“There will be more,” said Varro. “What are we going to do?”

He meant the Bone Faces, coming in the dead of night, with only a crust of moon in the sky, dozens of galleys scraping up on the beach. They would come, their dark faces painted as white as bone. They would come as they had for the last four years.

Except this time they would easily overpower the force of the Nine Clans because the Nine had no Divines. They didn’t need those who were Kains or Skir Masters. They just needed one Fire Wizard, a Divine who could fill their weaves of might. But they had none, which meant they also had no dreadmen.

“Mokad will send a Divine,” he told Varro. “Why would they abandon us? Now muster your strength. We’ll get you back to the fort and have the surgeon look at you.”

The Bone Faces had come last year with dozens of dreadmen in their armies. Only Argoth’s seafire had saved the Nine Clans. But it would not save them this year. The Bone Faces knew about the fire that burned on water. They would not make the same mistake of letting their ships be caught on the sea.

But even if they did, with dreadmen at their oars they would easily outdistance the clan galleys. His ships might be able to spew fire, but they’d never catch their prey.

Argoth cursed. In his heart he cursed Lumen, their Divine, their only wizard, who’d disappeared last year. He cursed Mokad for not sending another.

Unless the boy Glory of Mokad, the overlord of the Mokaddian Divines, sent help, the Nine would stand unmultiplied before their enemies, and they would fall. The boy Glory had failed to subdue the islands of the Kartong, failed to heed advice and prepare for the famine that blasted Mokad a few years ago, failed to protect them against the Bone Faces. Weren’t his failures proof enough that the Creators had nothing to do with the selection and raising of Glories and Divines?

Argoth called his men to make a litter. Gut wounds were evil and tended toward corruption. They could only wait and see if Varro would survive. Of course, if they’d had a Divine or a working healing weave, they might be able to better Varro’s odds.

He turned to the three Bone Faces lying on the ground. He needed information, and he needed it now. He commanded that the two prisoners who seemed likely to survive their wounds be stripped and bound to a tree at the edge of the meadow. While the prisoners were being dragged off, he helped Varro onto the litter.

At that moment a company of men on horse thundered out of the ravine and into the meadow. Argoth turned. He immediately saw it was Shim, the warlord of the Shoka, Argoth’s clan. When they came closer, he saw that Bosser, a captain from the Vargon Clan, rode with them.

Shim pulled his large chestnut horse up in front of Argoth. It was slicked with sweat and tossed its head. Shim was not a large man, but wiry, weathered like an old post, and cunning as a snake. His voice was as dry and raspy as weeds.

“Always in haste,” Shim said. “Can you never wait for us?”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” said Argoth. “I believe it’s in my lord’s nature to be like a blister: always showing up when the work is done.”

Shim grinned.

Bosser, who grew a short-haired mustache on both sides of his mouth down to his jaw, laughed.

But Argoth did not feel the humor of his own joke. “Varro’s weave is as gold and shiny as a lady’s ring.”

Shim’s face soured. He grunted. He motioned at the Bone Face prisoners with his chin. “At least I’m not too late for that.” He turned in his saddle and addressed his captain. “Bring my tools.” Then he rode to the prisoners who were each tied up at a tree.

He took his tooth pliers from the bag his captain gave him and turned to the Bone Face who seemed to be holding out the best. One of Shim’s men spoke the Bone Face language. Shim turned to him. “Tell him I want to know where their island base is. Tell him he’s got one chance.”

The translator relayed the message. When he finished, the Bone Face spat at Shim.

Shim narrowed his dark eyes. “So be it,” he said. He turned to his captain. “Get the wedge.”

The captain withdrew from the bag a brass wedge used to force a man’s mouth. Argoth took the Bone Face by the hair to steady his head then worked the wedge into the man’s mouth. Shim gripped one of the Bone Face’s molars with his pliers.

The man groaned and bucked, but Shim was not a man to play games. The Bone Faces had slaughtered thousands for no other reason than that they could. Shim squeezed the pliers, and with a sharp yank, pulled the tooth out.

The Bone Face cried out. His head lolled down with the pain. Blood mixed with saliva and drooled out the corner of his mouth. He looked up, rage in his eyes.

Shim held the bloody tooth out for him to see. “I’m fully prepared to hold you prisoner for a future exchange. But it’s going to cost you some information. I am not a man that will be delayed.”

The translator relayed the message in that sour Bone Face tongue.

The Bone Face replied.

The translator arched an eyebrow. “He says only a woman would think of taking a tooth.”

Shim simply shook his head. “Perhaps we should cut off something more important to him.” He pointed at the man’s groin. “Tell him we’ll take one, and if he still doesn’t talk, we’ll take the other.”

The translator relayed the message.

Arogth looked at the second man. Shim’s performance was having its intended effect upon him.

“Where is your ship?” asked Argoth.

The translator spoke.

At that moment, a messenger rode into the meadow at full gallop. He called out to two soliders searching the saddlebags of a Bone Face horse for the location of the warlord. One pointed in Shim’s direction. The messenger galloped through the tall grass to Shim.

“What is it now?” Shim asked.

The messenger looked down at the prisoners. “My Lord,” he said. “May I suggest a more private place?”

Shim sighed. “Probably more council instructions. Very well.” He turned to his captain. He pointed at the Bone Face who had lost a tooth. “Lay out all our tools for them to see. A little think should do them good.”

“Forgive me, Lord,” the messenger said. “But I was asked to give the message to Lord Bosser as well.”

“Very well,” said Shim. He turned to Bosser and Argoth. “Why don’t you both come?”

They walked a number of yards away and stood in the grass.

“What is it then?” asked Shim. His voice was so dry it made Argoth thirsty.

“Sleth have attacked at the village of Plum,” said the messenger.

Argoth tensed. That was where Purity lived. Had she been exposed? Lords, had she revealed the Order?

The messenger then related to the three of them the tale of Master Sparrow and Barg, the harvest master.

With every word, Argoth’s heart sank.

When the messenger finished, Shim told him to take a message to the lords of the Fir-Noy and dismissed the man. When the messenger rode off, Shim whistled through his teeth.

Bosser grunted and stroked his mustache the way he did when he was in deep thought.

“What do you think?” asked Shim. “Yet another Fir-Noy scheme to purge the Nine Clans of the Koramites, or have the Bone Faces begun to move their wizards?”

Bosser shook his head. “I do not trust the Fir-Noy, but even they wouldn’t make something like this up.” He spoke in the common Mokaddian, but his Vargon accent was still thick, rolling his r’s and turning his v’s into f’s. He sighed. “Dreadmen with failing weaves, Koramite spies, Sleth. We’re a kingdom of dust. Perhaps it’s time to flee these shores.”

Shim’s anger rose. “Flee? By all that’s holy, I will stand my ground. I’ve spilled my blood here, sired children on these hills. I will triumph or die trying. I will hear no talk of flight.”

“There are young ones with full lives ahead of them,” said Bosser.