— 48 —

Korin dreamed of Tobin nearly every night, and the dreams were much the same. He might be walking through the great hall at Cirna, or in the palace gardens of Ero, and he would spy a familiar figure ahead of him. Each time, Tobin turned to smile tauntingly at him, then ran away. Furious, Korin would draw his sword and run after him, but could never catch up. Sometimes the dream seemed to go on for hours and he would wake tense and sweating, hand clenched around an imaginary hilt.

The dream was different this time, though. He was riding along the edge of a high cliff, and Tobin was waiting for him in the distance. He didn’t run when Korin spurred his horse forward, just stood there, laughing.

Laughing at him.

Korin?”

Korin started awake and found Urmanis bending over him. It was still dark. The watch fire outside cast long shadows up the walls of his tent. “What is it?” he rasped.

“One of the southern scouting parties found Tobin.”

Korin stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was still dreaming.

“Are you awake, Kor? I said we found Tobin! He’s about a day’s march south.”

“On the coast?” Korin murmured.

“Yes.” The other man gave him an odd look as he handed him a cup of watered wine.

It was a vision, he thought, downing the morning draft. He threw off the blankets and reached his boots.

“He came through the mountains, just as we were told,” Urmanis went on, handing Korin a tunic. “If he tries to march on Cirna, we can easily cut him off here.”

Glancing out through the open flap, Korin saw that it was close to dawn. Porion and the Companions stood waiting.

Korin joined them. “We aren’t going to sit waiting for him any longer. Garol, have the trumpeters raise the camp. Prepare to march.”

The squire sprinted away.

“Moriel, summon my nobles.”

“At once, Majesty!” The Toad hurried off.

Korin downed the last of the wine and handed the cup back to Urmanis. “Where are the scouts who found him?”

“Here, Majesty.” Porion presented a blond, bearded man. “Captain Esmen, Majesty, of Duke Wethring’s house.”

The man saluted Korin. “My riders and I spotted a large force on the coast yesterday, just before sundown. I went forward myself and spied on the pickets as soon as it was dark. It’s definitely Prince Tobin. Or Queen Tamír, as we heard him called,” he added with a smirk.

Wethring and the other nobles joined them, and Korin had the scout repeat his news. “How large a force does he have?”

“I can’t be sure, Majesty, but I’d say considerably less than yours. It’s mostly men-at-arms, not much in the way of cavalry. Perhaps two hundred horse?”

“Did you see any standards?”

“Only Prince Tobin’s, Majesty, but the men I heard talking mentioned Lord Jorvai. I also heard them complaining of being hungry. I didn’t see any sign of a baggage train.”

“That would explain how he got across the mountains so quickly,” said Porion. “He was foolish to come with so little support, though.”

“We’re well supplied and rested,” Korin mused with satisfaction. “We’ll press our advantage. Assemble my cavalry and signal for a quick march.”

Captain Esmen bowed again. “Begging your pardon, Majesty, but I’ve more to tell. There was mention of wizards, too.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“No, Majesty, but some of my men stayed behind to bring word if he starts north.”

“Well done. Lord Alben, see that this man is rewarded.”

“Will you send a herald ahead, King Korin?” asked Wethring.

Korin smiled darkly. “The sight of my standard is all the warning my cousin will get from me.”

Mahti had been right about the weather. Misty rain rolled in off the sea during the night, damping the watch fires and soaking the already exhausted soldiers. Barieus had been coughing all evening, though he was doing his best to hide it.

“Sleep in my tent tonight,” Tamír told him. “That’s an order. I need you fit tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he rasped, stifling another cough behind his hand. Lutha gave him a worried look. “Take my blankets. I won’t need them on watch.”

“You should get what rest you can, too,” Ki told Tamír.

“I will. But not just yet. I need to speak with Arkoniel.”

“I know where he is.”

He lit a torch and led her back to the cliffs. Arkoniel was there with Saruel, kneeling beside his own small fire. They were both hollow-eyed from casting seeking spells, and as Tamír approached, she saw Arkoniel cough raggedly against his arm.

“You’re ill, too?” she asked, concerned.

“No, it’s just the damp,” he replied, though she suspected he was lying.

“Any sign of the ’faie yet?” asked Ki.

“I’m afraid not.”

“It’s the beginning of the stormy season on this sea,” said Saruel. “They could have been blown off course.”

