A good man, the Lieutenant. He kept his cool when, like all of us, what he wanted to do was run in circles and scream.

We didn't have a chance, really. This was the end of it. Even if we held off the troops from the city, there was Benefice and the Limper. Goblin, One-Eye, and Silent would be of no value against them. The Lieutenant knew that, too. He did not have them put their heads together to plot a surprise.

We could not get the fire controlled. The barracks had to burn itself out. While I tended two wounded men the others made the compound as defensible as thirty men could. Finished doctoring, I went poking through the Limper's documents. I found nothing immediately interesting.

"About a hundred men coming out of Rust!" someone shouted.

The Lieutenant snapped, "Make this place look abandoned!" Men scurried.

I popped up to the wall top for a quick peek at the scrub woods north of us. One-Eye was out there, creeping toward the city, hoping to get to Corder's friends.

Even after having been triply decimated in the great sieges and occupied for years, Rust remained adamant in its hatred for the Lady.

The imperials were careful. They sent scouts around the wall. They sent a few men up close to draw fire. Only after an hour of cautious maneuver did they rush the half-open gate.

The Lieutenant let fifteen get inside before tripping the portcullus. Those went down in a storm of arrows. Then we hustled to the wall and let fly at those milling around outside.

Another dozen fell. The others retreated beyond bowshot. There they milled and grumbled and tried to decide what next.

Tracker remained nearby all that time. I saw him loose only four arrows. Each ripped right through an imperial. He might not be bright, but he could use a bow.

"If they're smart," I told him, "they'll set a picket line and wait for the Limper. No point them getting hurt when he can handle us."

Tracker grunted. Toadkiller Dog opened one eye, grumbled deep in his throat. Down the way, Goblin and Silent crouched with heads together, alternately popping up to look outside. I figured they were plotting.

Tracker stood up, grunted again. I looked myself. More imperials were leaving Rust. Hundreds more.

Nothing happened for an hour, except that more and more troops appeared. They surrounded us.

Goblin and Silent unleashed their wizardry. It took the form of a cloud of moths. I could not discern their provenance. They just gathered around the two. When they were maybe a thousand strong, they fluttered away.

For a while there was a lot of screaming outside. When that died I ambled over and asked a grim-faced Goblin, "What happened?"

"Somebody with a touch of talent," he squeaked. "Almost as good as us."

"We in trouble?"

"In trouble? Us? We got it whipped, Croaker. We got them on the run. They just don't know it yet."