And so, over Laith’s strenuous objections, they detoured around every town, wading through frigid, chest-deep bogs, swatting away biting flies that seemed to grow large as birds, holding their blades above their heads in a futile effort to keep them dry, slogging forward straight through the night and all the next day at a pace so slow they’d barely reached the northern end of the lake by dusk. It was a pretty weak showing for three soldiers trained to cover distance quickly and quietly—fifty miles in a full day—but it was enough. No one had seen them pass, which meant, when il Tornja did arrive, he’d have no idea they were waiting.

“Well,” Laith said, holding the branches aside with one hand so that he could get a view out over the northern arm of the lake to the small village straddling the Black River, “looks like the Urghul move almost as fast through the forest as they do on the steppe.”

Valyn’s stomach slipped. “Have they taken the town?” he demanded, peering through the gathering gloom as he slipped the long lens from his pack.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Talal replied after a moment.

Valyn nodded slowly. Bonfires raged on the far bank, but the town itself looked unscathed, no burning buildings lighting the sky, no furious ringing of alarms, no smoke, no screaming. He raised the long lens to his eye, focused it. The horsemen on the far bank snapped into view, hundreds of them, thousands, and more in the trees.

“What are the bastards waiting for?” Laith demanded.

Valyn shook his head. “Can’t see. If the people in town aren’t idiots, they’ll have burned the far bridge, but I don’t have the angle to be sure.” He shifted the long lens back to the town. The eastern sky had already purpled to black, but Valyn could make out the details clearly enough: rough log buildings similar to those in Aats-Kyl, all piled onto two islands nestled in the forking arms of the Black River. Docks stretched out into the lake from the eastern island, and on the southernmost tip of the western one, built directly out of a rocky cliff, stood a tall, stone tower—probably for signaling boats coming up from the south. When the wind dropped, he could hear hammers or axes echoing from the wall of dark firs fronting the eastern shore of the lake.

The villagers were busy running back and forth, some with weapons, others lugging logs, still others carting what must have been food and valuables west over the central bridge, onto the nearer of the two islands, trying to get them as far from the horsemen as possible. Valyn tracked a few figures—mostly loggers in rough leather and wool—then paused, grinding his teeth.

“Il Tornja’s scouts are here.”

Talal nodded. “Not unexpected.”

“But a pain in the ass nonetheless,” Laith said.