Rastaban knelt in the trees, surrounded by a hundred of his best and brightest soldiers. He knew he had to trust that Khouri and Rhajj were competent commanders, that they’d trained the men well, but when he first saw those torches go up at the mouth of the valley, he felt his heart crawl into his throat. Shanka hadn’t had that many women when they’d last fought; his men had cut down a good number of them before Shanka had called her women to retreat.
Maybe she’d had these women laying in wait. Rastaban would show her what waiting meant.
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