I replayed the memories of my life from almost eleven years ago, sifting through my memories as though I was delving another, but every time I saw myself going into the forest, they stopped at sunset, only to skip forward to the morning I walked out of the Darkwater.
I opened my eyes.
“Well, Lord Dura?” Ulrezia asked.
Please, Aer, I pleaded in the depths of my mind. Please let Ealdor come to me one more time. Give the kings and queens, your appointed rulers, something to believe in. I turned to face the Everwood and called. “Ealdor, please. Come to me one more time. Whatever is left of you, show it to us. Please.”
I waited, my imagination conjuring hope from each hint of movement at the edge of my vision, but each time I turned to it, it resolved into the shift of a guard or a queen or a king. I called again, but within seconds Ulrezia dropped her hands. “Well, King Rymark?” she asked.
Rymark turned to me, his expression unexpectedly beseeching. “Unless you can conjure some men or stratagem, Lord Dura, we must abandon Treflow.”
I shook my head. “You can’t win if you quit the field now, Your Majesty,” I said. “You know this.”
“I do.” He nodded. “When’s the best time to die, Lord Dura?”
“Later,” I sighed.
Toria Deel stepped through the remnant of the circle. “Give me every man or woman you can spare.”
Fess shouldered his way through the press to stand next to her. “There are too many, Toria Deel,” he said. “They’ll all die.”
She turned to him. “Then you decide, Fess. I will support whatever decision you make.”
I didn’t know what they were talking about, but it didn’t take a gift to see a long-running contest of wills in its final battle.
“And if I elect to fight alongside Lelwin and the rest?” he said.
Toria nodded, but I could see grief in her expression, even if I couldn’t understand it. “Then you must, but for selfish reasons I hope you will try to live.”
“With Wag then,” he said.
She stiffened, and I saw refusal in her expression before she conquered it. “Very well.” She turned to speak to Rymark and Ulrezia. “With the help of Lord Dura and Mirren, Fess and I can equip your men to fight in the dark nearly as well as those from the forest.”
Rymark’s face filled with doubt and fear. “What sorcery is this?”
An hour later I stood in the ruins of a cavernous building near the city wall with a thousand men and women wearing blindfolds against dim candlelight. Time after time, I released the memories of Lelwin’s alternate personality and tried not to be horrified at the change in the urchin I’d known.
“Clever,” I murmured to Bolt as I stepped outside of the building and flopped against the wall, grateful for the break. At Mirren’s suggestion, we worked in shifts with three of us moving among the soldiers while the fourth rested. It wasn’t as taxing as a full delve, but I was still sweating from the exertion.
“How so?” he asked.
I pointed. “Rymark knows what he’s about. There are dozens of men and women there on crutches who can’t fight, but with Lelwin’s memories and a bow on top of a building . . .”
“They can shoot in the dark and make the enemy pay.”
Time dragged by in a procession of delves interrupted at intervals by breaks where I talked with Bolt or Gael and worked at not saying what every man and woman inside the city knew. A half hour before sunset, Rymark approached, his steps quick.
“We have to go,” he said.
I pointed at the setting sun. “It’s still too bright.”
“It’s going to take time to get everyone into position. Cesla has scouts out there that have given him their unconditional allegiance.”
Bolt nodded. “You’ll have to take out as many of them as you can so they can’t see where your men are hiding.”
“That’s it,” Rymark said. “This sortie is going to be expensive, Dura. I hope this idea of yours works.”
I gestured my agreement, even though it hadn’t been my idea and he knew that. “Any word from Pellin?”
“No.” Rymark’s expression soured.
“What?” I asked.
“Cesla’s shifting men to the south of the city.” He disappeared into the building, and moments later, ranks of men and women exited wearing the heavy veils I’d come to associate with those who’d been poisoned by the forest. I suppressed a chill and waited. Lelwin came out followed by Fess, whose eyes were covered. Wag trotted by his side.
I called to him and he came to my side. Master! He thought in welcoming. We hunt.
Yes, but I have a special job for you.
Mistress has already given me one, Master. I picked up an image of Toria Deel, accompanied by her scent. I’m supposed to keep Fess and Lelwin alive. Should I not?
You should, I thought back. But do you remember the way Pellin smells?
Old master.
His scent came to me in more nuanced detail than I could have imagined. That’s him. If you smell him out there, I want you to bring him into the city.
Wag sat on his haunches with his head tilted to one side and I had to reach to maintain contact. Which is more important, Master—keeping Mistress’s pups safe or bringing old master to you?
Bringing old master to me, I thought. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I might have just condemned Fess and Lelwin to die. I wanted to be angry at myself or the Vigil. Anger felt powerful, but as often as I’d slipped into that defense, it wouldn’t come. I felt only the grim necessity of keeping the evil of the forest in check. If we failed, saving Fess or Lelwin or anyone else would be pointless.
I lifted my hand from Wag’s head and pulled him close for
