Especially when she was exercising all of her ingenuity just to keep them alive a little bit longer. They’d lost track of Daren a while back, and not even the FarSeers could find him. In fact, other than the Mindspeakers, the Heralds’ powers had been frustrated or limited by Ancar’s mages. There was some kind of shield over the army that the FarSeers couldn’t break through, and the ForeSeers reported only “too many possibilities.”

There were only three possibilities that made any difference to Kero; that Daren was still on schedule, that Daren had been turned back by more of Ancar’s forces, or that Daren had run afoul of those same forces and was late. No other “possibilities” mattered.

And right now, anyway, all that really mattered was staying alive.

The question haunted her as the Skybolts stopped to salt a ford with flint shards after everyone else had passed it. The little fragments were heavy enough to stay where they were without washing downstream, small and sharp enough to lodge in hooves and slash boots and feet to ribbons. “ ‘Be careful what you ask for,’ ” she quoted to herself. “ ‘You might get it.’ I wanted Ancar to follow us. Now I can’t shake him off our trail.” When she’d consulted the Lord Marshal through the agency of Eldan and the Lord Marshal’s Herald, he hadn’t had any suggestions either. I feel like I’m letting them down, she thought grimly, as the last of the flint-strewers returned to the saddle, and the Company moved out again. They think I’m going to pull something brilliant out of my sleeve and save everyone. Not even Ardana got herself into a situation like this one.

And while he lasted, Lerryn was so lucky he’d fall into a cesspit and come up with a handful of gold.

She looked back over her shoulder, checking for strays, although technically Shallan and Geyr were supposed to be in charge of that. It didn’t look as if any of her people had dropped out of the march—though if they hadn’t been mounting Shin‘a’in-breds, they would have been by now. Even the Companions were beginning to look tired. So far the only luck we’ve had was that Ancar hasn’t used a mage since I took out the first one.

She pushed her helm up and rubbed a spot on her forehead where it pressed uncomfortably. That might not have been luck, though; it might have been that Need was sheltering the whole army, and it might also have been that the mages Ancar has left are required to keep his own people disciplined. She wished she knew which it was; or even if it was a combination.