“May I continue?” Ser Gabriel went on, as if he had not provided his own digression. “We’re missing birds. Every bird we lose slows our communications and limits our knowledge. It’s only going to get worse.” He looked around. “Second, the red banda’s little disaster is going to slow them. It’s not a catastrophic loss, except that the Emperor will not have Ser Milus on whom to rely in the event of a crisis.”

Ser Michael shook his head. “Meaning he’s dumb as two thick planks and now he has no minder.”

Ser Gabriel shook his head. “I hope it’s not so bad as that—there’s some good heads there. But with all courtesy to Ser Alcaeus, the Moreans can become quite pliable when the Emperor is in the field. I fear for them and I wish Tom would get there.”

“Sweet Christ, my lord, you’re suggesting that Tom Lachlan will be the voice of reason?” Ser Michael laughed ruefully.

There was a brief silence.

“I really wish you hadn’t put it that way,” Ser Gabriel said. He looked around. “In the good news category, we’re shot of the archbishop and all of his baggage. Anyone else have anything positive to offer?” he asked.

Gelfred nodded. “Dan Favour’s ride north made contact with Count Zac’s southernmost patrol. We’re that close. Will Starling says Ser Tom and Amicia are two days ahead of us at the top of the gorge.”

Gabriel made a face. “That’s slow. They must have had trouble.”

Michael shook his head. “We’ve been fast,” he said. “Ask anyone.” He rubbed the seat of his pants, and Desiderata laughed.

The Red Knight took a bowl of filberts from Toby and passed them around after taking a handful. “So—here we are. South end of the gorge, three days from Albinkirk. Here’s the beeves, off to the west. Yes?”

Kenneth Dhu leaned in. “Better ’an that, milord. We’re already at the Nail.” The Nail was a large rock carved with ancient and somewhat intestinal carvings. Men tended to avoid it, but Hillmen always paid it a visit and left it presents.

“Amicia will reach Albinkirk tomorrow. She might even press on to Lissen Carak. Tom will reach Ser John Crayford. We ought to be able to move fast—we should be free of barghasts for a day, at least.” He looked around. “I’d give anything to know where Gavin and Montjoy are, or the Emperor was exactly. But I have to guess he’s at the Inn of Dorling.” He put a large filbert there.

Lady Almspend leaned in. “There’s messages from the west—an army of the Wild in the highlands north of Lissen Carak and another coming down the Cohocton—”