The Frogsholders capitulated and opened their gates the moment they saw four hundred well-armed Maidunites marching in good order up the hill. Over to the west, the Eroo fleet sailed ever closer. With Tayden and her retinue dead, Atlas demanded to see the next in charge. There was some debate among the Frogsholders before an ironsmith named Glun was pushed forward. He was short, dark-haired but balding, with a head wider than it was tall. Glun’s looks, coupled with his furtive manner, put Mal in mind of a mole. The Frogsholders, guarded by Maidun swords, looked on in churlish silence, other than two babies who cried roaringly despite their mothers’ efforts to quieten them. Glun was not a natural chief. “What do you want? What did I do? Leave us alone,” he said, looking at his feet. Atlas loomed over him and growled. Glun seemed to shrink. “You have a choice, Glun,” the Kushite rumbled, “I kill you, or you tell us why you did not warn us about the Eroo fleet’s approach.”
