Page 203 of War

This is a tactical map, I realize. One that seems to include people and the places they need to defend … or attack.

But War had told me that he was giving up the fighting.

He wouldn’t lie to me—particularly not about this.

Which means the map is wrong. It has to be. My brow wrinkles as I continue to study it. The longer I look at it, the stranger I feel.

And then I realize why.

On the map, the phobos riders are positioned along the road, and judging from the markings, the plan is to lead their assailants towards a specific location, one where they can then ambush them. The only problem is, the map doesn’t show the assailants coming from the city.

It shows them coming from camp.

Chapter 56

War was right. There is nothing to fear.

Until, of course, thereis.

I put the map back where I found it, and then Isprintto War’s tent.

He’s going to be ambushed.

At least I think he’s going to be.

But … I must be wrong about what I saw. Not because I have faith in War’s riders—I wouldn’t trust them farther than I can throw them—but because they know better than anyone the extent of the horseman’s power and savagery.

They know he can’t be killed.

So why plan an ambush?

Maybe I read the map wrong.I don’t have a lot of experience looking at tactical maps. It’s possible I misinterpreted this one.

Inside War’s tent, I grab my dagger and holster and strap it to my waist. It takes a little while longer for me to find the bow and quiver War once gave me. I feel a little foolish, arming myself when I’m still so unsure of what I saw.

War’s riders must know something I don’t. Or maybe I’ve gotten this whole thing backwards. Maybe they’re not going to kill the horseman—why does my mind keep going there anyway?The man can’t die.

Nevertheless, unease sits like a stone in my stomach.

I stride outside, heading for the corral, where a few horses remain. I pause when I see them, another wave of uncertainty washing through me.

Am I really going to do this?It’s one thing to strap on weapons, another to saddle a horse and ride into battle on an assumption I made.

And even if my worst fears are true, what could I possibly do that War himself couldn’t?

I never get the chance to answer my own questions.

All at once, the earth comes alive beneath my feet,andit is angry. Violently it buckles and rolls, nearly throwing me to the ground. I stumble away as all around me, the tents shake and collapse. The horses shift nervously in the corral.

In the next instant, the dead are bursting forth from the ground, clawing their way to the surface. They move with unnatural agility; I’ve never seen them rise so quickly.

One of the horses charges, breaking through the brittle wood of its enclosure. The rest follow, galloping away.

I spin around.

In all directions, the dead are surfacing. There are hundreds of them as far as the eye can see. I’ve never seen War call so many.

Most are simply husks of humans, some with many bones missing. There are other animals too—horses, goats, cattle, and something that might be a dog or a jackal. They rise from the desert earth, dust sloughing off of them.

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