Flisk fought wildly, swinging his saber with both hands, hacking at every enemy that tried to close with him. Blood splashed his face until he could barely see. If his shoulder hampered him, he did not notice the pain. But his enemies were too many. He could not keep all of them away.

Apart from the howls and groans, the frantic shrieks, he knew nothing about the struggle behind him. The bloodshed must have been atrocious, ordinary men and fanged assailants locked in killing. But if he turned to look, he would die. He had only moments left himself. His strength was failing. Soon he would swing too slowly, or with too little force, and those appalling fangs would—

At the same time, however, running soldiers crashed into the fray. Even Forguile was there, swinging the slight curve of his keen-edged Amikan sword as furiously as his broken, bound ribs allowed. The riflemen had dropped their guns. With their sabers, they hacked at the attackers.

Flisk saw heads spin from their bodies, mouths gaping. He thought he saw a clear space nearby. Then, unaccountably, he was on his knees in the red slush of snow and blood. Had the fight ended? Perhaps it had. Unable to rise, he would have pitched onto his face if Ennis Forguile had not caught him.

At Flisk’s ear, Forguile said, “We were not ready.” The Amikan seemed to believe that his friend could understand him. “We did not expect an attack. How could we? That pestilential priest’s escape was our only warning. How could we imagine that he had so many men waiting to strike?”

Flisk hardly heard the Commander. He understood other things. “The ships?” he panted.

“Closer,” answered Forguile grimly. “In perfect range. But their work is almost done.”

For a moment, he appeared to choke. Then he said, “Our losses could have been worse. Many more of us might have died. We lost only half the gunners. You did well, my friend.”

Captain Flisk understood that as well. Half the gunners were dead. He no longer had enough men for the medium cannon.

Briefly, he rested in his friend’s support. Screams and wails echoed in his mind. They would fill Belleger when the ships finished their work and the fleet behind them forced a landing. The future of King Bifalt’s realm streamed with blood.

But then he heard a soldier exclaim in surprise, “This one lives. Half his skull is gone, but he still breathes. His eyes watch me.”

“Ask him,” croaked Flisk. He tried to gain his feet. With Commander Forguile’s help, he succeeded. “Ask him to tell us.”

He meant, Ask him where he came from. Ask him how he got here.

How many allies did Rile have?