Francis Atcourt, who was nominally in charge of the casa and liked to divert Tom’s attention if he could, spoke up. “We’ve hauled these blessed things over hill and dale for a year,” he agreed. “And never used a one.”

Tom nodded at Edmund. “They work?” he asked.

Edmund nodded. “I promise you they do, Ser Knight. Show us a dragon.”

Bad Tom Laughed. “Aye, that’s the spirit,” he said, his tone indicating that he didn’t believe the things could harm a house cat. The head of the column was long gone, and Tom realized he was slowing his own march. “Off wi’ ye,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll see what yer smelly de’il’s powder is worth.”

Forty leagues later, and again the force made camp with few fires and no tents. Men were hungry; the dash across the Massif had taken a toll in men and horses. The food wagons were mostly empty, and Gabriel ordered them unloaded and sent back. But he ordered a dozen kept, and gave no reason.

“I wish you could ride Ariosto,” he said as an aside to Morgon.

“I don’t,” Morgon admitted. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. That beast mislikes me.”

“Beast my arse,” Gabriel said. There was a silence; both men had their own thoughts. Finally Gabriel said, “Sometimes I suspect I am the junior partner.”

“I am sure your temporal power more than balances my superiority of hermetical talent,” Mortirmir said graciously.

“I meant to Ariosto,” Gabriel said.

There was a little more silence.

Gabriel smiled to himself, and was saved from further insulting his most vital asset by the arrival of his officers. Toby hovered, no longer a squire but eager to help Anne; Anne laid out a folding table, and two pages placed the top across the sawhorse-like folding legs. Another of Kronmir’s carefully drawn maps was laid down and the curling corners tacked with eating knives.

Kronmir’s beautiful calligraphy, each place name carefully labeled, stood as a monument to the man. Gabriel felt a lump in his throat; had more than a passing qualm about the bodies he was leaving behind. He paused.

“I assume we’re out of wine?” he asked Anne. She looked startled, and blinked, then waved to one of the pages.

Gabriel sighed. He took a breath, steadied himself, and pointed at the map. “Here’s where the Necromancer is. He must know what’s coming for him. Today he tried to slip south and ran into Pavalo’s pickets, so now he’s coming for us. Du Corse is hard on his heels, here.” He drew them out. “Pavalo cut up most of his not-dead people and trapped two of the Umroth, the way they do it, in pit traps.” He shrugged. “We don’t have any soft soil to dig pits in, so we’ll need a little luck.”