“You heard me right. A war will be fought here near dawn. I expect Raj Ahten to throw his full force against us. He anticipates the help of an army of a hundred thousand, and I—do not know what allies I might have. If this castle falls, if we all die, it will be your duty to return here and retrieve the treasure, then deliver it to Mystarria.”

“Milord, have you considered retreat?” Stroecker asked. One of the dogs stood, pushed its muzzle against the King’s thigh. The dog seemed hungry, but would settle for affection.

“I think about it every moment,” Orden said, “but my son is missing in the wilderness, and, so far, I have no word of him. Until I hear word, I must consider that Raj Ahten holds him prisoner and has taken an endowment—or that he is dead.” Orden took a deep breath. For all his life, he’d sought to protect and nurture his son. His wife had borne him four children. Only Gaborn had survived. Yet his worry for Gaborn was but one of a multitude of pains. His voice faltered as he admitted, “And I have sent my most fearsome warrior to kill my best friend. If my fears prove true, Captain Stroecker—if the worst comes to pass—I won’t want to live through this battle. I’m going to raise my sword against Raj Ahten. I’m going to attack him, personally. Either he will die or I will die. At dawn we will be forming a serpent ring.”

King Orden held up the forcibles.

Captain Stroecker’s face paled. Creating a serpent ring was a dangerous gambit. With these forcibles, Orden could take an endowment of metabolism from a man, who would then take an endowment from another, who would take an endowment from another, so that each man became one in a long line of vectors. In the parlance of facilitators, this line of men was called a “serpent,” for the man at the head of the chain became very powerful, deadly as a poisoned serpent, and should he be destroyed, should the serpent be beheaded, the next man in line would arise, hardly diminished in power from the first.

But if a man took too many endowments of metabolism, it was sure death. He might become a great warrior for a few hours or days, but he would burn himself out like a shooting star. Desperate men had done it in the past, at times. But it would be hard to find twenty able fighters willing to form a serpent, to throw away their lives.