"We are ready, at last, lord," said Ro'moloristen. "I have promised edas beyond counting to get cooperation, but I think we have it. Tomorrow, three hundred twenty-two C- and B-Decs will begin to bombard the Siegfried line. In the first assault wave alone over three thousand tenar-mounted Kessentai will ride ahead with over one million normals in their wake. All aimed like an arrow at this narrow section of the line that leads directly to the bridge. Other, fixing attacks, will be made, but not pressed too hard, all along the front."
"Lord . . ." the Kessentai hesitated. "Lord, the edas I had to promise to Arlingas is frightful, to get him to hang onto that bridge. He says his host is on the verge of utter destruction and he wishes to fight his way out."
"But we can make it to him? Make it in time."
Ro'moloristen's crest fluttered with pride, pride in self and in the plan he had created. "So I believe, lord. Let me answer with my head if I am wrong."
"So it shall be puppy," Athenalras agreed. "But I fear if you are wrong we shall all answer with our heads, if not with our reproductive organs. The host to the east?"
"They march, lord, but not until they see our success in the west is drawing the enemy away from their front." Ro'moloristen shivered with knowledge of the blunting of the last attack over the Niesse River. What an obscenity; to burn perfectly good thresh.