“Defended. Amicia wishes to come with the army. I think she should not—but we need every scrap of hermetical talent.” Harmodius set his jaw.

Gabriel nodded. “In as much as I am captain—you are magister. I believe I can defeat Thorn’s material army. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say I can defeat him with minimal losses.”

“You’ve learned a great deal of humility,” Harmodius said dryly. “But I will add this. If you die and I die, and Ash manifests, and Thorn triumphs, and Lissen Carak does not fall—then we have not wholly lost.”

“I probably lost Ticondaga and all my folk by hubris,” Gabriel said. “I have learned in just a few years making war that to dwell on errors is to make more.” He shrugged. “I am afraid of a battle with so many imponderables. But I will do my best.”

Harmodius nodded. “I will spare you the statement that you should not blame yourself.”

Gabriel shrugged.

“What happens if we win on the ground and lose here?” Gabriel asked.

“We all die,” Harmodius said.

“The converse is also true,” Gabriel said. “You would have me die, so that untold numbers of beings I have never met are protected from Ash holding a gate.” Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not that noble. Let’s just beat him here.” He managed a grin. “And live to tell about it.”

Harmodius shook his head. “At best, our losses will be staggering.”

Gabriel sighed. “I’ll try and prevent that.” But there was doubt in his voice.

In the real, Gabriel was the last but Harmodius to return. He looked around, feeling—rested. He tried to empty his wine cup, but that had apparently already happened, and the fire was down and most of the candles out.

Harmodius grunted. “I’m too old for all this,” he said. “Good night.”

“Where are you sleeping?” Gabriel asked.

“In this chair.” Harmodius stretched. “Which even this body isn’t young enough for.”

“You can share my room,” Gabriel volunteered. “Come, old man. Three flights of stairs and there’s a feather bed.”

“Lead on,” Harmodius said.

They made it to the top with minimal grunting. Gabriel got the old man into his camp bed—the castle seemed to have no beds of its own, or perhaps other guests had them.

Toby didn’t awake any of the times they stepped over him, and he looked exhausted. Gabriel let him sleep. He found the leather case where his wine was stored, and found both bottles empty.

“Damn,” he said.

Harmodius, the most puissant magister in all of the Nova Terra, was already snoring.