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it was your doing. You had best see that he lives – if you hope to.”
    Vorse gritted his teeth as he bowed his head. “With your leave, Warlord, we should return to the plan. Time does not halt while we bicker.”
    Traigan smiled and nodded in turn. “You are sure Salmir,” he began, pointing to the map where another sizable camp was marked, “has the experience we require?”
    The sorcerer to the Warlord’s left spoke up, another man nearly as old as Vorse though not nearly so vigorous. “Salmir was the last to retreat from beyond the Fortress, five years ago. If he cannot target the requisite spell, no one can.”
    “I hate hinging so much on one man,” said the Warlord. “What is your opinion of his abilities?”
    “Salmir is dependable, my Lord, and capable. The spell will be no challenge for him.”
    “Good.” Traigan contemplated routes again, idly brushing dust from the thin leather on which the map was tattooed. It was an old thing, and he made a mental note to have it copied over again to a fresh piece of hide.
    The Warlord looked up, and another smile lit his face. It was not one of amusement, but of anticipation.
    “Globe the generals,” he said. “Tell them, ‘two days.’”
    He used both hands to flatten and smooth the map, as if by that action his plans would proceed smoothly as well. “In two days, Fortress Nebeth falls.”
     

Chapter Five
     
    Robert struck high, and was swiftly parried. A riposte made for his ribs; he knocked it away without trouble. Pressing forward he attempted to overwhelm his opponent with a charge, using his mass to intimidate his foe into giving ground.
    It didn’t work. Instead of moving back the man circled around, his sword glancing off Robert’s again and again. Then Robert intentionally swept his sword through a too-wide strike. The other combatant took the bait, and as his sword angled for Robert’s heart Robert nimbly sidestepped and clamped a hand on his enemy’s wrist. With a sharp tug the opponent was off-balance, Robert’s sword at his throat.
    Releasing his grip, Robert lowered his sword and grinned. The man, a younger soldier named Erickson, grinned back a little sheepishly. “Guess I haven’t seen that one before.”
    “You don’t see it much in battle. Don’t worry, you impressed me plenty. You’re an excellent swordsman.”
    “Thank you sir.”
    Beckoning the man to follow, Robert began walking over to the walls of the training compound. A large number of potential recruits stood there under the watchful eyes of the Gryphon’s sergeants. “Where did you say you’d seen battle?”
    “I was with Eighth Army for the last two years. Uldoss pass, the foothills around there and all the battles throughout Quickstone River Valley, I was there for all of it. Never wounded once.”
    “Very good.”
    “I, uh, I saw you there, sir. At Uldoss, I mean. You and Wizard Darius.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes sir. Wizard Darius and yourself – and I suppose all the Gryphons – were over to the east of Eighth Army, hiding in the rocks behind the enemy. Just before you attacked, Darius stood up on those rocks and made an avalanche. Brought the rocks down right on the Enemy's head.”
    “Yes, I remember that,” Robert said, scratching a week’s worth of beard – he would have to find time to shave soon. “Well, Erickson,” Robert continued, “You’re likely to see Darius a great deal more. You’re a Gryphon now.”
    A smile split the soldier’s face. “Sir, thank you very much sir! This is wonderful. I’ve always wanted to be one of you.”
    “It isn’t sunshine and sweet girls all the time, man. Get over there and talk to your new comrades.”
    Most of the Gryphons were in the compound, watching the goings-on with a jaded eye. The men who Robert and his sergeants accepted today would be replacing their fallen friends, and that was a hard morsel to swallow.
    As the man walked away, Robert shook his head. Erickson had been wide-eyed at