It resembled thunder rolling in the distance. The shrilling winds disguised it. The hillside and the trees muffled it. The cliff itself cast the hard bark of each gun out to sea. Still, Flisk recognized it at once.

Commander Forguile had decided that he could not wait for the Magisters any longer.

Sixteen long guns, each firing in turn: a series timed so that when the last cannon blared, the first would be ready to hurl another ball, another load of chain.

The waiting soldiers knew the sound as well as Flisk did. Their heads jerked up. They stiffened, braced their hands on the tables, poised themselves to leave their seats.

Flisk ignored the reactions of the sorcerers. Their fear and uncertainty and determination meant nothing to him now. Only the riflemen mattered. He had been one of them, once. He had to accept that he might be sending them to die.

“Do you understand your orders?” he asked them. “You have heard them often enough.

“Two of you will take each Magister. Do what you can to keep them alive.” A moment of dread closed his throat. The riflemen would be as exposed as the Magisters; as the gunners. Swallowing hard, he finished, “General Klamath will bring more men. Until he comes, we must hold the bay.”

The men were tired. They had been out searching in the cold for most of the afternoon. But nothing in the Bay of Lights had ever been easy. They were on their feet before Flisk mentioned the General’s return. Efficiently, as if they had made their decisions long ago, they chose their partners and their Magisters. The two who were stuck with Magister Lambent had to lift him off his knees and drag him.

With a wry grimace, Brighten told Lambent’s guardians, “Do not complain. He is a coward, yes—but he is also powerful. You will be safe with him.”

Her manner added, As safe as possible.

Without speaking, the riflemen threw on their winter gear; helped the sorcerers put on cloaks and rain-capes. In moments, they were hustling their charges out the door.

Flisk did not know what to expect. If the cannonade took the enemy by surprise. If the first shots sank ships. If the sorcerers of lightning on those ships had no chance to strike back. If the long guns kept firing. Then the Magisters might reach their positions in time to make a difference.

Otherwise the Captain would hear heavy concussions as guns and stores of gunpowder exploded.

He needed to be there.

Nevertheless he took the time to retrieve his rifle, ammunition, and saber from his room in the nearest bunkhouse. He had paid too high a price for thinking that he did not need them.