Around Beatrix Threnody, the gathering parted. Magister Bleak strode straight for her, halted two paces in front of her. Without any word or bow of greeting, he announced, “We have seen what we can, librarian. Now there is nothing. The last glow of sunset lingers in the west, but the old city and Belleger’s Fist cast their shadows over the Open Hand. Also, the moon has not risen yet. Without light, our gifts are useless.”

“Not nothing,” murmured the plump woman. But Magister Bleak ignored her.

“Then tell us,” answered Threnody, “what has occurred there. We must know.”

“Yes,” said Bleak. “Well.” He glanced at Estie. His tone implied a melody as he began.

“Late in the afternoon, the first of the Great God’s armored infantrymen reached the city. We expected them to pause and gather while they prepared a formal siege. They did not. They marched into the Hand by the nearest street.

“Magister Rummage calls this the tactics of overwhelming force.” Estie could imagine the hunchback’s vehemence as he tapped out his explanation. “They strike at once because they expect to sweep the King’s forces aside with ease.

“As they entered the city, they began to fall, perhaps shot. Only a few, a paltry number. But those men did not rise again. Their fellows responded by attacking the buildings on both sides, rampaging through doors and walls where we could not see them. The riflemen there are surely dead.”

The woman in iron interrupted him. “No.” Her voice scraped like a blade sliding from its sheath. “Magister Rummage is correct. The enemy relies on overwhelming force. Belleger’s King responds with the tactics of unequal warfare. He must. We call this form of combat ‘sting and fly.’ His men will not linger to be butchered. When they are countered, they will escape to another covert and strike again.”

Magister Bleak scowled at the woman’s presumption. Ungraciously, he admitted, “Perhaps.

“The pattern,” he resumed, “continued for some distance. The attackers marched inward. Again and again, a few of them fell. Homes, stables, and merchantries were broken open. The infantrymen did not slow their advance.

“Then the light failed.”

The albino cleared his throat. “At the last,” he said in a high tenor, “we watched figures running over the rooftops. We could not see them clearly.”

“After that,” asserted Magister Bleak, “nothing.”

“Not nothing,” repeated the short Farsighted.

“What do you see now, Joyly?” asked Magister Threnody.

“Little enough, librarian,” replied the woman anxiously. “There are small winks of light like flames. Less than stars. Gone in an instant. But they lie along the line of the enemy’s march. They may show where rifles are firing.”

Rifles, thought Queen Estie. Sting and fly. That sounded like Bifalt to her. He wanted to hurt Rile’s forces, yes, but he would risk as few of his soldiers as possible.

“That line,” she asked the Farsighted called Joyly. The muzzle flashes. “Where does it lead?”