She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart was hammering. It all depended on this. The presence of the scouts was good. It suggested il Tornja had been moving even before the Flea got to him. On the other hand, there was no telling how far ahead of the main body of the army the men were scouting. Even with the bridge destroyed, Gwenna had no illusions that she could hold the town forever. Long Fist was a bloodthirsty savage, but he wasn’t an idiot, and he had the numbers. Eventually he would find a way across.

“The Army of the North is pushing hard,” the leader replied. “My name is Jeril. I have orders to take control of the town. To prepare it against attack.”

Gwenna tensed. She’d known it was coming from the moment the scouts arrived. Sending an advance guard was standard legion procedure: fifty or a hundred men unencumbered by all the apparatus of war, trained to travel light and move fast, men who could scout the necessary terrain, begin preparations for battle, and send back word to the bulk of the army behind. To the general. That was the ticklish bit. For all Gwenna knew, the men were here as much to deal with her and Annick as they were to prepare for the Urghul assault.

“Where are the rest of you?” she asked warily.

Jeril grimaced. “We’re it.”

“Twelve to hold off the whole Urghul army?” Gwenna asked. “You must be really fucking good.”

“You haven’t seen the terrain south of here,” Jeril replied, shaking his head wearily. “It’s a nightmare. The western track is flooded out with the runoff, and everything else is worse. It was tough enough getting a dozen men through, let alone a hundred.”

“But somehow il Tornja’s going to get a whole army up here?”

The man grinned for the first time. “The kenarang’s got his ways.”

Gwenna raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

Jeril hesitated, then gestured toward the lake. “There’s a dam at the south end. He’s destroying it, probably has it destroyed by now.”

Gwenna looked out over the lapping waves, trying to understand how blowing a dam fifty miles off was going to get the army north. She’d thought maybe the kenarang planned to use boats, but draining the lake would only . . . Oh. She shifted her eyes from the water to the shoreline. A glistening width of mud and stone was visible just below the tangled bank. It was hard to be certain, but she didn’t think it had been there earlier.

“He’s draining the lake,” she said, impressed in spite of herself.

Jeril nodded. “Not the whole thing—that would take weeks—but enough to march his army up along the coast.”