"They plan to stay." Grag's deep voice was soft but clear. "After they've killed or enslaved everyone in Bingtown, the Chalcedeans will settle here, and Bingtown Bay will be just another part of Chalced."

"Did I wake you, tossing about?" Reyn asked quietly.

"Not really. I can't find true sleep. I'm so tired of the waiting. I know that we needed to organize our resistance, but it has been hard to watch all the destruction in the meantime. Now that the day is finally here, each moment drags, and yet I wish we had more time to prepare. I wish Mother and the girls would flee to the mountains. Perhaps they could hide there until all this is over."

"Over in what way?" Reyn asked sourly. "I know we must have heart for this foray, but I cannot believe we will succeed. If we drive them from our beaches, they will simply retreat to their ships and then launch another attack. While they control the harbor, they control Bingtown. Without trade, how can we survive?"

"I don't know. There has to be some hope," Grag insisted stubbornly. "At least this mess has brought us together. The whole population now has to see that we will survive only if we stand together."

Reyn tried to sound positive but failed. "There is hope, but it is faint. If our liveships returned and boxed them into the harbor, I think all Bingtown would rally then. If we had a way to catch them between the beach and the harbor mouth, we could kill them all."

Worry crept into Grag's voice. "I wish we knew where our ships are, or at least how many still float. I suspect that the Chalcedeans lured our ships away. They ran and we chased them, possibly out to where a much greater force could destroy us. How could we have been so stupid?"

"We are merchants, not warriors," Reyn replied. "Our greatest strength is also our greatest weakness. All we know how to do is negotiate, and our enemies are not interested in that."

Grag made a sound between a sigh and a groan. "I should have been on board Ophelia that day. I should have gone with them. It is agony to wait and hope, not knowing what has become of my father and our ship."

Reyn was quiet. He was too aware of how the knife-edge of uncertainty could score a man's soul. He would not insult Grag by saying that he knew what he was feeling. Every man's pain was personalized. Instead, he offered, "We're both awake. We may as well get up. Let's go talk in the kitchen, so we don't wake Selden."

"Selden is awake," the boy said quietly. He sat up. "I've decided. I'm going with you today. I'm going to fight."

"No." Reyn forbade it quickly, then tempered his words. "I don't think that is wise, Selden. Your position is unusual. You may be the last heir to your family name. You should not risk your life."

"The risk would be if I cowered here and did nothing," Selden returned bitterly. "Reyn. Please. When I am with my mother and my grandmother, they mean well, but they make me… young. How am I to learn to be a man, if I am never among men? I need to go with you today."

"Selden, if you go with us, you may not grow up to be a man," Grag cautioned him. "Stay here. Protect your mother and grandmother. That is where you can best serve Bingtown. And it is your duty."

"Don't patronize me," the boy returned sharply. "If the fighting reaches this house, we will all be slaughtered, because by the time it gets here, you will all be dead. I'm going with you. I know that you think that I'll be in your way, someone you have to protect. But it won't be like that. I promise you."

Grag took a breath to object, but Reyn interrupted them both. "Let's go down to the kitchen and discuss it there. I could use some coffee."

"You won't get it," Grag told him grumpily. Reyn saw his effort to change his mood. "But there is tea, still."

They were not the only restless ones. The kitchen fire had been poked to life and a large kettle of porridge was already simmering. Not only Grag's mother and sister but also the Vestrit women moved restlessly about the big room in mimicry of cooking. There was not enough work to busy them. A low mutter of voices came from the dining hall. As food was prepared, trays were borne off to the table. Ekke Kelter was there as well. She offered Grag Tenira a warm smile with the cup of tea she poured for him, then seated herself across the kitchen table from him and said matter-of-factly, "The arsonists have already gone. They wanted to be certain they'd be in position before the attack."

Reyn's heart give an odd little hitch. Suddenly, it was real. Smoke and flame rising from the Drur family warehouse by the docks was to be the signal for all the waiting attackers. Daring spies, mostly slave boys, had established that the Chalcedeans had amassed their loot there. Surely, they would return to fight a fire. Bingtown would burn its stolen wealth to draw the Chalcedeans to a central location. Once that fire was burning, they would attempt to set the Chalcedean ships ablaze with flaming arrows. A team of Three Ships men, their bodies well-greased against the cold waters, would swim out to the Chalcedean ships and slip some anchor chains as well.

The various Bingtown groups had planned this diversion to disorganize the invaders before they made a massed dawn attack. Each man had armed himself as best he could. Ancient family swords would be wielded alongside clubs and butcher knives, fish bats and sickles. Merchants and fishermen, gardeners and kitchen slaves would all turn the tools of their trades to war today. Reyn squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. Bad enough to die; did they have to be so pathetically ill-equipped as they did so? Reyn poured himself a hot cup of tea, and silently wished well to all the grim saboteurs slipping quietly through the chill and rainy night.

Selden, seated beside him, suddenly gripped his wrist hard under the table. When he looked at the boy questioningly, a strangely grim smile lit his face. "I feel it," he said in a low voice. "Don't you?"

"It's natural to be afraid," he comforted the boy quietly. Selden only shook his head and released his grip on Reyn. Reyn's heart sank. Malta's little brother had been through far too much for a boy of his years. It had affected his mind.

Ronica Vestrit brought fresh bread to the table. The old woman had braided her graying hair and pinned it tightly to her head. As he thanked Ronica, his own mother entered the room. She was not veiled. Neither of the Rain Wilders had covered their faces since the day Reyn had removed his veil at the Council table. If all were to be a part of this new Bingtown, then let all meet eyes squarely. Were his scaling, growths and gleaming copper eyes all that different from the tattoos that sprawled across the slaves' faces? His mother, too, had confined her hair in securely pinned braids. She wore trousers rather than her customary flowing skirts. In response to his puzzled glance, she said only, "I won't be hampered by skirts when we attack."

He stared at her, waiting for her smile to make her words a jest. But she didn't smile. She only said quietly, "There was no point in discussing it. We knew you would all be opposed. It is time the men of Bingtown remember that when we first came here, women and children risked just as much as their men did. We all fight today, Reyn. Better to die in battle than live as slaves after our men have died trying to protect us."

Grag spoke with a sickly smile. "Well, that's optimistic." His eyes studied his mother for an instant. "You, too?"

"Of course. Did you think I was fit only to cook for you, and then send you out to die?" Naria Tenira offered the bitter words as she set a steaming apple pie on the table. Her next words were softer. "I made this for you, Grag. I know it's your favorite. There is meat and ale and cheese set out in the dining hall, if you'd rather. Those who went out before you wanted a hearty meal against the cold."