So he sent Hammond packing, but could not help but feel all the force of the argument: Laurence lost his breath so easily now, and looked very weary and grey. It was not two days since he had been first able to stand. Temeraire furrowed the ground uneasily, and then he leaned over and roused Eroica, who was sleeping after his long and arduous flight. “Will you come and have a word, if you please?” he asked, low, and when they had padded a little distance away—carefully, so as not to knock down any of the sheepfold or the trees—he summoned his resolve and said, “Eroica, Laurence cannot come with me—he must not come with me—he is not well. But I must go to the egg, of course. Will—will you look after him for me, until I return?”

“Temeraire, best of friends!” Eroica said. “I swear to you I will guard him like my own captain: how could I do any less, when you have restored Dyhern to me?”

“I hoped you would feel so,” Temeraire said, although a deep hollow sensation of unhappiness made itself present in his breast, as though having spoken, he had already parted from Laurence. His head bowed with misery.

Eroica leaning over nudged his shoulder beneath Temeraire’s and offered its massive breadth for support. “Courage! That you will save your egg and come back again, I have no doubts. And while you are away, Dyhern and I will make it our business to keep your captain safe. So, too, will all my companions: there is many a dragon of Prussia who owes you a happy reunion.”

Temeraire tried to accept this consolation, but it was hard; he told himself he left Laurence with an immense treasure, and many friends to watch over him, but he could not pretend he was not also leaving Laurence exposed in the midst of war. But the egg—Lien would send assassins, or pay them—Temeraire trembled all over again, envisioning the egg—smashed, that delicate opalescent shell in pieces across the marble floors of the Imperial City, all its guards murdered—

“I must go,” he gasped. If Laurence were not coming with him, there was no need for packing; no need for preparation or supply. He would go on the wing, and hunt as he flew. “Eroica, pray tell him—pray tell Laurence—” But here Temeraire’s invention failed him; he could not suppose what there was to tell Laurence that Laurence did not already know.

“I will tell him you are sorry to leave him behind,” Eroica said, “and that I will stand in your stead as his protector, until you have returned.”

Temeraire only bobbed his head blindly in agreement, then flung himself aloft; he beat his wings in great scoops of air and lifted away, turning his head to the east, and flew.

—

Laurence heard the shouting outside, and saw the great shadow crossing the fields, and knew at once: Temeraire had gone without him. He was sitting at the rough-hewn table which stood in the house’s kitchen. He did not immediately make a push to gather his strength to stand: it was already too late. Temeraire would not be caught by any dragon here, not when he went unarmored, unburdened, and stretching himself to the limits of his speed.

Hammond appeared in the doorway, stricken, and Laurence looked him in the face; Hammond hesitated, saw that he already understood. His face fell; he did not speak.

“You will pray send to the Tsar for a safe-passage regardless,” Laurence said quietly. “It is not likely to be of much use, but the Russian couriers may at least pass the word ahead, so he will not meet any official obstacles.”

“Yes,” Hammond said. “Captain, I must beg your pardon—”

Laurence forestalled him with a hand, and shook his head. There was nothing to be gained by upbraiding Hammond now. He pushed himself up from the table and went back to the cot: there was nothing more he could do at the moment.

He slept, and woke in the late hour of the night to the sound of a soft scuffling across the room. The embers of the fire lit Dobrozhnov in orange: he was sitting sideways upon his cot, smiling, and holding Gabija by the wrists; she was pulling against his grip and whispering urgently. He said something in cajoling tones, pulling her down towards him, and Laurence pushed himself up and said, “You damned blackguard, let that girl go, or I will have my men horse-whip you in the yard.”

Dobrozhnov let her go, his face purpling with indignation, and she ran from the house in long fleet strides, gasping like a deer set loose from a snare. The mother’s head popped out of the bedroom door, frowning, and a moment later Ferris wrenched wide the front door and stormed in, tall and furious with his sword drawn, and said, “Now you will give me satisfaction, you wretch—”

He was only restrained with difficulty from dragging the man from his sickbed at once; a difficulty only increased by Dobrozhnov saying contemptuously, “What a to-do! I am not going to fight you over a warm peasant armful, you young ass; make a fool of yourself if you wish.”

“You cannot kill a wounded man,” Laurence said tiredly, “nor force a coward to face you, Ferris; leave off. Tomorrow he will go back to the city in a wagon-cart, and we will return to the covert, and there will be an end of the matter. Hammond, tell that woman to keep her daughter in the bedroom until we have all of us left.”

Most of the Prussian dragons had already been sent back to the covert, where they could be supplied. Eroica alone had remained. When Laurence emerged that morning, the great dragon came to the door and earnestly assured him of his protection, a promise which Temeraire had evidently extracted from him before departing. “He is sure to return very soon,” Eroica said, with draconic optimism. “So pray have no fear for yourself, or this magnificent treasure which he has left you: be assured not so much as a single coin will I permit anyone to take from it!”

Dyhern was in equal earnest, though more conscious of the grave danger which Temeraire now faced. “But while there is life there is hope, as my own example may show,” he said, “and you must permit us to make what small returns we may for the gift you and he have given us. Come. We will go back to Vilna. You will rest, you will recover. And Laurence, though your dragon is gone, duty remains: you must be our instructor. The old ways are of no use against Bonaparte; Jena taught us that. It will not be enough that we renew our discipline and our daily practice. We must have new tactics, from the East, and you are best fitted to aid us in contriving them.”

Dyhern’s voice, and the example of his conduct, could not fail to carry enormous weight: while imprisoned, he had struggled for his liberty; while grounded, he had pursued service afoot; while his nation had been pinned beneath treaties, he had gone even to Russia to make himself of use in the struggle against the tyrant. Laurence nodded silently. Duty remained.