It’s over, she told herself. They killed one old man, but they’re still on their side of the river.

But it was more than one old man. As she watched, a woman, probably someone from the outlying hamlets to the northeast, was dragged pleading toward the riverbank. The sacrifices were just getting started, and with each one, the leach’s power, sucked from the terror of his captives, would grow.

By the end of the second day, the Urghul had torn apart dozens more people, those poor, miserable souls who lived between Andt-Kyl and the Black, who had had no warning of the approaching army. The far bank was muddy with blood, while the bloated corpses dotted the river mouth, tangling in the roots and rushes where the current slowed. The Urghul killed, and killed, and killed, but they had made no effort to cross.

That made Gwenna nervous.

Around noon on the second day, she’d thought they were starting a push. A few dozen taabe and ksaabe had tossed some tree trunks into the river, watching them float down toward the old bridge pilings where they tangled between the posts. It wasn’t much, four or five logs, enough that some brave, stupid shithead might sneak across, but certainly not enough for a full-fledged attack. The Urghul stared at them for a while, as though expecting the bridge to grow itself, then went back to killing people. It was like they didn’t even care about getting to the town.

“What the fuck are they doing?” Gwenna demanded, biting her lip as she looked across the small table at Pyrre and Annick. After a day at the barricades, she’d had Bridger set up a command post inside one of the most easterly of the buildings, where she could still get to the river fast, but where she could discuss strategy with Annick, Pyrre, and Bridger out of earshot of the townspeople. It was good protocol, insulating the troops from the decision-making process, but mostly Gwenna just didn’t want the people of Andt-Kyl to hear how little their commanders actually knew.

“Long Fist has to be aware that the Army of the North will get here eventually. Every day the bastard waits is a risk.”

“We haven’t seen Long Fist,” Annick pointed out. “We don’t know he’s with his army.”

“Where else would he be?” Gwenna demanded.

Pyrre pursed her lips. “Off in the forest, perhaps. Torturing small woodland creatures.”

Gwenna ignored her, rounding on Bridger. “Are you sure there’s not another way to cross? Somewhere to the north?”