Adare searched desperately in the madness for the Annurians holding what was left of the bridge, found them, finally. There couldn’t have been more than two score, holding what looked like a desperate defensive position, their thicket of bristling long spears the only thing keeping the attacking Urghul at bay.

Fulton, following her gaze, shook his head slowly.

“They’ll be slaughtered,” Adare breathed. “Without spears, they’ll be slaughtered.”

She glanced at her Aedolian, hoping she was wrong, but he nodded grimly. “They need those spears.”

“Most will die,” il Tornja said, voice smooth as unscratched ice. “Some won’t. Two runners,” he went on. “One to the fourth street, one to the fifth. Archers on fourth to retreat. Archers on fifth to charge. Redirect the fourteenth squad to support that Kettral woman and her companion, the woman in red.”

The runners saluted briskly, then bolted down the stairs.

“Kettral?” Adare asked, staring at the young girl in blacks she had seen earlier. “She’s Kettral?”

“Yes,” il Tornja replied flatly. “And she and the woman beside her are all that holds that entire street. That street anchors that flank. If they go down, we lose.”

“Can they do that?” Adare asked, hands clenched at her side. “There are only two of them.”

“They are doing it,” the kenarang replied. Then, shifting his focus to a different quarter of the town, “Signal arrows. Two red. One green.”

Bowmen stepped forward, lit oil-soaked rags at the tips of their arrows, waited for the unnatural flames to catch, fired high into the air, then stepped back without a word. Adare had no idea what the signals meant. She tried to find some corresponding movement in the battle below, found nothing but death and terror. Over by the burned-out bridge, the first messenger had reached the spearmen and convinced them to abandon their long shafts. As Fulton predicted, the Urghul pressed close, slaughtering the soldiers from the backs of their horses. After a few dozen heartbeats the entire position collapsed.

“They’re dying,” Adare protested.

“Yes,” il Tornja replied.

“Why?”

He shook his head, the barest hint of a motion. “It’s too complex.”