That night, screams broke out in the clearing five times. Each time, it was reported that one of their number had stripped naked and fled toward the Mingling. One of them was wrestled down by Sail Chaser sentries, but he shouted mad nonsense.

"His mind is broken," Shelith said. "There is nothing we can do for him."

Tirlav stared at the raving naked vien. His eyes were wide and bright in the night. It was one of Tirlav's own, a rider of Aelor. He knew of his home and his Tree. They had guarded the coast together, sat round the fire, and trained day after day. They had done battle together against the foe. Now, he would not stop screaming. With each drawn breath he screamed. All Tirlav could make out from the ravings was a fixation on mangos. The vien's Tree had kept an orchard.

Many of those who should have been sleeping their last sleep listened in the dark.

"Let him go," Tirlav said. "If he wishes to go to the Mingling."

"Liel, might the Canaen learn of our intentions?" Shelith asked.

"If they can get anything from him, they learned it from the others already." Tirlav was more worried about another report of a sentry who had merely declared: "I seek Vah'tane," and slipped over the barricade into the night before anyone could stop him. He nodded to the sentries pinning the lunatic's arms. "Let him go."

When they loosed their grips, the vien shot like an arrow toward the embankment, scrabbling over the breastwork, no doubt tearing his flesh on the thorns.

When it was time to rise and move, few had rested. Tirlav had not even tried to sleep. Many of the riders had died on foot during the battle, and they had more vaela than vien, now. They slit the throats of those beasts they could not bring, to keep them from the Canaen. It was a hateful duty, but it was done. Worse, two of those wounded afflicted by the Malady could no longer ride. They were given leaves to chew that would end their suffering. Tirlav did not force them, but he could not take them, nor would he send them back to the companies of Findel to spread the Malady.

Lighting fires across the new breastworks, the sentries left their positions. The grove would be left to the quth who had lurked at the edges of the clearing. In column, their whole number moved out. They were already dead. Tirlav kept repeating it to himself. Glentel assisted Tereth to climb atop a vaela, looking pale. His foot was wrapped tightly and tied with twine. He could not walk, the tendons in his lower leg severed, but he could ride and refused to go with the wounded.

Tirlav rode at the fore. They kept to the walk at first. It was no use pretending that the enemy would not mark their sally. Part of him would prefer if the Canaen sallied to meet them for a fight in the open ground. It would be better than trying to storm those dark woods to the east.

Once in the open Meadow, the remnants turned south without signal or farewell, leading the wounded upon vaela to the southern eaves. Some of the wounded were set before remnant veterans upon vaela back. Not all of them would survive the jostling journey. Even watching them go, Tirlav felt the impulse to call them back, to order them to join the attack, but he clenched his teeth. Once to the southern eaves, Hanle and Shelith would lead them westward down another path, away from the grove where they supposed more of the quth lurked. The remnants had survived many years. Perhaps they would survive more.

Tirlav broke into a trot before his will faltered, the companies of riders following his lead. No Quth or Canaen resisted their crossing. The foe must have been content to allow them to cross the Meadow in the dark of night. The grey pre-dawn was spreading in the east as they neared the eaves of the Charth. Tirlav led them toward one of the narrow paths he had scouted with the new company. The opening would give them at least some inroad into the woods, booby-trapped and fortified though it must certainly be. He still questioned whether it was better to dismount and storm the trees where there was no path. Every step they took east, the attack felt more and more futile. If they could cause some distraction, give some advantage to the main counterattack, then it would be worth it, wouldn't it?

At last, the eaves of the forest loomed ahead. What was this madness? They had just destroyed a Canaen force for making just this blunder. Trying to assault with such a number through a narrow path was asking to be slaughtered. There was no use spreading out or forming a line of riders; there could be no glorious charge using the vaela to effect. The opening of the path was only wide enough for two riders to pass through abreast.

Tirlav turned to Liel Commander Caelo and the plumes who had ridden with him.

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"I and Aelor will enter first. Go to your contingents and enter in order. As soon as our momentum stops, dismount and take to the trees. We must form a foothold if we cannot break through."

He had communicated this plan to them before. The plumes did not move, waiting for a final word.

Tirlav turned back to face the dark eaves of the Charth. Their lives now rested on a single word from him.

A whistle sounded in the west, piercing the dimness of the night. Tirlav raised himself up on his vaela's back, hoping to get a view, but it was still dark, and he could not see over the undulations of the land. Another whistle blast—it was the signal to hold in place.

"Find out who it is," Tirlav ordered Liel Commander Caelo, who called out commands to two of his plumes. They wheeled away at the gallop, rushing back toward their contingents at the rear. Tirlav glanced at the flush in the east as the rim of the sun neared the horizon. Surely any Canaen sentries could see them well enough now to count their number.

