“Men of your ilk.” Peldras gave his quiet smile. “Builders and doers, eager for glory, willing to meddle without reckoning the cost.” Tilting his head, he looked at the stars. “For my part, I wish only to set foot upon Torath the Crown, to enter the presence of Haomane First-Born, Lord-of-Thought, and gaze once more upon the Souma.”

Since there seemed to be no possible reply, Speros made none. The Ellyl left him then, and the Arduan woman Fianna returned. She pointed out a bedroll to him and then sat without speaking, tending to her bowstring. The scent of pine rosin wafted in the air, competing with the myriad odors of the campsite.

Speros wrapped himself in the bedroll and lay sleepless. The frostbitten ground was hard and uncomfortable, cold seeping into his bones. Oronin’s Bow gleamed like polished onyx in the firelight. He wondered what sound it made when it was loosed, if echoes of the Glad Hunter’s horn were in it.

At least the Ellylon horns were silenced by night, although one could not say it was quiet. The vast camp was filled with murmurous sound; soldiers checking their gear, sentries changing guard, campfires crackling, restless horses snuffling and stamping in the picket lines. He could make out Ghost’s pale form against the darkness, staked far from the other cavalry mounts. Haomane’s Allies gave her a wide berth, having learned to be wary of her canny strength and sharp bite.

There was a tent nearby where the commanders took counsel; too far for Speros to hear anything of use, but near enough that he saw them coming and going. Once, he saw it illuminated briefly from within; not by ordinary lamplight or even the diamond-flash of Malthus’ Soumanië, but something else, a cool, blue-green glow. Afterward, Blaise Caveros emerged and spoke to Fianna in a low tone.

“Haomane be praised!” she whispered. “The Bearer lives.”

At that, Speros sat upright. Both of them fell silent, glancing warily at him. It made him laugh. “He knows, you know,” he said conversationally. “Lord Satoris. The Charred Folk, the Water of Life. There is no part of your plan that is unknown to him.”

“Be as that may, Midlander,” Blaise said shortly. “He cannot prevent Haomane’s Prophecy from fulfillment.”

“He can try, can’t he?” Speros studied the Borderguardsman. “You know who you’ve a look of? General Tanaros.”

“So I have heard.” The words emerged from between clenched teeth.

“He says you’re better with a sword than Aracus Altorus,” Speros remarked. “Is it true?”

“It is,” Blaise said in a careful tone, “unimportant.”