An Autumn War

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One of the others stumbled and fell to his knees on wind-paved stones.

The commander paused. He would not lose another, not so near the end.

And yet he feared bending down, lifting the man up. If he paused, he

might never move again. Grunting, the other man recovered his feet. The

commander nodded once and turned again to the west. A breeze stirred the

low, brownish grasses, hissing and hushing. The punishing sun made its

exit and left behind twilight and the wide swath of stars hanging

overhead, cold candles beyond numbering. The night would bring chill as

deadly as the midday heat.

It seemed to the commander that the tower did not so much come closer as

grow, plantlike. He endured his weariness and pain, and the structure

that had been no larger than his thumb was now the size of his hand. The

beacon that had seemed steady flickered now, and tongues of flame leapt

and vanished. Slowly, the details of the stonework came clear; the huge

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