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upper rows of books. It was cold in the room, with no fire burning, but he approved. He was convinced that too much softness had ruined the saur of today. True saur, those who shared his views, were hard to find, which was why he was a solitary saur.
    Wargrach had made the library his own. A single long table groaned under the weight of the tomes that he had been using, all arranged carefully without a sign of disarray. Wargrach studied his work, wondering if anyone else would see that the A'ak were the prey in this hunt through forests of paper.
    He grunted and stumped to the far wall. He parted two large books and thrust in his hand. When he heaved, a whole section of the wall swung open. Standing and blinking in the sudden light were Wargrach's chief spies, Varchog and Irjag.
    Varchog, a gaunt Long-necked One, jerked his neck in a horrible twitch. 'Many thanks, General. It was getting stuffy in there.'
    Irjag glanced at his partner and stepped into the library. He scratched at his plated shoulders. 'You wanted us, General?'
    'Want you? Hardly. Need you? Perhaps.' Wargrach regarded the two spies with distaste. They had proved useful over the years, but only because Wargrach had never trusted them. He'd paid for their loyalty, but he knew it only lasted as long as no-one made them a better offer.
    'What can we do for you, sir?' Varchog asked.
    'Do you remember the skirmish at Grat? Twelve years ago?'
    Irjag grinned and Wargrach barely stopped himself shuddering.
    'Near the Harchgrond Swamp?' said Varchog. 'How could I forget? You were ambushed by that bandit chief.'
    'Carjillo, he called himself,' Irjag put in. 'Mean one, that.'
    'He thought he had you done for, General, outnumbered your patrol by four to one,' added Varchog.
    Wargrach waved this away. 'He underestimated me, but he wasn't the first to make that mistake. But that's not important. Do you remember the ruins nearby? We drove the bandits toward them but they wouldn't enter. They tried to run the other way and we cut them down.'
    'Ruins?' Varchog asked, clearly interested.
    Irjag saw the opportunity to look superior to Varchog. 'I remember. Old, they were. Old ruins.'
    Varchog glared at his partner. 'What did you want with them, General?'
    'A Billed One lives in those ruins. I want you to bring him to me.' Wargrach laced his hands on his chest, remembering. After the battle, he'd been curious about the ruins and had left his patrol and explored by himself. The Billed One was ancient, but Wargrach had no doubts that he was still alive. Not after what the Billed One had told him.
    'A Billed One?' Varchog repeated. 'What if he doesn't want to come with us?'
    'Use your imagination.'
    Irjag nodded frantically, then his neck jerked. 'Don't worry, General. He'll come.'
    After the two spies had left, Wargrach stood and pondered his decision for some time. The A'ak couldn't be ignored. He was certain they were coming, and he was certain they would be coming in strength. The Way of the Tooth told him what to do when facing a foe who was overwhelmingly mighty. Join strength with strength, ally power with power, then crush your foes together.
    He closed his good eye. Could he deal with the A'ak and survive?

Ten
    Adalon, Simangee and Targesh followed the riverbank, their steeds' brass hoofs loud on the hard earth. The woods lining the river were thick – straight-trunked water beech, for the most part, but the spreading giants of the blackwood thrust their rounded domes through the canopy as well. The trees made it difficult to see Kikkalak and her company overhead, and Adalon craned his neck from side to side to catch glimpses of them.
    Darkness grew thicker as they plunged deeper into the woods, and the track grew fainter. Adalon slowed and peered ahead through the shadows. The soft sounds of the wind in the reeds by the river came to him, and the drowsy murmuring of a bird settling for the night, but he was on edge, alert. Anything could be waiting ahead. His hand went to