Her skin prickled with remembrance of that unnatural storm, the scent that could not possibly be land-borne, riding the sea wind. She watched intently as the Károvín soldiers gathered on the flat sands. Over a hundred had reached shore. More were landing from the second and third ships. They matched the Veraenen soldier for soldier. And, she noticed, they all wore armor, as though they expected a battle. Or as though they’d come from one.
The man she’d noticed before spoke briefly with his companions. Then he addressed the Veraenen, first in Károvín, next in Veraenen. Galena could not quite make out his words, but they sounded soft and conciliatory. A dissatisfied murmur rose behind the officer. He barked out a command. His soldiers subsided, but she could tell they were unhappy. She wished her file and patrol stood closer, but Falco had mentioned something about not provoking the enemy.
But if they were the enemy, why bother about provoking them? Why not attack?
Commander Zinsar stepped into the clearing between the two parties. Galena had never liked his manner, and she disliked it now. He smirked and smiled and spoke in oily tones. The privates all called him the king’s worm. Galena’s mother, living outside the barracks and working as a scribe, spoke of the man in blunter terms.
The Károvín officer shook his head at something Zinsar said. He made his own reply. Galena could tell by his gestures, and how quickly he spoke, that the Károvín officer wanted something. No, demanded something. Zinsar shrugged. Next came a swift negotiation. She wished she knew what it was about. Her skin itched from sweat and the chafing of her leather guards.
The Károvín soldiers looked no happier than she felt. All of them were sodden from the storm and seas and dragging their boats to shore. Worse. Their eyes were hollow pits in dark lined faces. Many were bruised or bandaged. Underneath the weariness, she sensed a bright tension.
“They look like pirates,” Ranier murmured to Lanzo.
“More like pirates who lost their treasure,” Lanzo murmured back.
“… five hundred gold denier…”
The Károvín’s voice carried across the sands. Galena choked back an exclamation. Was that a bribe?
“A thousand,” Zinsar said. “Provisions extra.”
“For the hire of a single ship?”
“We don’t run a service for marooned foreigners,” Zinsar said. “Pay us, or send word to your king to supply your needs.”
Ugly murmurs broke out among the Károvín soldiers. The officer gestured sharply toward another woman, who rapped out orders in their own language. Galena stirred uneasily. She glanced up toward the fort, wondering if they would send reinforcements down the side roads. Or had they decided to set up their defenses in the fort and the city be damned?
Falco eased back along the files, speaking softly to each soldier. “Did you bring your flask?” he said to Galena when he reached her. “Good. Drink all your water.”
“Do you think we’ll fight?”
He glared at her. “Don’t sound so happy about it. Fighting isn’t—”
He broke off and spun around. The Károvín had crowded forward, their voices raised in angry protests. That officer shouted back, but their voices drowned his out. Galena was about to ask Lanzo if he understood their language, when sunlight glinted off a swiftly drawn sword among the Károvín.
“’Ware!” cried out a soldier from the front.
A feathered shaft hissed through the air—an arrow shot from the city walls.
“No, you fools!” Zinsar shouted.
Too late. A patrol leader from the wing opposite waved his arm. Soldiers surged forward from both sides. Back in the rear of her file, Galena could see nothing as she marched forward, but she heard the thundering crash as the front patrols met up with the leading Károvín. “Move, move, move,” she chanted under her breath, trying to see her way clear to the enemy.
And then, almost before she realized it, the first Károvín broke through. Automatically she swung up her sword to parry and strike. It was just like the drill and nothing like it at all. She deflected a sword that grazed her forearm, brought the flat of her blade against another’s helmet, barely escaped a dagger thrust. Her head rang from the noise, and sand dust choked her throat. There was no time for terror, and yet she could feel it pulsing, just beneath her consciousness.
She killed her first opponent with a stab into his belly. Blood spilled onto the ground, bright and red in the sunlight. For a moment, her vision wavered. Then she gasped, pulled her