One moment Deagan was berating his troops as they bungled their morning drill, the next a scout came careening into camp shouting about boats on the horizon.
What was a drill became battle. Ciaran’s mind spun as he tried to remember all he had been taught, procedures and formations and lines that would give way to stabs and parries, thrusts and blocks, ringing metal and then death.
Niamh led her archers down to the shore, and Deagan divided his troops, sending half with Brenna. Ciaran wasn’t one of them, but that didn’t matter.
Down on the shore, he saw Eoghan.
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