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An Ill Wind“Put them in the east meadow.” Iskra made a notation on a wax tablet as her adjutant Daro stepped out into the drizzle to give instructions. The newly arrived archers were less a troop than a band of youngsters with new bows and rusty knives. Experienced mercenaries had cost more than she could afford, and in any case, would not be necessary. This sad crew would do the job.
“Done.” Daro’s re-entrance allowed another cool draft into the tent. “They’re even less likely than the last bunch.” He squatted next to the chest that held her maps and careful notes.
“From Holch? Anyone you know?” She had started her recruiting in the country to the west, before she’d known how much experienced fighters cost. Daro, a retired soldier, had taken pity on her — and seen an opportunity for
