“What are you thinking?”
Picking up a stick, Zarrah scratched a rudimentary map in the dirt. “We know they patrol in three layers. The first along our border, the second in the trees, and the third nearest to their camp.” She scratched markings. “The first layer doesn’t engage—they serve as lookouts only, using their horns
“If Kian keeps up with his attacks, your people will revolt,” Zarrah said to Daria as they sat next to and retreating when they spot a threat, because they know that our target is their supplies. These each other at a fire, eating their respective dinners. “We need to do something to dissuade him, or you scouts are young and built for speed, and presumably individuals Kian sees as disposable because they aren’t well armed.”
Daria set her bowl on the ground, and Zarrah glanced at the contents, wondering where she’d found Daria’s eyes narrowed. “How does one who has only been on the other half of the island once know all this?”
“Saam,” Zarrah admitted. “In the moments we haven’t been talking about handball, I’ve been picking his brain about the other tribe.” She hesitated, then asked, “Is he wrong?”
Daria shook her head.
“What I propose is changing the targets,” Zarrah said. “With a small force of your best fighters, we was because the other tribe had nets across the channel and salvaged whatever the whirlpool dragged sneak past the first layer and attack the second, who run in pairs. We take them, stealing their weapons, which is typical. Then an additional force of our warriors attacks the first layer of scouts, but gives them the chance to escape and sound the alarm while the strike force retreats, killing the scouts as we do. We take our prizes and run, and Kian will think it a failed attempt to raid his main camp.”
“He’ll retaliate.”
“Will he?” Zarrah lifted one shoulder. “We have superior numbers. With our fresh supply of weapons, I personally believe he’ll think twice, especially if we keep up a strong patrol for the
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Daria muttered, picking up her food and continuing to eat, though sheforeseeable future.” Seeing that Daria was not quite convinced, she added, “I think there is every losing itchance that when the rebels come for us, we’re going to need to help fight our way out of here. We make their lives easier if we are well armed.”
Daria leaned back on her hands, eyes on the sky. It smelled of snow, and Zarrah knew she was thinking of a hard winter to come. Thinking of how much easier it would be if they held the beach.
Thinking that this proposal might be worth it, even though it would mean losses. “All right,” she finally answered. “We’ll go tomorrow night.”
those on watch, and he’d think twice about raiding. Even if we left it at that, it would be something.”
“Enough to save your neck.”
Zarrah flinched at the sharpness of Daria’s voice. “I truly want what is best for all of us, Daria. I understand the sacrifices that have occurred to keep me out of Kian’s hands, even if I don’t understand why either of you feels so motivated to protect me. If there is something that can be done to end the raids, I’ll gladly fight to achieve it. Especially since if I prove my worth on the battlefield, those who think you’re better off without me might change their minds.”
Daria finished her dinner and tossed the bowl aside.
“Let me prove my worth,” Zarrah pressed, desperate to take some form of action to improve their chances. To prove not just to the rebels, but to herself, that their fight to keep her out of Kian’s hands was not for nothing. “Let me fight for you.”
Daria was silent; then she turned to Zarrah, brown eyes serious. “Every battle brings risks. You could be killed.”
Zarrah knew that better than anyone here, given she’d spent her adult life warring with Maridrina.
“I know. But there’s a chance lives that might otherwise be lost will be saved, especially if we’re clever.”
“What are you thinking?”
Picking up a stick, Zarrah scratched a rudimentary map in the dirt. “We know they patrol in three layers. The first along our border, the second in the trees, and the third nearest to their camp.” She scratched markings. “The first layer doesn’t engage—they serve as lookouts only, using their horns and retreating when they spot a threat, because they know that our target is their supplies. These scouts are young and built for speed, and presumably individuals Kian sees as disposable because they aren’t well armed.”
Daria’s eyes narrowed. “How does one who has only been on the other half of the island once know all this?”
“Saam,” Zarrah admitted. “In the moments we haven’t been talking about handball, I’ve been picking his brain about the other tribe.” She hesitated, then asked, “Is he wrong?”
Daria shook her head.
“What I propose is changing the targets,” Zarrah said. “With a small force of your best fighters, we sneak past the first layer and attack the second, who run in pairs. We take them, stealing their weapons, which is typical. Then an additional force of our warriors attacks the first layer of scouts, but gives them the chance to escape and sound the alarm while the strike force retreats, killing the scouts as we do. We take our prizes and run, and Kian will think it a failed attempt to raid his main camp.”
“He’ll retaliate.”
“Will he?” Zarrah lifted one shoulder. “We have superior numbers. With our fresh supply of weapons, I personally believe he’ll think twice, especially if we keep up a strong patrol for the foreseeable future.” Seeing that Daria was not quite convinced, she added, “I think there is every chance that when the rebels come for us, we’re going to need to help fight our way out of here. We make their lives easier if we are well armed.”
Daria leaned back on her hands, eyes on the sky. It smelled of snow, and Zarrah knew she was thinking of a hard winter to come. Thinking of how much easier it would be if they held the beach.
Thinking that this proposal might be worth it, even though it would mean losses. “All right,” she finally answered. “We’ll go tomorrow night.”
KERIS SHIVERED, PULLING his sealskin coat tighter as the wind ripped at the edges, bits of snow falling all around him.
He was born and raised in Maridrina, where it was always hot; a chilly breeze on a rainy
day was the coldest weather he’d ever experienced. He already hated it. Hated how the wind chapped his cheeks and made his fingers ache, how the cold sank into his bones, chilling him from the inside out. Aren muttered something about wind current bringing air up from the frozen south before abandoning his chest-baring vest in favor of a sealskin coat like Keris’s. But the miserable weather was the least of his concerns.
They’d reached Devil’s Island.
In the darkness of night, they’d circled the ship around the island, crew silent and every light extinguished, only to discover that the place was well worthy of its reputation. There was only one opening in the towering cliffs, the singular pier with accompanying guard towers that were lit up like a street festival at midnight, which allowed them to count well over a hundred soldiers. Too many by far for a direct assault, so they’d risked an inspection of the cliffs themselves in a longboat.