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Falares entered, stopping to salute. Qabala sighed. The man still had not learned to knock. “My Eternal, Meznas is without and begs leave to attend you straightaway. He says he has information about the movements of Prince Lahnel and Dume Rhonor.”
    “Send him in.” Qabala prodded Meeka until she awakened. “Leave us.”
    Meeka yawned and nodded. “Yes, my Eternal.” She slipped from the bed and pulled on a robe.
    Qabala caught Falares staring at the girl, but his gaze immediately snapped back to hers. “Down with you, cur,” she said. “Haven’t you had your fill this day? That one belongs to me.”
    Falares bowed. “Of course.”
    He followed Meeka from the chamber and Qabala put on a dark robe, belting it at the waist. She brushed her hair back into place at the mirror and left the bedroom, heading for the sitting room at the end of the hall. Falares was already there when she entered, along with Meznas.
    Meznas was a menista, which was what the cultists called their priests. He was a tall, bearded man who had come to pay her homage after Nerris departed for Gelnicka. “Come into your power and my children will surely find you,” she remembered the Pale One telling her all those years ago. They finally had. Meznas had spent his adult life unifying the various sects of religious bands known collectively as the Cult of Eversor.
    The cult had once been a powerful force during the years of Yahd the Conqueror’s war, but suffered major casualties in the fighting. Afterward, those who remained had fallen into disarray. King Lahnen turned them out from Palehorse once he ascended the throne, and a lack of strong leadership led to their deterioration. They had splintered into separate sects and wandered the backwoods of northern Yagolhan, their obscure religion outlawed by the crown. They had scarce been heard of since.
    Until Meznas united them into a formidable unit, that is. Their doctrine was hateful, their practices reviled, but that did not stop Meznas from becoming the Grand Menista. The cultists were not soldiers, and not as influential as they once had been, but his people were proving valuable for rooting out information on her enemies.
    “My Eternal,” he said, “I bring news.”
    “Is it the battle?” Qabala asked. “Has Prince Lahnel pushed through Nerris’s forces? Or has Dume Rhonor begun his march?”
    Meznas shook his head. “Neither, I’m afraid. My people caught one of his spies west of here. Lahnel has played you false. He sends Lord Bosmick to distract you and disguise his true intent. Not five days past, Lahnel boarded a ship in Hesmuth. We believe he is bound for Lesta. He does not intend to meet you in the open field right away.”
    Qabala sat down on a cushioned divan. “Then Nerris—”
    “Is walking into a trap,” Meznas said. “Gelnicka is swarming with loyalists and remnants of the United Guard who fled south from your battles in the northern moors and Ryvetsk. Petaka Bosmick plans to lure your forces into the village and spring his trap while Lahnel consolidates his hold on southeast Yagolhan and raises a new host. By spring, you will have two strong enemies on either side of you.”
    “We must send relief to Nerris’s regiment at once.”
    Meznas shook his head. “My Eternal, a force that size will never make it in time. I implore you, let me send word to my people. A lone rider can reach them in two days if he rides hard. We are not soldiers, but we can fight if need be, and are well versed in blood magic. And we are close.”
    Qabala slammed her fist into the cushions. “Very well. And Nerris wished to spare these people. But that time has passed. Send your people, Meznas. Raze Gelnicka to the ground and let it stand as a monument for those who would deceive me.”
    “At once.” Meznas bowed.
    “How have you found out this plan?”
    “A man was caught spying on Commander Palada’s forces,” Meznas said. “He has been sacrificed to the Tattered Man. He gave us