Inside

Rastaban swore and lunged for his sword. To the woman, he said, “Stay here!” And then he dashed out of his tent.

Shanka’s women had surrounded his camp. His guards were dead, and Rhajj and Khouri were yelling, trying to organize the men into some semblance of formation to defend the center.

Some of the women were carrying away the food and water, and Rastaban scooped up his shield, plunged into the thick of the fray to fight them off.

“Where the hell did they come from?” he yelled at Khouri.

“Inside,” a woman said.


Rastaban turned.

Shanka drew her sword.