Random all but cried out. “You’re going south?”

“All or nothing,” Gabriel replied. “And you and your friends are going straight to Harndon if we win.”

Ser Gerald shook his head. “Have you lost your wits, Gabriel?”

There were people present who’d never heard the captain’s name used so familiarly.

“In ten days we can have Harndon without a bolt loosed or a man dead,” Random insisted.

Ser Gabriel nodded. “In ten days, Thorn can have done a hundred years of damage to the north country. In fifteen days—the world could be over.”

Alcaeus was shaking his head vehemently. “Ser Gerald is correct,” he insisted. “The archbishop’s cause is lost even now.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to shake his head. He looked past his brother at Ser Michael, awake and yawning.

“It’s your father,” he said. “The archbishop will crown him King, won’t he?”

Michael nodded heavily. “We have the next claim—it’s distant, but—yes.” He sighed. “Of course, that’s how they bought Pater. It’s what Pater always wanted.” He looked at the Red Knight. “Of course, your claim through your mother ain’t bad.”

Gabriel ignored him. “I need Gavin—I’m sorry, brother—I need you to go west—now. As soon as dawn breaks. Somewhere on the south Cohocton, Mountjoy is fighting. Or sitting watching the border. Either way, he has all the Royal Foresters and most of the western lords of the Brogat.”

“Wasn’t he attainted?” asked Ser Michael.

“Only the fool archbishop would attaint a man with an army already in the field,” Gavin said. “I know Mountjoy. I’m going to marry his daughter. He wouldn’t leave his post.” He nodded. “You want him?”

“At Albinkirk,” Gabriel said.

“I still think you should move north yourself,” Gavin said. He rubbed the scales on his shoulder. “The sorcerer and his allies—they’re the real threat.”

“In ten days, the archbishop might be alone with two hundred Gallish lances,” Gabriel said. “But he might be the Chancellor of Alba with a thousand lances and some reluctant Alban support. Listen, friends—this is all beyond my experience. I’m listening when you speak. But my spirit says that if we march north, we’ll never regain Harndon, and if we march south, we’ll never regain Albinkirk or Lissen Carak.”

Unnoticed beyond the firelight, Sister Amicia sighed and spoke softly, but everyone strained to hear her.

“As Gabriel well knows, if we lose Lissen Carak, we lose a great deal.” She shook her head. “I am not at liberty to say all I know.”

“It is possible that if we lose Lissen Carak we lose everything,” Gabriel said. “Amicia, I have to ask you to ride with Tom, and go to Lissen Carak with all the knights of the Order. It’s all the garrison I can put in, but with the men we hired last year, it should prove enough.”