A HILL WORTH DYING ON
“You, you, and you: panic. The rest of you, with me.”
– Unknown; attributed to a U.S. Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant
It was moonless and hailing and as dark as it gets. Carter was inside a tent near the edge of the camp, by the paddock, with Daorah and a dozen of Jarrod’s knights huddled behind him. Every time he peeked out of the flap, the wind yanked at the canvas, threatening to announce the team to the world.
Shapes in the corral moaned and shivered, and the tent was close enough to hear them. Children wailed. The elderly coughed. Carter seethed. He couldn’t see them through the storm, but damn if he didn’t hear them, and his heart cracked at the echoes.
There were only six guards—his small force could easily have taken them—but hundreds of soldiers slept just
