After a few hours, Wil finds his mind is nearly as numb as his feet. The soldiers are silent around him, and Captain Mirric, who sports a short dark cape, is tense, but nothing has happened. Nothing is happening, except that his feet ache and his shoulders are cramped from the fixed position of the handcuffs. From a distance, behind a scraggy bush and a few tufts of taller grass, a figure watches the column march past. Then it retreats to the small, soggy glade where Cyrward is crouching, and reports. "They're right where they should be." "Good!" "Wait!" Another voice, a different man, hopping the small stream and hurrying towards them. "I saw the Jossport troops! They're just two hours away - we can't be sure we'll be done by then." "Seer?" Cyrward looks to his left, where Inric is seated on a log. "It will not be a problem."