Five figures stand on the low tower of logs, hastily constructed on the northeasternmost corner of the equally hurriedly created defense works. They all look out into the early morning haze that clings to the edge of the hills, and is dark gray and thick farther north, filling the lowlands to the north like a dark ocean.
“Why do they not attack?” asks the square-faced overcaptain, a stocky woman in a crimson tunic splattered with mud and blood. “Surely, they would not halt their assaults because we received another two companies of lancers, SouthWomen or not.”
The taller councilwoman, whose black hair is streaked with silver and cut short, laughs, then nods toward Alcaren. “No. While the good overcaptain is more than welcome, his arrival is not what has given the white pigs pause. The Sorceress-Protector of Defalk is riding south with close to fifteen companies.”
“The sorceress died half a season ago,” points out the other and more junior Elahwan overcaptain.
“This is the shadow sorceress, the one she trained.” Veria continues to study the hills to the north and east.
“How will she help?” asks the overcaptain of the Ranuan companies. “She is young.”
“She has already destroyed more than fifty score—thirty of the eastern lord’s men and twenty score Sturinnese.” Veria pauses. “She looks yet a child but holds more than a score and a half of years.”
“Another unaging one?” asks Alcaren.
“No. She will age.” A quick smile flits across Veria’s lips. “As will we all before this is done.”
“She does not come with the eager blessing of Lord Robero, I would wager,” suggests the Ranuan overcaptain.
“It matters not, so long as she comes and attacks. They fear her.” Veria gestures toward the heavy ground fog. “Or respect her power. That fog is not natural.”
“They did not fear an entire city…yet an untried sorceress with half their numbers?” The senior FreeWoman overcaptain’s voice carries a touch of disbelief.
“You might recall that her mentor was untried, too,” replies Veria evenly. “I raised the same questions you now do. I was wrong. I survived because I was.”
The muscular overcaptain’s eyes elude Veria’s. So do those of the other women overcaptains.
Alcaren nods. “Do you wish us to hold and wait?”
“Yes. This sorceress is strong, but she is inexperienced and untried in such a large battle. The Sturinnese have prepared and learned. They are wily. They will try to force her to exhaust herself so that she cannot attack them. They will attempt to keep her from giving any support to her lancers—and then they will attack. Perhaps then, we can also attack, with Overcaptain Alcaren’s companies leading the way.” Veria inclines her head to the younger overcaptain.
“When?” asks Alcaren.
“Not today,” replies Veria. “They cannot attack through their own fog. They seek time to prepare spells, and perhaps to wait until the white companies at Dolov can ride to attack the sorceress from behind.”
Alcaren glances to the north, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.