Gabriel shook his head. “Harmodius—I would not be your foe. But I need my ally in order to win this battle—the more especially if your dark dragon manifests.” He looked around. “I have no idea of what it would be like to fight a dragon. Militarily, I’m not even sure it can be done. Based on two observations of my own ally in his draconic form—” He paused. “I’m not sure I can plan for that.”

Harmodius took a deep breath as if to make a passionate rejoinder. But he paused.

“We must win this fight,” he said.

“We know,” Desiderata said.

“Very well,” Harmodius said. “I will limit myself to Ash.”

Gabriel smiled at the Faery Knight. “You are content I should command?” he asked.

“No,” the Faery Knight said. “I am content we can aid each other. Command is too imperious for me, Gabriel. Let us merely be friends, and the rest will follow.”

“That’s me told, as my archer would say,” Gabriel said. He extended his hand. “I intend to fight in the woods, at Gilson’s Hole.”

“In the woods?” Desiderata asked. Her surprise leached into the aethereal.

“The army marches tonight, under cover of darkness,” Gabriel said. “Much of it, anyway. Not your knights. We’ve summoned a mass levy of farmers and peasants to dig, and cut trees. What we have that our opponents lack is organization. I’m trying to win with it.”

The Faery Knight put a hand to his forehead in mock salute—or perhaps genuine. “I am shocked. Perhaps he will be surprised.”

“Let’s find out,” the captain said.

One by one, the others left the old man’s palace.

Like a bad guest, Gabriel chose to stay. When they were all gone, he said, “Odd to be in your head, instead of you in mine.”

Harmodius smiled. “Are we at odds?” he asked.

“Please do nothing against Master Smythe,” Gabriel said.

“You mean Lot? You have my word. For now.” Harmodius looked at something that Gabriel knew he couldn’t see—but he’d been in the old man’s rooms in his own mind, and he knew what was there—the mirror.

“I’ve lost my protection,” he said.

“You think so?” Harmodius said. “Hmm.”

“How will this Ash manifest?” Gabriel asked. “And how will you strike?”

“I think he will use death—each death is a major event in the aethereal,” the old magister began.

“Really? I had no idea,” Gabriel said.

“I missed your sarcasm,” Harmodius said.

“And I, yours,” Gabriel shot back.

They both glared—and both laughed.

“I think he uses death to power his essence.” Harmodius shrugged. “I really know nothing—I guess everything. I will not tell you what I will do.”

“And Amicia? Lissen Carak?” Gabriel asked. His pulse raced even in the aethereal.