“Somethin’ unnatural came up at the edge o’ the water,” the lead man-at-arms said. Green banda men-at-arms were not all knights; many had come up the hard way, former royal foresters or Jacks.

“I don’t know you,” Gabriel said, embarrassed.

“Jeff Kearny,” the man said. He was short, broad, and red bearded. “This here is Tom Wilsit. You know Short Tooth and Long Tail, eh? Sir?”

Gabriel looked out into the oddly lit night. The patch of pure darkness had the same effect as an hour before.

“Don’ look at it,” muttered Short Tooth. “Seriously, Cap’n. That’s fucked up.”

“No shit,” Gabriel said. “And then what happened?” he said to Kearny.

“It moved back,” Kearny said. “We did nowt, like Sauce said.”

“Never piss off somethin’ ye cannae’ kill,” said Short Tooth. “Long Paw’s rule number two o’ scoutin.”

Gabriel finished his apple and lobbed the core out into the endless night. “Rule number one?” he asked.

“Scoutin’ an’ fightin’ are two different jobs,” Kearny said.

“He’s full o’ crap like yon,” Short Tooth said.

Gabriel nodded, suddenly feeling much better.

“We’re going to cross in groups of three lances,” he said when he’d walked back to Sauce. “I’ll go first with whomever you choose. You’ll come last. I’ll pause at the midpoint in the causeway, in case—”

Sauce leaned up and gave him a sudden kiss. “You are so full of shit,” she said. “You go. All the way to Mortirmir. If’n you want to cover us, send him to the midpoint. Not you, Mister Emperor. Not now.”

He thought about it.

“Just once, do as I say,” Sauce said.

Gabriel made a face. “Sure,” he said.

She laughed. “Things must be desperate.”

The first three lances included Wha’hae, and they went out at a trot. Gabriel mounted Ariosto and they launched into the wet air.

So hungry, the griffon said. Love Sauce, too?

Gabriel’s breath caught. But there was no lying to a griffon. Love Sauce, he admitted.

The griffon seemed to chuckle, and something like a rippling purr passed along its trunk and spread to the wings.

By then they were high enough to make out the first three spots of phosphorescence. They were farther away—two or three thousand paces. Gabriel watched the second party of lances depart. And the third.

On the far side of the causeway, a great lidless eye of pale green began to drift in.

Gabriel turned Ariosto. Sorry, he thought. I need you to fly about ten more minutes.

Ouch, Ariosto said.

Gabriel turned again, coasting back along the causeway. He flashed over the fourth trio of lances, spooking Kearny’s horse, and he turned Ariosto and they went in through the gate as if it was not a magnificent flying achievement.

Gabriel didn’t augment his voice; he was trying to use no ops whatsoever. But he used his lungs, which were powerful.