“Indeed,” Naman replied, “I am relieved to hear that the second part of the prophecy has not yet unraveled into failure. Defeating the Maumet was an unexpected success. Yet we are all in agreement that Maldor has learned the prophecy and is using it against us.” Naman didn’t look at Rachel, but she cringed a bit anyway. “With foreknowledge of our movements he has undoubtedly created a perfect trap. We will be caught between an unassailable fortress and the full might of his armies. What information could possibly alter this unwinnable scenario?”

Galloran stood. “Just because you or I cannot comprehend the secret that can save us does not mean it isn’t real. We have good reason to believe such a secret exists. We must let that suffice.”

“You ask much,” Naman said.

“I do not ask it,” Galloran said. “The oracle saw what she saw. The truth she beheld asks this of us. We can resist our duty with logic, we can find reasons to turn aside, but the prophecy will not be fulfilled because we almost obeyed. We must finish what we have started. It will not be easy. We have been warned that this endeavor will probably end in ruin. But we are here because it is our last chance.”

“You speak true,” Naman said. “It is why we came. Besides, if I protest, I may find myself prematurely in the ground again. We proceed on the morrow?”

“We do.”

Naman frowned slightly, but nodded. Rachel could tell he seemed satisfied, which was an encouraging sign. “How many men do we leave to hold the wall?” he asked.

Galloran rubbed his palms together. “Holding the pass will not win the war. If we fail to take Felrook, we will all perish. If Maldor wants the pass, he will take it regardless of how we defend it.”

“But it is a highly defensible position,” Naman said. “We should make him pay to have it back.”

“Probably sensible,” Galloran consented. “We will examine the wall when we pass it tomorrow. It will most likely be attacked from both sides. Those who remain there will not escape. We will guard it with an appropriate contingent of volunteers.”

They went into particulars about how the remainder of the march would be coordinated, including the missions of scouts throughout the valley, the integration of the Amar Kabal among the human troops, and how the orantium would be allocated. They outlined strategies for contending with manglers and giants. They discussed how the drinlings would be used in the upcoming fight.

As Galloran and Naman moved into discussions about supply wagons and the dispersion of resources, Rachel began to lose interest. She knew it was important to keep everybody fed, but she had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

She managed to catch Ferrin’s eye. Is everyone all right? she mouthed. He didn’t seem to understand, so she repeated the silent inquiry.

His face fell a little. Enough to tell her that something was wrong. After, he mouthed back.

Rachel could hardly sit still through the remainder of the meeting. Could one of her friends have been hurt? Killed? She tried unsuccessfully not to think about it. When the strategy session finally concluded, Rachel left with Tark and Ferrin.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the message from Jason before the meeting?” Rachel asked Ferrin once they were outside and had a measure of privacy. She moved her veil aside in order to see him better.

“I was having a private discussion with Galloran when Jason confided in me,” Ferrin apologized. “As soon as I relayed the message, Galloran asked me to keep it a secret so that he could use it as surprise leverage when dealing with Naman. It only meant withholding the information from you for a few hours.”

“I guess I can’t blame you if Galloran specifically asked,” Rachel said grudgingly. She wanted to make sure everyone was all right. At the same time, she was afraid to ask. “It’s a good sign, right? That they got past the Maumet?”

“An excellent sign,” Ferrin agreed. “Many have tried to defeat the Maumet to no avail. If one impossible task has been accomplished, why not more?”

“Jason is all right?” Rachel asked, her voice quiet, her body tense.

“Well enough,” Ferrin replied. “They are under heavy pursuit. I am not surprised that Maldor sent torivors. Once the Maumet fell, his concern over their side of the prophecy would have increased a hundredfold. The emperor will throw everything he can between Jason and his goal.”

“Are the others well?” Rachel asked.

Ferrin paused. He had that sickly look again. “Several drinlings have fallen. And I’m afraid I have bad news. One of our original delegation gave his life to defeat a lurker. It’s a miracle they stopped a torivor without Galloran. It had come to slay Jason.”

“Lord Jason is all right,” Tark confirmed.

Ferrin nodded, his eyes on Rachel.

She paled. “Not Drake,” she whispered.

Ferrin gave a slight nod.

Rachel felt cold and sick inside. How was it possible that Drake had gone out of the world and she hadn’t known? She returned a little nod. “Oh.”

“I know you were close,” Ferrin said. “Jason said he died very bravely.”

“I’m sure,” Rachel said, trying to wall herself off, trying not to react to the terrible news. She wanted to lash out with Edomic. She noticed a boulder the size of a couch, and suddenly she wanted to throw it higher and farther than she had ever thrown anything. She wanted to crush it to dust. She wanted to tear the tent where she had just met with Galloran to shreds. She wanted to set the world on fire. In that moment of hurt and sorrow, she almost felt she could do it.

Instead, Rachel drew the dark veil in front of her face. For once her outfit felt completely appropriate to her mood. “Maldor will not get away with that,” she finally managed.

“He won’t,” Ferrin said, giving her a hug.

Rachel let him hug her. She didn’t want the contact at the moment, but Ferrin couldn’t know that. He was trying to help. When the embrace ended, Tark took her hand and patted it. She could see the hurt in his eyes.

Rachel backed away. “I need some time alone.”

Ferrin nodded.

Rachel turned, walking away from camp. She wished somebody would attack her. She wished Maldor had left defenders in the pass. She wished Maldor himself would come after her. He had sent that torivor. She had a message for him.

Somebody caught her arm from behind. Rachel turned. It was Galloran, his blindfold off, his eyes sympathetic.

“You heard my thoughts,” she realized.