Bernard let out a rumbling sigh. “Well. That’s something good today, at least. If we could win that much every day, it would add up.”

“It might,” Amara said.

He looked at her obliquely, then gently covered her hand with his. “How are you doing?”

She tightened her fingers on his, feeling their gentle strength, the rough texture of his work-hardened skin. “A woman whose death warrant I practically signed has charged me with protecting and rearing her child. Less than a day after she did, I killed Masha’s father. And every night, when she has nightmares, the little girl comes running to me to make her feel better.” Amara shook her head. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that, love.”

Masha looked up at Amara as she came closer. She made sure her back was straight, and her smile was in equal measure chagrined and proud.

Amara found herself smiling back. She couldn’t help it.

In the face of looming terror, the child’s smile was a victory banner of its own.

Bernard looked between the two of them and nodded, his eyes bright. “Why don’t you fly her back to Garrison? I’ll lead Ajax, and we’ll meet ’Sana in my office.”

Amara looked at her husband and gave him a slow and gentle kiss on the mouth. Then she started walking toward Masha, tugging on her leather flying gloves as she went. The little girl noticed, and cheered.

Amara thought about her husband’s words and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe enough of the little victories really will add up.

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 4

“Then you bloody well cut down trees enough for your section,” Valiar Marcus bellowed. “The bloody amateur Legion has got two-thirds of its palisade up already, and you fools sit around here whining about how you had to leave your camp stakes back in Canea?” He strode down the line of laboring legionares, smacking his baton against armor plate and the occasional lazy skull. After the long and idle time spent on the ships, discipline was sadly lacking, the men unused to the weight of their armor. “If the Free Aleran has its camp up before we do, great furies help you miserable bastards, what I do to you will send you crying to the vord for shelter!”

Marcus kept up the steady tirade as he marched up and down the First Aleran’s chosen campsite ashore. They held two neighboring hilltops, rocky rounded old nubs of mountains covered in thorns and brush. The wide valley between was for the Canim, who had set to establishing their own camp with a will. The massive, inhuman troops were well supplied with hand tools, and while they lacked the Aleran skills of furycraft, they more than made up the difference in raw physical power—and numbers.