Sonia grunted, pulling Killian back into the moment. “It’s only another hour until dawn, anyway. They’ll attack at that point, and it won’t take them long to figure out where we stand.”
“They aren’t going to wait until dawn.”
“They have to—it would be suicide to try and cross that river in the dark. They’ll lose countless men in the effort.”
“I don’t think Rufina cares.” Killian held a finger to his lips. “Listen.”
They’d been treated to the sound of deimos wings overhead through the night, but the pair above them had a labored and unsteady beat. There was a whistle of something falling through the air, then a massive crack as it hit the ground on one of the banks.
“What in the name of all the gods was that!” Sonia exclaimed, peering through the opening.
Another set of labored wingbeats filled the night; then another enormous crack split the air. “That’s wood,” Killian muttered. “They’re dropping building supplies for a bridge.”
“Do you want us to set it aflame, sir?” one of the archers standing near them asked.
“No.”
Even in the darkness, Killian could tell everyone within earshot was staring at him.
“But sir,” the man said, “they’ll get across the river.”
“That they will.” Killian turned to Sonia. “Move your soldiers to the rear. The deimos have been ferrying men across all night, and they’ll attack us shortly to provide a distraction for their comrades trying to cross the Tarn.”
The Gamdeshian woman moved down the line, barking orders, men and women moving into position. Killian stood listening to the sounds of the enemy working down by the river below. Then he moved down his line, explaining the plan to his soldiers, clapping his hand on shoulders and offering words of encouragement where needed.
Until he heard a familiar high-pitched voice.
“How many of them do you think there are?”
Striding toward the figure, Killian jerked the helmet off the boy’s head. “Gods-damn it, Finn! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on a ship to Serlania with the rest of the children.”
Finn stared at him, then squared his shoulders. “I’m not a child. No chance of me fleeing or hiding behind walls like some sort of coward.”
“You are a child. You’re supposed to hide behind walls. That’s what they’re for.” Killian wasn’t sure if he was furious, terrified, or both. He’d been making decisions based on the need to buy time, not with the mind to get his soldiers through this alive. But now …
He didn’t get a chance to finish the thought before battle cries split the air behind them. Turning, he peered into the rising dawn, watching as the enemy ran toward the line of archers standing at the ready. “Loose!” Sonia shouted, sending volley after volley into the ranks, and when those who remained standing were almost upon them she pulled her blade and charged into their midst with the rest of the swordsmen.
“Lord Calorian, they’re across!”
Killian jerked his attention back to the river, pulling Finn with him as he moved to a position where he could see. “You stay with me, Finn—do you understand? Do not leave my side unless I say otherwise.”
If the boy answered, Killian didn’t hear, his attention all for the enemy’s activities by the river. In the faint dawn light, he could make out men wading across the river with ropes, which they secured on the eastern bank. Then they hauled the thick tree trunks across the water, which they lashed together to form a rough bridge. They kept casting backward glances at the fortification, and Killian knew they were wondering why there’d been no attack. Knew that rather than filling them with confidence, it made them more afraid of what was to come.
“Hold,” Killian said, sensing a tremor of unease run through his force as the enemy poured down the western bank. To those manning the small catapults, he said, “Mark your distances. There’s no room for error on this.” Then he picked up his bow.
As the enemy swarmed across the makeshift bridge, the catapults began to loose small, carefully weighted stones. Small or not, they killed those they struck, and bodies floated down the rapids or tangled up the limbs of their comrades. Still, they were crossing by the dozens, barely pausing to get their bearings before clambering up the steep slope toward Killian and his soldiers. The fortifications they’d built began to feel flimsy and insubstantial.
“Hold,” he shouted, counting those crossing by the tens, then the hundreds, knowing he