Tom Lachaln nodded. “A’weel,” he said. “I plan to get drunk tonight, and perhaps chase Sukey around a tent if she doesn’a move too fast. That’s as far as my plans go.” He looked across the plain. “An’ that’s all your notion o’ wha’ waits for us?”

Gabriel nodded his head. “Yes.”

Tom made a face. “A’wheel, then.” He smiled.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

The road to Lissen Carak—Ser Gavin Muriens

Ser Gavin marched his army, better rested and better fed than in days, into a day blessedly free from rain.

“Where is he?” Gavin asked Tamsin.

She shook her head, watching the skies. “It is like a miracle,” she said. “I can say this much: Something took him away in the last fight. Something surprised him, or hurt him. My guess is that Master Niko hit him hard, but I would have thought I’d have felt that.” She smiled. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I really don’t know. I would like to see Tapio alive. I would like . . .” She shrugged.

“I’d like it all to be over,” Gavin said. “I was tired of being second fiddle to my brother, and now I think I’d happily be a second fiddle for the rest of my life.”

The sun rose, and the army marched east. Before the sun was halfway across the sky, Gavin’s advance guard reported contact with the Count of the Borders and his prickers, northern horse, and by midafternoon, Gavin had the near infinite satisfaction of bowing to the Prince of Occitan and introducing the Queen of Faery, who sparkled with pleasure.

“You are far west of where I expected you,” Gavin said to Count Gareth.

The Count of the Borders nodded. “Mayhap a foolish notion,” he said. “But I wanted to be here to support you if you were close pursued.”

“As far as I know, I’ve broken contact, and the enemy is moving along the north bank of the Cohocton,” Gavin said.

“I put all my foot into the works at Lissen Carak and came on,” Count Gareth said. “Ranald Lachlan and the queen’s advance guard should be only two or three days behind me; we should arrive at Lissen Carak together.”

“Pray God that the dragon can’t break past your infantry,” Gavin said, deeply worried. “How is your hermetical support?”

“Thin,” Count Gareth admitted.

Gavin’s eyebrows seemed to knit together.

The Wild—Bill Redmede

Well north of the river, the Jacks and the irks moved very slowly east, sometimes making less than ten miles a day. The country was broken; the western flanks of the Adnacrags in autumn, with beautiful stands of beech interspersed with vast marshes and alder brakes that ran for hundreds of paces. The irks moved easily, the men less so.

Bill Redmede leaned on his bow and looked at the endless golden leaves. “We’re too far north,” he said.

Tapio shrugged. “We have to be well to the north,” he said. “We cannot afford even the chanssse of detecssshion.”