Alcaeus nodded. “One must assume that the Faery Knight and the sorcerer have come to some accommodation. The Faery Knight has an army—or he wouldn’t have taken Harcourt.” Alcaeus hesitated. “I’m sorry to say that Harmodius was said to be with the Faery Knight.”

Gabriel took a deep steadying breath. “Ahh,” he said.

Gelfred spat. “First Towbray and now Harmodius,” he said. “I knew the magus was black-hearted, but this—”

“Judge not rashly,” Gabriel said. He drank another sip of wine. “Toby, are you there?”

Toby appeared at his side.

“All officers at first light.” He nodded. “Another busy day.”

“May I make a recommendation now, in private?” Alcaeus asked.

“Of course,” Gabriel said. The Morean was solemn—he put a hand out and rested it on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“If you think we can trust Kronmir, then I say—take Harndon. Now. Destroy this upstart archbishop, crush him against the city walls, finish the rebellion.” Alcaeus waved his hands.

“I like that, as right now the archbishop thinks we’re the rebels.” Gabriel managed a wry smile.

“And then hold Harndon.” Alcaeus shrugged.

“Against the Wild?” Gabriel asked.

Alcaeus nodded. “We have a saying—when the tide rises, climb a big rock. Harndon is the biggest rock. And my reading of the ancients is that this has happened before—all of it. The big invasions, the sudden welling forth of the Wild. Places like Liviapolis and Harndon are built to withstand—exactly this.” He paused. “I have this, too. It is an imperial message. But then you are still, I hope, an imperial officer.”

He handed over a thin piece of the nearly transparent paper that the messenger birds—the big imperial ones—carried.

The Venike ambassador in the city reports that the armies of Galle and Arelat were destroyed in a great battle south of Nunburg in Arelat. Venike has formally requested assistance from the Emperor.

Gabriel spread the map out and stuck his green-hilted dagger through one corner and his eating knife through the opposite.

“That’s for another day,” he said. Oh, Mr. Smythe, for an hour of your time. I think we’re losing.

“We’re five days from Albinkirk, moving fast,” he said. He nodded to himself. “Dorling’s about the same from Albinkirk—shorter as the crow flies, but the road is dreadful.”

Gelfred and Alcaeus both agreed.

Gabriel thought a moment. “If we lose Dorling, we can’t link up with the Emperor.”

“And leave the Faery Knight unopposed in the west, and the archbishop free to sack Lorica?” Alcaeus shook his head.

Gabriel scratched under his chin—he had three mosquito bites that seemed to occupy as much of his mind as Blanche and the Faery Knight combined.

“Any force coming from the west has to pass Lissen Carak,” he said. “A tough nut.”

“Small garrison,” Alcaeus said.