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My fleeting sense of guilt vanished when I calculated the distance. We’d travelled further than anticipated, and if we kept this pace, we’d arrive at Trader’s Cove by tomorrow evening.

‘One more day like this and we won’t need battle to finish them,’ Ivar said, coming closer. ‘Not everyone has a berserker’s endurance, Sire. Some haven’t even eaten, and several others can barely walk; their feet are bleeding.’

‘The battle won’t wait for us,’ I answered, but he shook his head.

‘There won’t be anyone left to fight if we arrive half-dead, unable to lift a sword. Give your men respite, Sire.’ He wasn’t asking. The stubborn set of his jaw was a dead giveaway my Lord Marshal was at the end of his tether.

‘Fine, eight hours, then we march,’ I agreed, and he returned to the army, urging them to light fires and use the time to eat.

Sleep eluded me. I paced among my men, away from the fires, my thoughts fixed on the day to come.

Tomorrow would tell me if the Wind Master had fulfilled his promise. The uncertainty of the fickle Wind Fae gnawed at me. I didn’t even know if Arean had convinced his Empress to join us.

After Lumivitae’s betrayal, I didn’t trust anyone except my family, not a situation any commander heading toward war would wish for.

I sighed, shaking my head, determined to catch some rest.

All of that was beyond my control. I could only pray the goddess of fate would show mercy to my men. I was looking up at the night sky when Cinared’s voice in my head whispered a warning.

Gryphons are coming.