“What about her?” the young man asked, nodding toward Pyrre.

“That’s General Pyrre. Listen to her, too.”

“Where are you going?”

The Flea pointed up into the shifting clouds. “Find some help.”

“Help?”

“From down south.”

“What if they don’t come in time?”

The Flea shrugged. “Ask Gwenna. Like I said, she’s in charge.”

Gwenna was tempted to stay on top of the beacon tower. The square stone structure stood atop a cliff on Andt-Kyl’s western island, overlooking the lake. According to Bridger, the loggers lit fires in the wide stone pit at the tower’s top to guide ships to the town’s docks on stormy days. Gwenna didn’t give a shit about the ships, but the tower offered an excellent vantage of the entire area. Just as importantly, it gave her a tiny measure of isolation.

After all the languages and tactics, the demolitions and archery, the conditioning and swordplay, Kettral training hadn’t left much time for useful tips on how to lead six hundred rough frontier loggers in the defense of their town. Even on the Islands, Gwenna hadn’t made a name for herself in the areas of charm and persuasion, and now that she suddenly found herself in charge of a baffled and restive local population, she almost wished she could just fight the Urghul alone. At least atop the tower, there was only Bridger and Annick to deal with. Pyrre was down below with the townspeople, maybe flirting with them, maybe killing them. Gwenna tried not to think about it, focusing, instead, on the local topography. That, at least, she had trained to understand.

Loggers had built Andt-Kyl at the small delta where the Black dumped into Scar Lake, a rough little town of log houses, log bridges, log temples, and log docks spread over two rocky islands at the river’s mouth. It was clear at a glance why the Flea had chosen the spot to bottle up the Urghul. The horsemen would have to cross three separate forks of the river, each running dark and deep. The network of bridges linking the islands to each other and to the shores on either side would be easy to control and, where necessary, to destroy.

“So why in Hull’s name is Long Fist crossing here?” Gwenna muttered.