Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know. Is Ash trying to conquer or defend?” He looked around. “But assuming that the will is concentrated there, and Ash is there, then they might have an ally waiting on the other side of the gate. Or one or both of them is leaving, bent on the conquest of other . . . places.” He reined in, looking over the vast, flat field. As far as the eye could see, tens of thousands of men and women were eating, polishing, building, drilling, shooting, wrestling, cursing. The breeze raised little dust devils. The sun shone down, still fierce enough to burn Tom’s nose.

“. . . or . . .” the emperor said. “Damn.”

He turned Ataelus to face his staff. “It doesn’t matter. Morgon and I have a plan for the first moments, when the gate starts to open.” He shrugged. “And after that we play it by ear. This is as far as the plan ever made it, really. Fighting—a lot of it—and then, when we come through that tunnel, if we win, there will be another set of plans, for rebuilding. For feeding the Albin and the Brogat from Etrusca. And eventually, for preparing to face all this again in some hundreds or thousands of years.”

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.