Evie has no time to extricate herself or her ax from the soldier beneath her. All she can do is reverse her grip on her long knife and hold it and her gauntleted forearm above her head, her other hand bracing it for support. She’s gritting her teeth hard enough to sting her jaw, and her eyes shut of their own accord, refusing to obey her commands to remain open. Behind her eyelids, Evie watches herself being split down the middle several dozen times in bloody succession.

She doesn’t see Bam’s giant scythe cut the footman in half just above the waist, but she hears the sound the Sicclunan makes when the news of what’s happened to his body is reported to his brain. It’s that inhuman sound of shock and agony beyond belief that snaps Evie’s eyes open once again. She’s still holding her knife and gauntlet aloft protectively as she looks down to see the soldier lying in the mud in two separate parts.

Bam, the Elder Company’s silent battery, is standing between his victim’s legs and torso. His sleeveless cloak is a tableau painted in blood and entrails. He pushes back his hood, stringy curls sweat-pasted to the bulbous features of his sad puppet face, and Evie sees his eyes for the first time. She’s surprised to find no malice there, nothing steeped in bloodlust or rage or even the violence he’s performing.

If anything, he just looks tired.

Evie lowers her knife. “Thanks.”

Bam nods once, then points at his large brown eyes with his middle and forefinger. He then stabs those digits in the direction of the Sicclunan front line.

Evie nods, the implication clear to her: Never take your eyes off the line during a battle.

The sound of Crachian horns fills the valley behind them. The next sound Evie hears is one like a single clash of thunder. It’s the entire Sicclunan army standing at attention, midbattle. As she watches, their front line begins to recede, every remaining shield bearer and supporting soldier backpedaling in unison.

They’re retreating.

Evie looks up at Bam in confusion. He calmly motions behind her with the dripping blades of his scythes.

She looks over her shoulder to see the Skrain pouring into the valley, charging headlong toward them.

Before she can turn around, Evie feels Bam’s huge hand grab her by several layers of shirt and haul her to her feet. He begins pulling her along, walking quickly and in broad strides toward the full charge of the Skrain.

“What’re you doing?” she demands, running to keep up with him.

He doesn’t answer, but a moment later the shadows begin to streak across her face and Evie looks up at hundreds of arrows flying through the air. When they begin their descent she looks back, watching several pierce the body of the soldier whose throat she slit.