Not a rival,it had decided, somewhere beneath language.
Something else.
I didn’t disagree. I just didn’t know yet whatsomething elsemeant, and until I did, Tristan of Lyonesse would remain the most useful uncertainty in my court.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
-VAELEN-
The road narrowed exactly where we needed it to.
I’d walked that stretch four times in three weeks, twice in daylight, twice at night, and the night surveys were the ones that mattered most. You learn different things in the dark, like the way sound carries off the ridge, the way the river noise swallows footsteps at the third curve, and the way a man’s eyes adjust slower when light isn’t involved.
The fallen tree was ours. We’d placed it there ten days ago and let it sit long enough to look accidental.
There were six of us in total, and I was at the point.
Hailey was at my left and slightly behind, which was where she preferred to operate: close enough to communicate without speaking, far enough that she had a full view of everything ahead of me that I might miss. She’d developed that positioning herself early on, and I’d never suggested she change it because it worked. She had a talent for seeing the things that happened at the periphery of whatever you were looking at directly.
We moved at the second hour before dawn because that’s when the body most urgently wants to be horizontal. This meant the guards would be cold; they’d be thinking about the warmth of their beds, a good meal, and the end of their shift. Theywouldn’t be thinking about the shadows between the river and the ridgeline. This wasn’t a criticism of them; it was simply a fact.
The outriders separated from the convoy at the third curve, as they always did, navigating wide around the fallen tree while the wagons slowed. There were now forty feet between them and the main group. We’d timed it perfectly because we’d timed it four times.
Hailey had been the one to clock the forty-foot gap on the second survey. I’d clocked it too, but she’d been the one to say it aloud first, and she’d said it the way she said most things: quietly, without flourish, as though it were obvious and she was simply being polite by mentioning it. I’d told her it was good work. She’d said she already knew and to stop complimenting her because it was patronizing.
Forty feet was enough.
The process took precisely eleven minutes.
One cart tipped onto its side in the ditch. Three guards fled, and by doing so, they did the correct thing. What was more, I was happy they did, as I had no interest in anyone dying on the road an hour and a half before daybreak over something as ridiculous as missing arrow shafts.
Two guards didn’t run. And that was a pity.
The first one was quick about it. He came at me with real conviction, and I respected that even as I stepped inside his reach and ended the conversation. The second one took longer. He was experienced; you could tell by the way he positioned himself and angled his body: how he didn’t overcommit. We circled each other for four seconds that felt considerably longer. All the while, I was aware of the clock, aware of my team moving around us, and aware that I needed this done.
So, I made the decision to end him, much though I didn’t want to. When you ended a man’s life, it was a burden youcarried with you for the rest of yours. I knew I’d carry him with me the way I carried all of them. After all, there’s a particular weight to men who choose to fight rather than run. It’s not a heavier weight, exactly. It’s just more specific. I remember their faces in a way I don’t always remember the others.
When it was done, Hailey appeared at my shoulder. She didn’t say anything about the man on the ground, but she didn’t look away from him either. She just stood there for a moment in the way she had of acknowledging things without editorializing them. I knew what she was doing. It was her way of saying:I’m here if you need me. I know this is hard on you but you did what you had to do. I looked at her and nodded and she looked at me and nodded, then she moved on to the next task. I’d noticed she did that with difficult things: she looked at them directly and then she kept working. I’d never told her I thought that was one of the better qualities a person in this line of work could have. I suspected she already knew and, what was more, she didn’t like my compliments because they were patronizing.
We took what we could carry and burned the rest, though not with any satisfaction. There’s a version of this work where the burning feels like something righteous, or cathartic, or at least meaningful. But this didn’t feel like any of those things. Instead, it felt like a practical problem that required a practical solution. We couldn’t have Arthur’s garrison recovering the supply because we couldn’t have Mordred’s ward-stone materials going back into service.
So, they burned.
Hailey stood beside me while we watched the fire take hold. The others had spread out along the ridge to keep watch, which left just the two of us.
“The ward-stones burn differently,” she said.
“Blue-green at the edges.”
“I’ve never seen that before.”
“You won’t see it often. Mordred guards his supply carefully.”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes on the distinctive color at the flame’s border. “How far behind does this put the old bastard?”
“Weeks,” I answered with a shrug. “Maybe more, depending on what he had in reserve.”
She nodded slowly. I could see her doing the math, building the calculation from the ground up rather than starting with the answer she wanted and working backward. It was the thing that made her useful in a room full of men who did the opposite.