“What about Tharin?” asked Tamír.

Arkoniel sighed and shook his head. “There is no siege at Atyion. That’s all I can tell you. Lyan has sent no word.”

With nothing to do now but wait, Tamír let Ki lead her back to her tent and attempted to catch a few hours’ rest. Her damp clothes and Barieus’ intermittent coughing prevented deep sleep. She dozed fitfully and rose before dawn to find the world shrouded in fog. The rain was still falling, cold and persistent. Lorin and Tyrien were on watch outside, huddled under their cloaks as they fed wood to the smoking fire.

Tamír walked away to relieve her bladder. She still missed being able to simply open her trousers. As it was, the fog spared her the necessity of going very far.

The world was all grey and black around her. She could make out the edge of the cliff, and the dark shapes of men and horses, but it was indistinct, like the landscape of a dream. She could hear people grumbling, talking, and coughing as they stirred around their fires. Three muffled figures stood at the edge of the cliff.

“Be careful of your footing,” one of them warned, as she went to join them.

Arkoniel and Lord Malkanus both had their eyes closed, lost in some spell. Kaulin stood with them, holding each by the elbow.

“Has he been at it all night?” Tamír asked quietly.

Kaulin nodded.

“Any sign?” She could already guess the answer.

Lord Malkanus opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Majesty, but I still don’t see any sign of ships. It is very foggy, though, and it’s a very large sea.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not out there somewhere.” Arkoniel sighed, opening his eyes. “Not that it matters now. Korin is breaking camp. I cast a window spell earlier. I still can’t focus it on Korin, but I was able to find his generals. There’s talk of moving south. I suspect he knows you’re close by, to be moving so suddenly.”

Tamír rubbed a hand over her face and back through her dirty hair, trying to ignore the empty rumbling in her belly. “Then we don’t have long.”

She walked back to the tent, where her marshals and the others were waiting. Ki handed her a roasted grouse, still hot on the stick it had been cooked on. “A gift from one of the Colath men.”

Tamír pulled off a bit of the breast meat and handed it back. “Share it around. My lords, Korin is coming, and he’s only a day or so away. I say we choose the ground and be ready when he gets here rather than going on to meet him. Nyanis, Arkoniel, and the Companions will ride with me. The rest of you rouse your companies and spread the word. And warn them to keep away from the cliffs until this damn fog lifts! I can’t spare anyone to mishap.”

The rain slowed to a drizzle as they rode north and the breeze picked up, pulling the fog to tatters around them.

“Korin has numbers on his side, and a large force of cavalry. We must find a way to cut down his advantage,” Tamír mused, eyeing the countryside as they went.

“Your greatest strength is in your archers,” Nyanis noted.

“What if Master Arkoniel cast a window spell and you shot at Korin through it, like you did with the Plenimarans?” asked Hylia.

Tamír frowned at the young squire. “That would be dishonorable. He and I are kin and warriors, and we’ll meet as warriors on the field.”

“Forgive me, Majesty,” Hylia replied, reddening. “I spoke without thinking.”

The ground fell away beyond their camp, and the forest closed in on the cliffs, leaving a space of open ground less than half a mile wide between trees and the sea. Farther on, the ground rose sharply beyond a little stream.

Tamír dismounted there and let her horse drink. The ground underfoot was soft. She jumped the stream and walked around on the far side, stamping her feet. “It’s boggy over here. If Korin’s cavalry comes galloping down, they’re likely to find poor footing.”

She crossed back and mounted again, then galloped up the hill with Ki and Nyanis to survey the view from the crest. The ground beyond the hill was firm and dry for as far as she could see. The forest was not so close here. From this direction the field grew narrower the farther down one went.

“If he charges from here, it’ll be like peas into a funnel,” she mused. “A broad line would end up bunched and crowded in on itself unless Korin narrows his ranks.”

“If you were marching from the north, this would look like a good place to take a stand,” Nyanis said. “You’d have the high ground.”

“That’s best for defense, though. We need to bring them down to us.”

“Korin won’t think anything of charging foot soldiers,” said Ki. “There’s a good chance he could break our lines, too, if he has as many people as you say, Arkoniel.”

“That’s just what he’ll think,” said Tamír, already seeing it in her mind’s eye. “What we need is a herald, and a hedgehog.”