Tremog’s crest went down, and she seemed to tremble. Redmede knew that this was a warden sign of uncertainty, not rage.

“If we lack the force to meet him head to head, why send an army at all?” she asked.

Tapio nodded. “War is more than battle,” he said. “War is food and drink and disease and patience and anger and hate and cold and stealth and terror as well as sweet silver and bitter iron and the glitter of arms in the sun or under the moon. We take as many blades as we can spare, and as many as we can feed, and as many as we can move quickly. Thorn has many times as many fighters. Can he feed them? Can he control them? Will other forces come into play?”

The man nodded. “At the very least, we will rescue the bears. Then, perhaps we will withdraw. Perhaps we will seek allies among Thorn’s other enemies.”

Tremog’s tooth-lined maw spread wide and she gave a roar—what passed for laughter with the wardens. “You mean you do not trust us with your clever plan,” she said. “Just say that and be done. What are we, the children of men, to lie to each other? You are our lord paramount. If you keep your own counsel, so be it. The worst we’ll do is—wander off.”

Many creatures laughed.

And Tapio laughed with them. “I have indeed been in too many councils of men,” he confessed. “It is true that I have thoughts in my mind that I do not choose to share. But in the main, this is all of my counsel—that we pass the wall, collect the bears, and see what there is to be seen. Our retreat will be secure, and we have enough force to give Thorn real pause.”

“You and this man speak as if you can see Thorn’s forces and he cannot see ours!” said the bear. She took her great furry feet off the stone table and sat up. “Thorn is very powerful. How is it that he cannot see us?”

The dark-haired man smiled. “Suffice it to say that he is unlikely to look anywhere but here for Lord Tapio,” he said.

“But when he does he will see us very quickly,” Tapio insisted.

“Hence the secrecy,” Redmede said. “Who is this gentleman?” he asked.

“I was dead,” the dark-headed man said. “And since I desire not to be dead again soon, I won’t reveal myself just now. But I will in time, and I promise you I won’t betray you, any of you.”

Tremog nodded. “The promises of men are very weak,” she said. “But men learn wisdom in the Wild.”

“And what of the west?” Many heads turned, and Liri, the beautiful Renard woman, stood. “I speak for no one by myself—but my people walk in the lakes, and I was sent here with a warning.” She smiled at Fitzalan. “Pleasant as my winter has been—”