qurong said. “It’s Thomas we need.”