“Thurion!” she cried.
“Did you think you could set such a weaving and I would not hear?” Thurion asked. His smile barely disguised his worry.
She groaned as he raised her to her feet. “Am I a child, to have been so overset by a spell?” she grumbled. She began to shiver, and he laid one hand, palm flat, against her shoulder. She felt his Magery cascade over her, warming her and driving the wetness from her garments.
“What have you done?” he demanded.
“It seems you are always asking me that,” she said with a shaky smile. She looked past his shoulder, toward her encampment. She had ordered them to strict discipline, for sound and light would carry across the bounds even if Magery did not. The Findspell she had cast had roused the Lightborn; she could see faint sparks of Silverlight moving about in the distance like the glowbeetles of summer. Soon enough they would find her missing.
“I have set a spell to show me where we now must go,” she said, and Thurion’s eyes widened with shock— and hope.
“You have found Amrethion’s city,” he said. “With this … it is as great as Tildorangelor herself.”
“I hope it is not, for I mean to claim Tildorangelor for my own, and should the Alliance also be able to claim such power the battle will be dreadful indeed,” she answered.
“And Amrethion’s city. And the Unicorn Throne. You have found them all,” Thurion answered as if he had not heard her.
“I have done as I must,” she said. She pulled her cloak more tightly about her. “Now come—if the spell has called you, I know it has wakened all my folk.”
Gunedwaen and Harwing Lightbrother found them before they had covered even a third of the distance back to the camp.
“It would indeed make good hearing to know for what cause you have stolen into the night to make yourself the target of any sword,” Gunedwaen said with heavy irony. He swung down from his palfrey’s back and gestured for her to mount.
“
“I had thought to have quiet and shelter for the casting of my spell,” Vieliessar said to Gunedwaen, “but if Thurion was roused by it—”
Only then did it occur to her to marvel at the power of the spell that had brought him here, for the power needed for Door increased with the distance traveled, and he could not have known to draw upon Janglanipaikharain’s Light to open it. “Where were you when you came to me?” she asked suddenly, turning to Thurion.
“A guesthouse in Utheleres. I was in meditation, hoping to Farspeak you with the news.…”
“Iardalaith ’Spoke with one of our spies among the Alliance Lightborn,” Harwing said. “They have heard nothing.”
Vieliessar nodded. The boundary Wards had protected her from detection, as she had hoped. But the bond she shared with Thurion was deep and reinforced by their continual use of Farspeech. He had sensed her spell because he was trying to reach her.
They were safe.
“Then we still have the advantage, until they strike our path. Come, Gunedwaen. Ride behind me, and I shall speak to you of the weaving I have done this night.”
Vieliessar gazed around at those whose lives stood like marking stones along the path she had taken to this moment and this place. She commanded a force as large as that of the Twelve; her Lightborn wore armor and fought on the battlefield; her commonfolk bore arms and fought beside
She did not know if that was better—or worse.
It was still candlemarks before dawn; she had gathered to her not the senior commanders of the High King’s army, but those who had stood as friends and guides upon the long road Vieliessar Farcarinon had walked to get here.
Lord Thoromarth of Oronviel, whose faith and generosity humbled her when she thought of them. Thurion Lightbrother, who had broken with the custom of centuries to follow the dictates of his reason, not his heart. Aradreleg Lightsister, who walked a careful path between the old ways and the new. Rondithiel, her first and best teacher. Lord Gunedwaen, who had taught her the Code of Battle and followed her even when she shattered it. Rithdeliel Warlord, born to Caerthalien, who had broken his heart to give Serenthon victory, and who had risen from the embers of betrayal to do more than that for Serenthon’s daughter.
Harwing. Iardalaith. Nadalforo. Changed by what she had done just as she had been changed by Amrethion’s Prophecy.
Her vassals, all. Just as she was vassal to the land itself.
“I have this night discovered the path to our destination,” she said.
“A destination is always a useful thing,” Rithdeliel said calmly. “I hope there are stores of grain there. And wine.”
“Of these matters I know not,” Vieliessar said, “but I know our victory lies within Celephriandullias- Tildorangelor, and there I will lead us.”
“Grand words fit for a wondertale,” Thoromarth grumbled. “But say if you will, Vieliessar High King, where it is you would bid us have your army go?”
“South,” Vieliessar answered. “South, and south again, until we reach the end of the world.”
Thurion’s presence was a gift. The news he brought was fresh: Penenjil and Enerchelimier had managed to reach Oblivion Gate in time to pass through to the Arzhana; Melchienchiel Penenjil had sent the Silver Swords on ahead, with Thurion to guide them. He had expected trouble in the Nantirworiel Pass, for if Methothiel Nantirworiel had not taken the field, he had certainly chosen his allegiance. But if Methothiel was for the Alliance, his meisne was not—since his father’s time, Foxhaven Free Company had been sword and shield to Nantirworiel. Thurion did not know their fate, or Methothiel’s. All he knew was that the pass had been clear of snow—and utterly deserted.
But welcome as Thurion’s presence was, he remained only three days before bidding her farewell.
“I do not wish to be away from Master Kemmiaret overlong,” he said. “And besides, I am needed to lead the Silver Swords to your side. Utheleres is as yet untroubled by battle, and we can find provision and shelter all the way to Lurathonion Flower Forest. Once we cross the southern border, I shall come to you again, to be certain we do not lose our way.”
“For that I am grateful,” Vieliessar said. “And for Penenjil’s grace in making such a journey in winter.”
“As to that, I think Penenjil has been privy to more of Celelioniel’s learning than any of us know,” Thurion answered. “I could wish … they knew the whole of it.”
“I do not think even Amrethion Aradruiniel knew the whole,” Vieliessar answered. “Go with the Light, my friend.”
“And you, my king,” Thurion answered gravely.
It was odd to look upon a place and have no name to call it by, for every stone and forest and meadow within the Fortunate Lands had a name. For a sennight her people made a game of it, vying with one another to coin the most outlandish and ornate name.
Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor was the first thing in Vieliessar’s thoughts each dawn, the last thing she saw behind closed eyelids at night. It drew her like a needle to the lodestone, and her army followed where she led. As Snow Moon drew to a close, she and every Lightborn in her force felt the Alliance cross the Niothramangh bounds to follow them.
