Back in the tent, Qurong would be storming about the beating they’d taken tonight. Not that Martyn blamed him, but how could he explain the complexities of the matter to a mind as simple as Qurong’s? Given a little training, the leader would soon outthink them all, but for the time he was—what was it Thomas had said?—all brawn, no brain.

The bodies below him were already nearly picked over. Looting was a pointless habit of the Horde, but he didn’t see any reason to stop the scavengers after such a firm defeat.

“Black magic,” a voice to his right said. The Dark Priest had slipped up on his blonde mare. Like Martyn, he wore a hooded black robe. “Their magic will be the undoing of us all.”

“You’re talking to a man who left them because he realized that they have no magic,” Martyn said.

“I’ve been visited by the Shataiki,” the religious man said without any hint that he was speaking impossibilities.

“And what did they tell you?”

“That the books are more important than the forests.”

Martyn looked down at the dead. They would leave the bodies for vultures and desert jackals who would make quick work of the flesh before the blowing sand would swallow what was left in a natural grave.

“You’d like nothing more, wouldn’t you? A few more relics for your temple? Your source of power is mystery, not magic.”

The priest sat on his horse without offering a defense. It occurred to Martyn that this druid should not be underestimated. The power of belief alone could change the course of history.

“You’ll have to forgive my skepticism,” Martyn said. “But I did live among them, and I saw no magic.”

“Because you were blind. Why else would you desert them?”

“You’re saying I was wrong?”

“I’m saying that only a fool has no belief. The Shataiki who visited me was named Alucard, advisor to Teeleh himself, and I’ll tell you that not to believe in this beast will be death for us all.”

“Really? What else did this Alucard tell you?”

“There are seven original Books of History, each tied with red twine. They belong to him. The power that goes to him who finds them cannot be fathomed. The torment of failure to find them will be far greater than losing to the Forest Guard.”

“Then search for your books,” Martyn said. “In the meantime, I’ll see that our swords don’t grow dull. We stay out of each other’s way.”

“I think you’ll need my books,” the Dark Priest said. “And I’ll undoubtedly need your sword. Perhaps a more reasonable union would be in order.”

“You’re saying that you have these books?”

“Did I say that?”