---
Vorak grunted. "And the Lord on the hill," he asked. "Kai the white hair."
"Limping," she said. "Bleeding. Thinking. Breathing. Not badly injured."
"You are certain," Vorak said.
"If he was unable to fight tomorrow," she said, "you would have heard it. Not here. In the way our men spoke. In the way the desert itself shifted. You would have seen a different pattern in the torches on that mountain. No. He will fight tomorrow."
Vorak's jaw tightened.
"Good," he said. "I promised myself we would speak. I am old enough to keep promises, even to men I have not met. I will kill him tomorrow."
He reached for one of the clay markers and turned it between his fingers. It was carved with a simple symbol. A circle. Teeth around the edge.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we lay these in the ground. Here. Here. Here."
He tapped three points on the map with the marker. Each point aligned with a curve in the ramp, a place where Kai's defenders would have to bunch up.
