Bryne raised a hand to his head. Then he sagged, as if suddenly his limbs had lost their strength. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered, sounding hollow. “I keep making mistakes, Mother. They are the kind a man can recover from, and I keep telling myself that. Then I make another mistake, and there is more scrambling to fix it.” “You’re just tired,” Gawyn said, voice pained, looking to him. “We all are.” “No,” Bryne said softly. “No, it’s more than that. I’ve been tired before. This is like … my instincts are suddenly wrong. I give the orders, then afterward, I see the holes, the
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