When the turmoil and frenzy overtook the camps later that night, he never knew of them. They moved his body the next day in the midst of chaos—he’d told Ivor he could be moved—but he was oblivious to that. By then, he had passed beyond Pendaran.

He had seen the Wood. He could place and focus himself by his memory of the forest and the contours of its emanations in his mind. He’d sensed the dark, unforgiving hostility of the Wood and then something else. He had been passing over the Anor Lisen, of which he knew. There was a light on in the Tower, but that, of course, he didn’t realize. He did apprehend a presence there, and he had an instant to wonder.

Only an instant, because then he was past the end of land and out over the waves and he knew a helpless, spinning panic. He had no shape to give to this, no memory, scarcely a name to compass it. Impossibly, there seemed to be stars both above and below. Old and frail, blind in the night, Gereint bade his spirit leave the land he’d always known, for the incalculable vastness of the unseen, unimaginable, the dark and roiling sea.

“You cannot,” said Mabon of Rhoden, catching up to them, “drive five hundred men all day without rest.”

His tone was mild. Aileron had made clear that Levon was leading this company, and Mabon hadn’t demurred at all. Dave saw Levon grin sheepishly, though. “I know,” he said to the Duke. “I’ve been meaning to stop. It’s just that as we get closer…”

The Duke of Rhoden smiled. “I understand. I feel like that whenever I’m riding home.” Mabon, Dave had decided, was all right. The Duke was past his best years and carried more weight than he needed to, but he hadn’t had any trouble keeping up and had gone to sleep in his blanket on the grass the night before like an old campaigner.

Levon was shaking his head, upset with himself. When they reached an elevation in the rolling prairie he raised a hand for a halt. Dave heard heartfelt murmurs of relief running through the company behind him.

He was grateful for the rest himself. He hadn’t been born to the saddle like Levon and Tore, or even these horsemen from the northern reaches of Brennin, and he’d been doing an awful lot of riding the past few days.

He swung down and stretched his legs. Did a few deep knee bends, touched his toes, swung his arms in circles. He caught a look from Tore and grinned. He didn’t mind teasing from the dark Dalrei; Tore was a brother. He did a few pushups right beside the cloth that Tore was covering with food. He heard the other man snort with suppressed laughter.