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are currently occupied with another matter,' Amemun said lightly. 'And who knows what is possible for the Saranah if they have rich friends behind them?'
    Dekelon's face broke into a wide grin. 'How rich?'
    Amemun grinned in return. 'Very,' he said.

CHAPTER 3
     
    Salokan, king of Haxus, rode low over the saddle. His own panting was drowned out by the panting of his horse. He peered into the dark, searching for any sign of the enemy, but all he could see was a blur of single trees and low bushes that seemed to reach out for him. His face was scratched in a hundred places, and he could taste blood trickling between his lips. He heard an arrow whistle over him and he cried out, dug his heels even deeper into the horse's flanks. It whinnied and put on an extra burst of speed. A group of infantry loomed in front of him, and for a strange second he could not tell if they were standing or lying down; then he saw the barbed shafts sticking out of their bodies and he rode over them.
    Up above, the moon kept pace with him and he prayed for it to go away, prayed for its revealing light to be shut off. He passed low under a tree. A branch snagged his cloak and tore it off, almost unhorsing him. The muscles in his thighs and back were aching so badly the pain became a single mass. Another group of infantry, spearmen, and this time alive. They called to him desperately as he thundered past, but he ignored them.
    And then the moon started to blink. Salokan risked looking up and saw that his horse was following a trail through a grove of thorn trees. The canopy became more and more dense and eventually the moon disappeared altogether. Salokan reined in and looked around desperately for any sign of pursuit; when he did not see any he dismounted and led the horse away from the trail until he was sure no one would see him unless they were virtually on top of him. As he caught his breath he absently checked the horse's girth straps then allowed himself a few mouthfuls of weak red wine from a leather bottle in one of his saddlebags. The horse fidgeted, and he calmed it down by stroking its muzzle.
    He tried to figure out what to do next.
    How long should he wait here—wherever here was? Should he try and marshal any survivors, or set out by himself in a desperate bid to reach the safety of his own Kingdom? But he could not concentrate on the future. All he could do was remember that only a short time ago he, Salokan, king of Haxus, had been looking forward to his evening meal. Although defeated in his attempt to capture Hume from the grasp of Grenda Lear, he and his army had shared some victories and were returning to Haxus intact and determined to try again at some future date. He knew he would soon be on home ground, with all the advantages that entailed, including reinforcements and internal lines of supply. It was not far from sunset, and scouts had told him there was a perfect camping site not a half-hour from their present position.
    He closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the memory, but it was no good.
    There had been a commotion on the left flank. At first Salokan had thought it was nothing more than a rowdy joke between some of the spearmen, but then the noise grew louder and he noticed some of the spearmen out of formation and crossing in front of him. He called out to them but they ignored him. He reined in his horse and told one of his aides to go and see what the trouble was; the rest of his retinue crowded around him, his bodyguard making sure no one got too close. He had to order them aside so he could see what was going on. Some of the infantry were still moving his way, but most were still in marching order and continuing north. It was difficult to tell exactly what was happening, though, because the sun was low to the horizon and at best he could only make out the silhouettes of his troops.
    There was a distant scream, and the sound was picked up by other voices. To Salokan it had sounded dreadfully like panic. The aide