For days after the enemy’s black ships broke open the reef that guarded the Bay of Lights, King Bifalt walked the streets, alleys, and lanes of the Open Hand. Alone apart from Malder and Jeck, Spliner and Boy—his bodyguards—and usually in the small hours before the early grey of dawn, the King went everywhere, studying his city and his people as if he were saying a protected farewell.

He was going to lose the Open Hand.

He had seen how the enemy’s first probing had torn a passage through the reef. The fact that his cannon had sunk two of the black ships did not comfort him. The third had sailed away to report what it had learned. When the enemy came again, he would come in force—and he would come prepared.

Bifalt hoped that his guns and his men would exact a high price. But he believed in his bones that the enemy would prevail. Eventually, the defenses that he and his Queen-Consort had put in place with so much effort and blood would be destroyed. The King’s forces would be driven out of the bay. Then they would be forced back from the bay’s rim. Then—

Well. Then the defenders would retreat toward King Bifalt’s city. Toward the Open Hand and Belleger’s Fist.

Unfortunately, nothing would keep the enemy out of the Open Hand. Entirely unplanned, it had grown up around the King’s keep on its hill during the generations of the old wars, Belleger against Amika. As a result, it was an undifferentiated, indefensible sprawl. The Fist still had its old fortifications, its heavy walls and stout gate: the Hand had nothing. Cannon would have been useless in this maze. Entrenched riflemen might be able to hold back the enemy’s first wave for a while. The Magisters of Belleger and Amika would do what they could. But mere guns and Decimates were no match for the enemy’s sorceries. When they failed, the enemy would crash inward like a tsunami.

King Bifalt had spent years considering his responses.

Long ago, he had dismissed the idea of a running battle in the Open Hand, fighting house to house. He expected to face overwhelming numbers as well as fierce theurgy. Too many lives would be lost to no purpose. In the end, his city would be reduced to ash and rubble whatever he did.

He had also discarded the notion of evacuating the Hand fortnights ahead of the enemy. Too many Bellegerins still did not believe that they were in danger. He expected them to resist any order to leave their homes until the enemy was practically at their doors. If he compelled them to go, he would have to impose his will by force.