Cully made himself ride on. The great Golden Bear to his left—whose yellow eyes were level with his own—on horseback—grinned. It said something that almost sounded like Alban.

Cully grinned back.

Behind him, Flarch grunted. “Fuck me,” he said. “Did you hear the bear?”

Cully shook his head, still shaken.

“It said, ‘Get some.’”

Cully’s nerves got the better of him and he laughed, a little too high and loud. Men looked at him.

Off further to the left, a white stag broke cover. On its back was the most beautifully equipped knight Cully had ever seen.

“The Faery Knight!” men called. Some of the company men cheered—and many of the farmers.

The Faery Knight—who looked more poised and magnificent than the captain had ever managed—trotted his enormous stag to where Ser Gabriel waited on his riding horse. They clasped hands.

“Well met,” said Ser Tapio. “Now what do we do?”

“Push east as fast as we can until we can see the Unicorn,” the captain said. The Unicorn was a towering spire of white rock that rose alongside Buck Pond Mountain. “Then, if all goes well…”

Ser Tapio smiled a knowing smile, and they rode on together, their households staying as separate bodies for the first mile of broken ground, and then gradually intermingling. The faery knights were irks—most of them were slighter than men, and their armour far more old-fashioned. Most had bronze byrnies instead of steel habergeons and many wore leather defences where the men had steel plate, more cunningly formed. But the irks had their own breed of horses and a few stags and massive caribou that seemed to take the woods in easier strides, and they were festooned in charms and runes that few of the men and women could emulate.

They passed along the south shore of Big Rock Lake. From time to time the captain checked a wax tablet, and Cully saw, at a brief halt, that writing appeared in the wax, and he shook his head.

“They have started to attack the fort line,” the captain admitted to the Faery Knight.

“Ahh,” Ser Tapio replied. “Better than I feared. I worried we were hunters beating for a stag long since run away.”

The captain shrugged. “Every mile we do this, our forces will be better at cooperating.”

Indeed, along the front of the long, long column, bears and irks shared the skirmish line with Gelfred’s men. To the north and west of the road, once the lake was passed, the column was paralleled by the movement of a long line of boglins who crossed the Wild the way ants cross a difficult area of pebbles, all touching. It was chilling and inhuman to watch, and most of the company stopped watching. But it did make them feel protected.