If anything, Tirnya found it harder to wait now than she did when she was young. She prided herself on being punctual, on following orders, and on demanding the same of those under her command. She had little tolerance for those who weren't as conscientious as she.

In this case, though, her own annoyance was the least of her concerns. The Snows were almost upon them. Already, cold winds blew out of the north. In another turn or two, these winds would strengthen and bring with them wicked storms from the lofty peaks of the Border Range. An invasion of Fal'Borna lands held tremendous risks any time of year. The Qirsi rilda hunters were fierce warriors and accomplished sorcerers. Fighting them on the plain during the Snows would have been unthinkable under any other circumstances.

But the plague was striking at the Fal'Borna now. No one knew for certain how long its effects would last. Tirnya and her father couldn't afford to wait for the warmer turns of the Planting. By that time their opportunity would have vanished, and Deraqor might be lost to the Onjaefs for another century. Every day that they waited brought the Snows that much closer, and gave the Fal'Borna another chance to find a cure for this illness that had weakened them. For now, as well, the Fal'Borna didn't know of their plans, or if they did, they hadn't yet had time to gather an army of their own and send it to the Silver-water. That advantage wouldn't last forever.

Jenoe might have been as eager as she to cross the river and begin their march toward Deraqor and the Horn, but he didn't show it. After waiting a few hours the first day they reached the wash, he suggested that they make the most of the delay by using the time to train their soldiers. Hendrid Crish, the marshal of the Waterstone army, agreed, and soon captains from both armies were leading their soldiers in drills.

The Mettai, who had marched with Jenoe's army from their village of Lifarsa near Porcupine Lake, kept to themselves but eyed the soldiers from afar.

Tirnya trained with the rest that first day, but by the middle of the second morning, she had become too agitated to do much more than watch the eastern horizon for signs of the Fairlea army. She left it to her lead riders to train her men. As darkness fell that night she went to speak to her father. She was so angry that she couldn't help raising her voice, even though Marshal Crish was there with Jenoe.

"They're going to make a mess of this, Father!" she said, raking a hand through her long hair. "We can't wait much longer."

Jenoe had merely shrugged. "There's nothing I can do. I'm sure they'll get here before long. Until then, we'll train."

He was right, of course. They couldn't do anything at all. But that only served to make her angrier. She stalked off without saying more, and bedded down before most of her men had finished eating their suppers. She lay huddled in her blankets for a long time before falling asleep, and awoke frequently during the night, thinking each time that she had heard the sounds of an approaching army.

On this, the third day since their arrival at the camp, they woke to dark skies and a heavy, wet snow. Still, Tirnya's father called for the men to train. When they complained, he said, "We may have to fight the Fal'Borna in weather like this. Best we're ready for it."

Again Tirnya kept apart from her men, gazing eastward, shivering within her riding cloak.

"You should train with them."

She turned at the sound of the voice, but quickly looked away.

Enly Thlm. He was Maisaak's son, lord heir of Qalsyn. He was also a captain in the Qalsyn army, just like her. And once, not so very long ago, he had been her lover.

Of all those in her city with whom she had discussed her plans for this invasion, he had argued against it the most vehemently. It was madness to risk a new Blood War, he said. They could never overcome the magic of the Fal'Borna; they were destined to fail. Yet, when His Lordship gave them permission to march, Enly asked that he be allowed to accompany them. He'd claimed that he wished only to help them succeed, but Tirnya suspected that he was driven primarily by his lingering affection for her.

Since leaving Qalsyn she had avoided him as much as possible. He was arrogant and an ass, and she wasn't interested in hearing him argue that they should abandon their mission and return to the city. As for any feelings she might have had for him… That had ended long ago.

"You look cold," he said. "You should join your men. It'll warm you up." "You're not training," she said, still facing east.

"I was. I came to see if perhaps you wanted me to keep you warm." She smirked and shook her head. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I should think."

"Go away, Enly."

"Maybe they're not coming," he said, standing beside her and gazing to the east as well. "They might have decided that this was folly, and that they'd be better off staying in Fairlea."

"The sovereign ordered them to march. They'll be here."

"I wouldn't be so sure. The Ballidynes have a reputation for defying authority and keeping their own counsel."

She looked at him. "Do you know them?"

"I've met Shon, the lord governor, a few times. He's been a guest in my father's palace, and we visited Fairlea several years back." He glanced at her. "If you think I'm an ass, you should meet Shon. He makes my father seem gracious. And the lord heir is even worse." Enly cringed. "Gods, you don't suppose Shon will send him, do you?"

Tirnya grinned. "I hadn't given any thought to who he might send. But if this man bothers you that much, I hope he does."

"It's not funny," he said, scowling. "Gries is condescending, smug, and ambitious to a fault. I was kidding when I said they might not come. They're probably keeping us waiting just to show us that they can, to make it clear to your father that he won't have authority over them. But they'll show up eventually. If they believe there's even the slightest chance that they can improve their standing or add to their treasury, they'll be here. It's true of Shon and doubly so of the son. He'd make a terrible commander, and a dangerous ally.

"He sounds like you."

"He's nothing like me."

Tirnya raised an eyebrow, the smile still on her lips. "Why do I get the feeling that this man-Gries? Is that his name?"

Enly nodded.

"Why do I get the feeling that he's exceedingly good-looking?" He looked away.

Tirnya laughed. "I knew it! I bet he's an excellent swordsman, too."

"He is," Enly said, his voice flat.

"Better than you?" She leaned forward, trying to look him in the eye. "Enly, has he beaten you?"

He turned to face her. "No!" he said. "He did not beat me. We drew blood at the same time. Both of our fathers agreed that we did."

Tirnya stared at him open-mouthed. "He drew blood? Against you? I'll have to ask him how he did that."

"I'm serious, Tirnya. I know you'd do just about anything to make a fool of me, but Gries is… You shouldn't trust him. And if he really is in command of Fairlea's soldiers, you should warn your father to be wary of any counsel he offers. He's reckless."

She rarely saw him this way: earnest, almost pleading with her to take him seriously. Most of the time Enly used his wit and his bravado to conceal his feelings. And though usually her first impulse was to poke fun, this time she felt compelled to reassure him.

"My father's a wise man," she said. "He'll weigh carefully any advice Gries gives him, just as he does the advice he gets from you and me."

Enly nodded, but his lips were pressed thin, his brow creased.

"If you're so concerned about it, you should speak with my father yourself."

He shook his head. "The lord heir of one house can't be overheard speaking ill of his counterpart in a rival family. It would be… unseemly."