Ewen had never imagined that the Tearling could be so vast. He had grown up in New London and had never been outside the city. Always, he had thought of the kingdom as the distance between the Caddell River and the horizon. But when the Queen’s Guard reached the end of the Caddell, the land kept going. Eventually the Crithe River, too, stopped being a river and turned into just grass. There were mountains in the distance, mountains that Ewen had never seen, drawing nearer. This was a serious business, going to rescue the Queen, and Ewen understood that. But all the same, he felt as though he were on a grand adventure.
They had built camp in the cup between two high hills. The Mace had placed Ewen on guard duty, looking out toward the west, in case anyone should approach. They had seen several large parties of people, and from Coryn, Ewen knew that they were refugees from the city, returning home. If he saw anyone approach, he was to keep them away from the camp, for no one was supposed to know that the Mace had left New London. Ewen took his guard duty very seriously, but all the same, he wished there was time to sketch. He’d brought his paper and leads in his saddlebags. He’d never known how much of the world one could see out here, from hill to hill.
The Mace was in the center of camp now, holding a meeting with General Hall and the man from Mortmesne. Ewen hadn’t been chosen to attend the meeting, but he wasn’t offended. He didn’t know why the Mace had brought him along on this journey in the first place, but he was happy to be here; it saved him from thinking of Da. Two months ago, Da had died, and the next morning Ewen, with his three brothers, had put Da into the ground. Ewen tried not to think of that day, but it often came back to him. He had cried, but that was all right; Peter had cried too. Ewen did not like to think of Da lying there in the light brown box, only a layer of oakwood to protect him from the dark underground.
“Ewen!”
He turned and found the magician, Bradshaw, coming up the hill behind them.
“They want us to come back down.”
Ewen nodded, gathering up his cloak and canteen. Bradshaw waited, and they walked down to the camp together. Ewen liked Bradshaw; he could make things disappear and come back, and he was always able to guess what Ewen had in his pockets. But Bradshaw was patient as well, willing to explain the things that Ewen didn’t understand.
“Were you at the meeting?” Ewen asked.
“No. I was sent to find a deer for dinner. I think they believe I talk to animals as well.”
“Do you?” Ewen asked, thinking how wonderful that would be.
“No.”
Feeling chastised, Ewen didn’t say anything else.
The camp was a bustle of activity. There were twelve Queen’s Guards, eight soldiers who had come in with General Hall, and then several more men who had come with the man from Mortmesne. Elston and Kibb were cooking the deer, and the air was heavy with the smell of roasting meat. The rest of the men milled around the fire like hungry vultures. Ewen heard snatches of conversation as he and Bradshaw walked the perimeter: the Queen, the Mort rebellion, something about an orphan. Ewen knew of no orphans among the Guard, though now that Da was dead, he supposed he was an orphan himself. On another day, he might have asked Bradshaw, but now he thought it best to stay quiet.
“You two!” the Mace barked. “Over here!”
Ewen and Bradshaw followed him to the tent at the center of the camp. Inside, the small folding table was covered with maps and surrounded by chairs from the just-finished meeting. As the Mace sat down, Ewen saw that he had dark circles around his eyes. Normally, Ewen would not even dare guess what the Mace was thinking, but now he thought he knew. The first night out of New London, they had ridden hard, and so it was not until dawn that the Mace had noticed Aisa missing. The entire Guard had taken the news badly, though none so badly as Venner, who pitched what Da would have called a fit, cursing and throwing things from his saddlebags. The Mace did not say a word, but his silence frightened Ewen. He had worried that the Mace might blame him, or blame Bradshaw; after all, they had been the last to see her. But no one said anything, and gradually Ewen realized that he was not in trouble.
“We need to do this quickly,” the Mace said. “Sit down.”
They sat.
“Levieux confirms that the Queen is still in the Palais dungeons. But we cannot enter Mortmesne via the Argive. General Hall tells me that a legion of Mort remained behind, to hold the eastern end of the pass. They mean to regulate traffic from now on. So we will be moving straight east, crossing over the border hills.”
Not all of this made sense to Ewen, but he nodded anyway, following Bradshaw’s lead.
“You two will not be going with us.”