In spite of herself, Zala laughed. Tylocost kept a wary eye on her.

“Not one of my Royal Loyals has deserted!” Casberry proclaimed. “They’re about, even if your dull senses can’t see them. They’re looking around, listening. All I have to do is call, and…” She waved a hand. “Come nightfall, we’ll free your father and Lord Tolandruth’s big wife.”

“We?” said Tylocost.

“Certainly. What kind of queen would I be if I sent my brave troops into peril alone?”

The Silvanesti imagined the gnarled old queen, decked out in one of her astonishing outfits, entering Caergoth in her sedan chair and proclaiming, “Make way for the Queen of Hylo!” He shook his head to dislodge the ludicrous picture.

To his amazement, the queen appeared to have been telling the truth. Although she made no proclamation, nor sent out any heralds, kender began returning to the hidden camp. Over the course of the day, they arrived-alone or in small groups-bearing whatever odds and ends they had ‘found’ while wandering. They filed past their monarch, and Casberry greeted each by name. She asked particular ones to volunteer for the mission to Caergoth. All agreed cheerfully, without hesitation or questions.

“They’re quite fearless, aren’t they?” Zala said admiringly.

Tylocost, perched on a nearby log and studying a sketch map of the vicinity, muttered, “Fools are never afraid.”

Casberry explained the job to her hand-picked group of forty and told them to gather at sunset on the hill where Tylocost had first surveyed the city’s defenses. The kender troop asked no questions, so the meeting was brief. Then they drifted away to do whatever it was that kender did.

Excited by the prospect of freeing her father, Zala knew she must try to rest. The upcoming night likely would be long and strenuous. She spread a blanket under a willow tree, lay down, and covered her eyes with one arm. Not ten breaths later, she felt someone approach.

“I must speak with you, lady.”

Helbin. Not moving, she said, “So speak, and be quick about it.”

He said nothing, but she could hear him fidgeting and shifting his weight. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and sat up. Immediately, he sat down on the end of her blanket.

“Take me with you to Caergoth,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“My spells are gone, and I must contact the empress!”

His desperation was so great, she grew curious. “What do you mean, gone? What happened to your magic?”

“It’s been negated. I don’t know how. I must consult my colleagues in the Order in Caergoth. They can send a message to the empress, apprising her of my position. I must go with you.”

He saw the denial in her face even before she spoke. Leaning closer, he said, “Please, you must help me! You must understand that more is at stake than the life of your father, however dear he is to you! The fate of millions depends on my communicating with the empress!”

“You’re a learned man. Can’t you just”-she waved a hand-“restore your ruined talismans and trinkets?”

“That would take too long!” he exclaimed, then grimaced, trying to contain his impatience. “The magic mirror alone must be consecrated during a conjunction of Solin and Luin, which won’t occur again for forty days. I am reduced to purely mortal means. You must help me! Name your price, I will pay it!”

Beyond the wizard’s shoulder, Zala saw Tylocost approaching. He carried a cloth-wrapped bundle in the crook of his arm. When he saw Helbin was with her, he stopped.

“Fine. Be on the hilltop with the kender at the appointed time,” she muttered to the wizard. “Now go!”

“May the gods bless you!”

“Save your blessings till after you hear my price.”

Looking slightly alarmed, Helbin withdrew. Tylocost came forward.

“Everyone’s paying court to you today,” he said. “Was Master Helbin pleading his suit?”

The suggestion was so absurd Zala laughed. The sound drew a quick smile from Tylocost. Kneeling, he held out the bundle he carried. “This is for you,” he said quietly.

She unwrapped the oblong object warily and was taken aback when it was revealed to be a sword-a truly fine short sword, with damascened blade and a hilt handsomely chased with silver filigree. It must have come from the treasure trove.

“Why?” she asked, looking up at him.

The elf had difficulty answering. Finally, he said, “In a crowded city street, a short blade will be more useful than that saber you carry.” Standing quickly, he added, “The kender have similar weapons. Good luck tonight!”

He strode away. Zala studied the weapon. The blade was leaf-shaped, designed for close-quarter stabbing. A small pale amethyst was set in the pommel. Under the circumstances, it was a thoughtful gift, not to mention an exquisitely beautiful one. Was Tylocost trying to apologize for his past behavior? Or did his gift mean something more?

She forced herself to put the weapon aside and lay down again. Sunset would be here all too soon, and she needed to sleep.

In spite of her best efforts, Zala’s mind would not be stilled. Her thoughts went round and round as she tried to make sense of the elf’s motives-and her feelings about him. She got no rest at all.

The sun shone through gaps in the low-hanging clouds, sending scorching beams down onto the Ergothian army. The Riders of the Great Horde moved forward slowly, armor clanking, horses breathing hard in the heat. The enormous earthen mound of the bakali fortress reared up ahead of them. There was as yet no sign of the lizard-men themselves.

Ackal V, atop Sirrion’s ruby-red back, rode in the center of his army, surrounded by scores of warlords, aides, and his personal escort of one hundred archers. Heralds bearing the standards of sixty-six hordes were arrayed around the emperor. Most of the hordes were from the northern and western provinces.

Prince Dalar rode on a war-horse beside his father. The boy’s legs were barely long enough to allow him to sit astride the great charger. He swayed in the saddle, from the pre-cariousness of his position as well as the heat. Sweat trickled from beneath his miniature helm.

A horn bleated. Dust swirled as a courier galloped up. A member of the emperor’s entourage met the rider and relayed his message to Ackal V.

“Your Majesty! Marshal Tumult has the enemy in sight!”

Havoc Tumult, Marshal of the Seascapes Hundred, was leading the advance guard. He had some of the best remaining hordes under his command, including the Wind Riders, who were peerless scouts; the Red Thunders; and the Bulls of Ergoth, no man of which could be shorter than two paces tall. Riding straight toward the enemy’s stronghold, Marshal Tumult had come upon a sizable body of bakali, arrayed in circles to resist cavalry attack. He now awaited his liege’s orders on how to proceed.

Ackal V considered how to respond. It was typical of the bakali to offer a sizable force as bait, to lure the Ergothians into a trap. They’d played this trick over and over.

“My compliments to Marshal Tumult,” he finally said. “Tell him to keep the enemy in sight, but do not engage.” To another warlord he said, “Who has the forward elements of the right wing?”

“Lord Janar, with the Deathriders.”

“Bring him to me.”

While he waited for Lord Janar to ride back to him, Ackal V ordered the army to halt. Sixty thousand warriors reined up their steeds and waited, restive in the face of the enemy.

Janar and his retinue arrived in the inevitable cloud of dust. They saluted with drawn daggers.

Ackal V raised his voice for all to hear. “My lord, there is your goal.” He pointed to the mud-colored mound rising above the trees. “No matter what happens, to me or the rest of the army, you are to breach that stronghold, and destroy anyone and anything in your path! Do not look back, Janar-fix your eyes forward and smite the invader!”