He watched the Vathen break like waves on the wall of forkbeard shields. He watched the wall waver and almost crumble, and then hold and the last forkbeards surge down the hill, and he watched the Vathen turn and flee. He didn’t stay to see what happened after that but walked quickly back to the sea cliffs and down a path that ran to the shore and to the little boat that waited there. A tiny thing, hardly big enough to fit the half a dozen men it had carried out of Andhun. The others looked at him expectantly. ‘Close, but the forkbeards broke them.’ The other Marroc fell to cursing as they pushed the boat out into the waves. Valaric said nothing. What difference did it make whether the invaders were Vathen or forkbeards? Both sides smashed to pieces, that was the best he could hope for. ‘The Vathen are still out there.’ When the waves were breaking around his chest, he hauled himself aboard. ‘We keep the gates closed and the forkbeards have nowhere to go.
