Kelson nodded, glad of the opportunity to slip away without further words, and turned on his heel to leave. As he made his exit, Duncan stirred from his window seat, glanced at Morgan, then crossed the room and left by the same door, heading in the opposite direction.

Morgan watched him go, knowing that his cousin needed to be alone just now, then made his way back to the map table and shouldered his way to a position where he could see and hear. Aides had set up new markers to show Bran Coris’s alliance with Wencit of Torenth, and the plains between Dhassa and Cardosa were empty, now that Jared’s army no longer occupied them.

Far to the north, the bright orange markers of Duke Ewan’s forces were deployed along the farthest reaches of the border; but they were relatively few, and their position could not be counted upon. Indeed, in light of the past hour’s news, even Ewan’s army might no longer exist. The royal army gathered here at Dhassa might be the only thing now standing between Wencit and the rest of Gwynedd.

“So we know for certain only that Jared was defeated south of Cardosa, somewhere here on the Rengarth plain,” Nigel was saying, tracing the location with a forefinger. “We don’t know how many men Wencit has, but Bran’s forces numbered somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five hundred, at last report. So far as we know, they’re still camped somewhere along here.” He pointed out the eastern border of a plain at the mouth of the Cardosa Defile.

“Now, we have about twelve thousand men, with our combined armies. With a day’s forced march, we can swing around the end of the Coamer Range and be in position for the defile by dusk tomorrow. Once we reach that position, though, each of us will have to hold his assigned area at whatever cost. We don’t know how many men Wencit has added to Bran’s forces.”

Grunts of agreement met this declaration.

“Very well, then. Elas, I’ll expect you and General Remie to hold the left flank, here. Godwin, you and Mortimer will…”

Nigel went on, detailing each general’s responsibilities in the final marching order and battle arrangements, and Morgan drew back a little to watch the men’s reactions. After a while, one of Nigel’s military aides came in with a flat stack of dispatches for Nigel, but Morgan intercepted them and began leafing through them himself, so that Nigel need not be disturbed. The seals identified most of them as routine, and Morgan did not trouble himself with more than a cursory glance at those. But there was one—a stained, brown packet with a yellow seal—that eluded immediate recognition.

With a slight frown of anxious speculation, Morgan broke the seal and opened the letter, stifling a gasp of amazement as he scanned the contents.

Then he was pushing his way back to Nigel’s side, gripping the duke’s shoulder in excitement as he caught and held the attention of the others with his eyes.