Shanka sat in her tent, studying some of the maps she and Old Master had crafted over the years. Generous applications of animal oil had kept the things from fading, but it was probably time she made some new ones.
There was a rustling of fabric, and then Malia poked her head into the tent.
Shanka didn’t look up from the troop markers she’d set. “What news?”
“The bodies have been stripped and disposed. Armorers are working on upgrading and refitting the armor. Scouts are tracking Rastaban’s army.”
“Good.” Shanka smiled faintly. “Follow them. It’s open season on the men.”
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