“Whirlpools abound in this river,” Seavig said. “Stick close together, and we should be fine.”

Duncan furrowed his brow; he was a man of the land, and he did not like this.

“Is there no safer way to Kos?” he asked again, studying the land.

Seavig shook his head.

“There is no more direct way, either,” he replied. “We can take the plains, if you wish, but a Pandesian garrison guards it. That would mean a battle now. If you want to reach Kos in peace, the Thusius is the only way.”

Duncan still had speed and surprise on his side, and he could not risk alarming Pandesia to his revolt; it was a chance he simply could not take.

“The river, then,” Duncan said, decided.

Duncan had one thing left to do before they all embarked. He turned and walked over to his war horse, a great friend to him in battle for as long as he could remember. It pained him to leave his side—but they could not take their horses on the rafts.

“Good friend,” Duncan said, stroking his mane, “lead the other horses. They are your army now. Lead them south. To Kos. To the mountain base. Wait for us there, on the way to Andros. I will be expecting you—and I know you will be waiting for me.”

Duncan spoke to his horse as he would one of his men, and with a gentle nudge, he watched him neigh, rear his fierce legs high in the air, then turn and suddenly gallop proudly away, a leader in his own right. As he did, all the other horses—hundreds of them—turned and followed him, a great stampede, all racing south in one massive heard, the earth shaking with their rumble. They kicked up a cloud of dust and Duncan watched them go with a mix of sadness and pride. His horse understood him better than any man alive.

“If only my men would heed me the same way,” Seavig said wistfully, coming up by his side.

“Let us hope he has a master left for him when he arrives,” Duncan replied.

Duncan nodded and Anvin sounded the horn as Seavig’s men sounded theirs. Their army came alive, all the men stepping forward, shoving their rafts onto the waters, and jumping aboard. Duncan shoved his, too; it was heavier than he thought, he and several others pushing it through the mud until it floated in the water. As it floated, he was relieved to see that Seavig had been right: the Red Pine became buoyant in the water, and the twine held firm.

Duncan jumped aboard with the others, then reached out with the long pole he had carved and jabbed it into the dry ground, shoving, pushing them farther out, away from shore, and into the middle of the river.