A Memory of Light

made a mistake like that.”
    “Lord Agelmar is one of the great captains. He should see the battle differently than ordinary men do.”
    “Are you certain you aren’t expecting too much of him?” Lan asked. “Agelmar is just a man. We all are, at the end of the day.”
    “I . . . Perhaps you are right,” Baldhere said, hand on his sword, as if worried. He wasn’t carrying the Queen’s weapon, of course—he did that only when she was acting in her station. “I guess it comes down to an instinct, Lan. An itch. Agelmar seems tired a lot, and I worry it’s affecting his ability to plan. Please, just watch him.”
    “I’ll watch,” Lan said.
    “Thank you,” Baldhere said. He seemed less troubled now than when he’d approached.
    Lan gave Mandarb a final pat, left Baldhere to tend his horse and walked through camp to the command tent. He went in; the tent was lit and well guarded, though the soldiers on guard weren’t allowed clear views of the battle maps.
    Lan moved around the hung cloths that obscured the entry and nodded to the two Shienaran commanders, subordinates to Agelmar, who attended this inner sanctum. One was studying the maps spread out on the floor. Agelmar himself wasn’t there. A leader needed to sleep sometime.
    Lan squatted, looking at the map. After tomorrow’s retreat, it appeared that they would reach a place called Blood Springs, named for the way the rocks beneath the water made the river seem to run red. At Blood Springs, they would have a slight advantage of height because of the adjacent hills, and Agelmar wanted to stage an offensive against the Trollocs with bowmen and cavalry lines working together. And, of course, there would be more burning of the land.
    Lan knelt on one knee, looking over Agelmar’s notes about which army would fight where and how he’d divide the attacks. It was ambitious, but nothing looked particularly troublesome to Lan.
    As he was studying, the tent flaps rustled, and Agelmar himself entered, speaking softly with Lady Ells of Saldaea. He stopped when he saw Lan, excusing himself quietly from his conversation. He approached Lan.
    Agelmar did not slump with exhaustion, but Lan had learned to read beyond a man’s posture for signs of tiredness. Redness to the eyes. Breath that smelled faintly of flatwort, an herb chewed to keep the mind alert when one had been up too long. Agelmar was tired—but so was everyone else in camp.
    “Do you approve of what you see, Dai Shan?” Agelmar asked, kneeling.
    “It is very aggressive for a retreat.”
    “Can we afford any other action?” Agelmar asked. “We leave a swath of burned land behind us, destroying Shienar almost as surely as if the Shadow had taken her. I will bring Trolloc blood to quench those ashes.”
    Lan nodded.
    “Baldhere came to you?” Agelmar asked.
    Lan looked up sharply.
    Agelmar smiled wanly. “I assume it was regarding the loss of Yokata and his men?”
    “Yes”
    It was a mistake, to be certain,” Agelmar said. “I wondered if anyone would confront me on it; Baldhere is one to believe I should never have made such an error.”
    “He thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard.”
    “He is clever in tactics,” Agelmar said, “but he does not know so much as he thinks. His head is full of the stories of great captains. I am not without flaw, Dai Shan. This will not be my only error. I will see them, as I saw this one, and learn from them.”
    “Still, perhaps we should see that you get more sleep.”
    “I am perfectly hale, Lord Mandragoran. I know my limits; I have spent my entire life learning them. This battle will push me to my utmost, and I must let it.”
    “But—”
    Relieve me or let me be,” Agelmar said, cutting in. “I will listen to advice—I am not a fool—but I will not be second-guessed.”
    “Very well,” Lan said, rising. “I trust your wisdom.”
    Agelmar nodded, lowering his eyes to his maps. He was still working on his plans when Lan finally left to turn in.

CHAPTER 19

    The Choke of a Patch

    E layne found Bashere pacing on the east bank of the river.
    Riverbanks were among the few places that still felt alive to her. So much was lifeless these days, trees that did not put forth leaves, grass that did not grow, animals that huddled in their dens and refused to move.
    The rivers kept flowing. There was a sense of life to that, though the plants were dreary.
    The Alguenya was one of those deceptively mighty rivers that looked placid from a