Raj Ahten had left himself open to attack. He’d brought fewer than a thousand forcibles to Castle Sylvarresta, and over half of those had been used up last night, consumed by the spells that bound Raj Ahten and his Dedicates. He’d left forty thousand forcibles at Longmot, true, and he’d judged that those forcibles would be safe. Longmot was a great castle, with high walls bound with magic spells. And though Raj Ahten’s forces in Longmot had been small, their numbers were to have been bolstered soon.

The window of opportunity for someone to strike at Longmot had been dreadfully narrow. Given Longmot’s defenses, it should have been able to withstand any attack from the smaller keeps within striking distance. Castles Groverman and Dreis were both within a days’ ride from Longmot. But Raj Ahten’s advance scouts had assured him that the garrisons there were small. Jureem’s spies had seen none of Orden’s forces in either castle.

His spies only sent word that Orden had brought a “larger than anticipated retinue” to celebrate Hostenfest, and that they were camped outside the village of Hazen, on the southern borders of Heredon. The retinue contained at most three thousand men—including knights, squires, cooks, and camp followers. It was a large force, larger than Raj Ahten had planned to engage. Normally Orden brought fewer than three hundred men to the hunt.

But now the scouts said that last night, over two thousand knights had been riding toward Castle Sylvarresta. How could that be? Did Orden bring two forces, one to attack Longmot, another to ride north?

Two days. Jureem hadn’t received a report from Longmot in two days. He should have had a status report. Jureem suspected that Longmot had fallen. King Orden had somehow taken the castle.

Fifty thousand men, the messenger had said. Fifty thousand? The number unnerved Jureem, for it seemed too close to the number of knights he’d estimated Orden would marshal against his master next spring—if Orden escaped the trap. King Orden could marshal a quarter million knights of decent prowess, but he’d not attack with anywhere close to that number. He wouldn’t dare leave his castles defenseless.

Elaborate schemes, all on the verge of crumbling. Raj Ahten needed to take the North, and he needed to take it quickly. For years now the blood-metal mines of Kartish had been playing out. They’d be empty by midwinter.

Only in Inkarra could he get more blood metal. It was said that the mines there still yielded well.

Yet no lord of Rofehavan or Indhopal had ever succeeded in invading Inkarra. Wizards there were not powerful, but they were plentiful. The Inkarrans had adopted battle tactics well suited to their terrain—quick strikes in the hills on solid little ponies. And the Inkarrans could not be defeated unless one also defeated the high lords of the arr.