He shook his head. “You will have to at any rate, my friend.” He pointed to a mirror that lay on a table by the entrance. “Have you seen yourself?”
Dukasti massaged his eyes as if he could rub his weariness away. “I know what I look like, but ‘what must be done, can be borne.’”
Instead of answering his objection, Pellin chose to assume his agreement. “How long would it take us to reach Igesia?”
His counterpart shook his head in denial even as he spoke. “The edge of the desert is over a week with a constant change of horses.” He barked a laugh. “You think I look bad now? I ride poorly, Eldest, and the desert is merciless beyond description. Your solution sounds like undeserved penance.”
Pellin lifted his hand, gesturing toward the sea. “The traffic is so slow through the gate now it might as well be stopped already. The Fayit, Dukasti! Think of it! The oldest questions we have lie within Ealdor’s knowledge. Where do we come from? What was the world like before men came? We could have answers to questions we’ve scarcely dared to dream.”
“Are we supposed to have them, Eldest?” Dukasti asked. “Did knowledge of the Darkwater bring peace or power to your brother? He’s a slave to the evil he tried to understand, all because he broke the first commandment.” He turned away from Pellin and started toward the door.
What would they do now? What could they do except take ship back to the north and pray for some other solution?
“Come, Eldest,” Dukasti called from the entrance. “I will make arrangements for those merchants we’ve already delved to provide the traffic needed to keep the port open.” He shrugged. “They will scream as if I’ve taken their firstborn, but they are nothing if not resilient.”
“We’re going to see Igesia?” Pellin asked, not sure if he heard or understood correctly.
Dukasti nodded. His gaze, blue like the sea, still wore the fatigue of too many uses of his gift, but something else burned in the depths now as well. “I am as guilty as you. The knowledge of the Fayit is too tempting to forego. I pray to Aer in three that I have not brought ruin on my homeland.”
Chapter 24
Three days out from Hylowold, the incessant trot they used to eat up the ground had turned Toria’s saddle into an instrument of torture. Yet she hated dismounting, because it meant she would have to walk, and her legs refused to bear her weight. When they came to Treflow another four days later, the city she’d visited beyond counting had been transformed. Carpenters worked to install heavy scaffolding, makeshift parapets, inside the walls while river boats and carts delivered food and armaments before departing empty.
But it was the people who told her war had come again. They moved with the stiff posture and ground-focused gaze of those who lived under constant threat. The sound of smiths’ hammers merged with the commands and acknowledgments of soldiers, and the smell of burning sulfur and quenching oil mixed with the more normal scent of roasted meat.
The preparation for war provided one unintended benefit. Few of the soldiers and fewer of the civilians took the time to note the sentinel walking next to their horses. “Why don’t they just leave?” Fess asked.
She followed his gaze to the market, where a lieutenant in the Aille army organized the stalls and products with frequent references to a sheaf of parchments. “Most of them will.”
He frowned at her. “I don’t understand.”
The air carried too many scents that she associated with warfare and dying. “Unfortunately, I do. Treflow is the largest defensible city close to the forest. King Rymark is fortifying it in case he has to retreat.”
She followed his gaze as he took in the walls, high enough to offer a decent defense, but nowhere close to the impregnability of the tor in Bunard. He turned to face northwest, where one of the interminable branches of the river that bore the name of the forest flowed into the city beneath the wall. Soldiers and engineers manned heavy winches, working to lower a black iron grate into the water. Then he shifted, looking toward the interior once more.
Toria watched him, reading his thoughts, though her gloved hands held only each other. Wherever his gaze fell, he stilled for a time, studying the preparations before him, but in the end his response was always the same. He would give a small shake of his head before turning to inspect some other facet of the city’s preparations. “Hylowold would offer better defenses, Bunard and Cynestol even more so.”
“True,” she said, “but those cities are farther from the forest. King Rymark understands the nature and strategy of war better than any captain on the continent. He cannot allow Cesla the space to grow his forces. The farther he withdraws from the forest, the more porous his blockade of it becomes. By the time he retreats to Hylowold—”
“He’s already lost,” Fess said. He took a deep breath. “I see.”
They made their way to Treflow’s north gate, where a squad of soldiers blocked the exit with stern glances for any who ventured too close. Massive beams of dark wood barred the heavy-timbered gates. “No traffic north of the city,” the lieutenant in charge said as they approached.
“I’ve come from Cynestol,” she said. “My colleague and I are on our way to see King Rymark.” Even before she finished, she could tell her claim had no effect on the guard.
“I don’t care if you’ve come from Aer himself,” he said. “No one is allowed north of Treflow except by the command of King Rymark.”
She bent forward to speak to him more closely “Use your brains and take a close look at the animal accompanying us, Lieutenant. Have you ever seen a dog that big?”
His face paled as he stared at Wag.