Tirlav rode out to the side of the column, watching back. A group of riders approached at the gallop, accompanied by Caelo's two plumes. As they neared, he saw that the vaela were flecked with foam, run nearly to collapse. There was a plume at the fore whom Tirlav did not recognize, and he rode straight up to him and slapped his chest.

"We seek Liel Tirlav, Son of Aelor," he said.

"I am he."

At that, the plume bowed atop his vaela's back. Tirlav frowned.

"What do you mean by this?"

"Liel," said the plume, straightening. The plume turned to look at a knot of vien who rode in the midst of the new-come riders. These vien were not arrayed as riders of a company like the others, though they were armed, mailed, and helmed. Upon their helms they wore the device of the Wellspring, and their robes were long and fine atop their mail. One of them sang his vaela forward and spoke:

"Liel Aelor," he said. "I am a servant of the Synod. I was sent from the face of the Synod and have ridden without delay. You must return to the High Tir with me at once."

"What is the meaning of this?" Tirlav asked.

"Liel, you are to be High Liel of Aelor. You must return with us."

Tirlav actually laughed.

"You are confused. My father has three closer heirs."

"I am sorry to bring you this news, Liel Aelor. You are the High Liel. The others were taken by the Malady. You must return with us."

A morning breeze rippled the grasses of the meadows. Oddly, Tirlav thought that he could smell the sea on it. He looked at the faces of the servants of the High Tir. As much as he wanted to find the lie in them, he could not.

Father. Ireli. Eldre. Reniel. How was this possible? What of his younger brothers?

"Liel Aelor, we cannot remain so close to the Charth forest. We must see you safely to the High Tir without delay."

Tirlav turned to Liel Caelo and the plumes who waited behind him.

"We return to the grove," he said.

"No!" It was the plume who had spoken with Tirlav first. "I am sorry, Liel Aelor. I am a plume of Liel High Commander Sholrodan. The Liel High Commander sends his condolences to you and orders the attack to continue under the command of Liel Commander Caelo."

Tirlav looked from this interloper to his plumes, frowning. His mind raced for options.

"Am I not High Liel of Aelor?" he asked, grasping at a hope.

"You will be, once you are joined to the Synod," said the servant.

"We have brought no change of orders for the companies," Sholrodan's plume said.

"No," Tirlav said. That single word had a startling effect on those gathered around, as if he had just screamed in their faces. He glanced back at his plumes. They stared at him with eyes wide. "It does not make sense," he said.

"Liel Aelor is stricken with loss," the chief servant said, loud for all those to hear.

"Liel High Commander Sholrodan appoints Liel Commander Caelo to lead," Sholrodan's plume called out. "By order of the Synod, the attack continues." The plume turned to the nearby riders of Tirlav's Aelor contingent. "You will change our winded vaela with yours. We must make haste."

Tirlav was finding it difficult to breathe. Glentel rode up alongside him, grasping his arm.

"Liel, are you well?"

Tirlav didn't respond.

The chief servant of the Synod looked at the pair.

"It is customary for a High Liel to keep a servant and guard," he said, and he pointed at Glentel. "You, come with us."

Glentel didn't respond, holding Tirlav steady by the elbow.

"You cannot take me from them," Tirlav said, his voice low and weak. "Not now." His hands trembled, and he felt dizzy. The servants of the Synod and the riders of Sholrodan's contingent were dismounting to switch vaela with Tirlav's riders. The chief servant of the Synod sprang up onto a fresh vaela.

"You will come by order of the Synod," he said. "The Synod calls you by name, by the blessing of Findel." The command struck Tirlav like a blow to the gut, and doubled over, gasping for air. All he could manage was to shake his head.

"Liel Commander Caelo," said Sholrodan's plume. "Continue the attack by order of the Synod."

Caelo grimaced but wheeled round, raising a whistle to his lips.

"No," Tirlav said, still shaking his head, but his voice was weak.

Caelo blew two commands:

Tlorné to the fore. Plumes with their contingents.

The servants of the Synod encircled Tirlav and Glentel, singing their vaela back to the west. Sholrodan's riders joined around them, so that Tirlav was in their center. Before they had passed even halfway down the line of riders, Caelo's whistle blew again, and Tirlav heard the high note of the companies singing their vaela forward, but he was riding in the wrong direction. His vision narrowed, and all he could see were the ears and horns of his vaela as he wrestled with all his will.

No. No. No.

Yet the Synod called him by name, their command like a vine twisting around his lungs.

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