“The earth will not kill,” Binnesman whispered. “Its strength lies in nurturing life, protecting. And Raj Ahten is backed by other Powers. You must think, Gaborn. How can you best protect your people? All mankind is in jeopardy, not just these few at Longmot. Your father is but one man, and I fear he chose to place himself in jeopardy.”

“I want Raj Ahten dead! Now!” Gaborn shouted, not at Binnesman, but to the earth that had promised to protect him. Yet he knew the earth was not at fault. Gaborn had felt a premonition that his father was in jeopardy. Yet he had not heeded that warning, had not pulled his father from Longmot.

Gaborn felt ill to his heart.

He was twenty miles from Longmot. His force horse could cover that distance in less than half an hour. But if he did, what would it gain him? He’d lose his life.

He considered spurring his horse on, anyway.

Beside him, Iome seemed to read his thoughts. She touched his knee with her hand. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t go.”

Gaborn looked at the ground. At his horse’s feet, gray-green grasshoppers flew up in fright, fat grasshoppers, sluggish at the end of the autumn.

“Can we help them at Longmot, do you think?” Gaborn asked Binnesman.

The wizard shrugged. Worry lined his face. “You help their cause even now, with this ruse. But do you mean, can you defeat Raj Ahten? Not with these troops. The battle goes ill for Longmot—as it would for you, should you attack too soon. Your strength lies not in slaughter, but as a defender. Let your men kick up more dust as they walk. Then we will see what happens. . . .”

They rode on in palpable silence for two long minutes. All that time, Gaborn felt torn, fey. He blamed himself for his father’s death, for the death of Rowan, for the deaths of all the Dedicates at Castle Sylvarresta. Such a toll, such a heavy price the world was paying for his weakness. For he felt sure that if he were stronger, if he had just done something different, turned left when he’d turned right, he could have saved them all.

A strange noise began to rumble across the plains—a single note, a cry like none Gaborn had ever heard or thought to imagine. It rolled over the plains like a distant shout.

Raj Ahten’s death cry! he thought.

But almost immediately, it was followed by another such cry, echoing over the heath.

Binnesman’s mount kicked and raised its ears, just as heavy wet drops of sleet began to splash over the ground. With an ache in his heart, Gaborn watched the wizard spur his horse toward Longmot, and wished he could follow.

“Come, Gaborn, bring your army!” Binnesman shouted. “The earth is in pain!”