The attack started at dawn, while Keranta and Adanul’s men rowed with the gentle morning tide toward Kalo Nubi. It galled Keranta that the foreigner still stood safely aboard his ship while his men rowed into danger, but he had never had the urge to respect the man and so had no respect to lose for him. Through the stranger’s translator, he knew something of Adanul’s reasons for sailing this far from home and in such force: not only the mutilation, but the score he had to settle with all of Jewaktana.

What Keranta did not know was what qualified him to do so. Even with his strange clothes and habits, he seemed to hold a noble bearing. But if the man had truly been a leader of men, would he not be riding with Keranta toward the shore? Instead, he seemed a rich man playing at a warrior’s game, and few of the men Keranta knew like that had ever matched a true killer when the time came to do so. Perhaps it was best that Adanul waited with his fleet. Keranta’s share of the glory would be that much greater.

His ears rung once more with another blast from the fire lances aboard the ship Adanul called Der Peryan, louder than the closest thunder Keranta had ever heard. Attempts to glimpse the iron balls that flew above him with such ferocity toward the shore were futile. However, the destruction they wrought when they did reach it pleased him immensely. Most landed upon the sand in a cloud of dust and sea spray, while any that made impact with houses or trees left nothing but splinters behind.

Within power such as this, the general saw in his mind an empire that would never know defeat; a future for Jewaktana that would outlive all his already-great ambitions. But first, he must win it all back.

Sunlight warmed his back as each stroke of the oars brought him closer to his goal. The waves were taller here as the island grew ever nearer.

A deep-voiced shout rose up from the boats around him in the harsh tongue of Adanul’s countrymen. Keranta had been on enough raids to guess at what they said without knowing the words themselves. He snuck a glance to his left to find the speaker: it was the skull-faced one, Lubik. There was no fear on that face as the enemy shore loomed; only a determination that Keranta himself knew in this moment and the many like it that had come before, and he knew he may have to kill this one himself before the end.

His own heart filled with the words of old rowing chants that only those of noble blood could comprehend anymore. As if before his waking eyes, he saw Idan-idan’s golden boat sailing off to the rising-place of the sun and Jayatna himself soaring through the world above to bring light to the earth. There were none else of his kind to sing such such songs here now, and so he hummed the tunes to himself, where it could not be heard over the shouts and splash of oars.

Scattered flights of arrows threatened the rowers without claiming a victim; one shaft Keranta saw even pinged off an Adusinate’s metal shirt as if it had found a stone instead. He would have to get one of his own.

As his boat crested another wave, one of the last before he would feel sand beneath his feet again, he saw that more men were joining the bowmen on the shore. They were armed as the people of the northern islands had always been: spears, bows, perhaps some woven shirts to soften the blow of arrows. Against the Adusinate, however, Keranta almost pitied them. If the smaller fire lances held by many of Adanul’s men had even a fraction of the power of those on the ships, there was no woven reed shirt or skin-painting in the world that could stop them.

At last, they rowed the final wave and their boat skidded to a halt on the shore. A yell rose up from the men of Kalo Nubi as they charged their enemy, most of whom still foundered in the waves with unruly boats.

Keranta was not one to worry about boats. He leaped onto the shore and sprinted out in front of them all, holding in one hand an Adusinate sword and a woven shield from Chief Juyata in the other. He was exposed like this, he knew, and could bring the entire enemy force down upon him, but let them see his bravery first if indeed he should fall. Old songs rang in his ears as each step on uneven ground brought him closer to home.

A wild javelin throw missed him by an arm’s length. His attacker, barely a man with skin yet unpainted, fumbled with a tooth-lined club at his hip. The Many-Splendored General cut him down before his hand could find purchase.

He moved on to the next, another youth who menaced him with a long spear. If this one had been more experienced, he would have known to sweep Keranta’s legs at the knees and bring his weapon around again for a killing stroke into his enemy’s chest. There would be no second chance to learn.

Dodging a weak thrust at his left shoulder, Keranta took the spear in hand halfway down its length and brought his sword down at his attacker’s neck. A spray of red marked his fall as Keranta advanced again.

Another approached him then, not a boy but a true warrior, his skin painted up to his eyes in a splash of black lines that told of countless victories. Keranta smiled; if he were to die facing this one, there would be no shame in it. He set his feet apart and readied himself when another great thunderclap sounded behind him.

In an instant, his opponent’s chest opened in a great splash of blood and he collapsed to the ground, gasping like a landed fish.

Keranta spun to see a cloud of smoke rising from the long barrel of a fire lance held by an armored man behind him, and then cursed his ears at the sound of even more fire unleashed by the first wave of soldiers from the boats. Only a few of Kalo Nubi’s defenders fell as a result, but the fear of this new thing was enough that some stopped their charge in mid-stride while many others simply turned and fled into the trees. No doubt they would excuse themselves with the thought that they were warning their chief of danger, but it would not matter today. They would all perish or else join Keranta’s dream as slaves.

It occurred to him then that he did not even know if the Adusinate took prisoners. Let Daruntala worry about that, he thought, and fell in with their advancing soldiers at a trot. With most of the defenders dispersed, he saw groups of Adanul’s men breaking off toward the few houses that had not been destroyed in the first attack.

Lubik led on the rest, his iron helmet glistening in the sun even more than did his bald head. For his part, Keranta had to content himself with following now. There was little glory in that, nor in what would come next, but he had shown both the Adusinate and the people of Kalo Nubi how an ajan of Jewaktana fought.

Fascinating things, these new weapons and armor. He had heard of them in tales of faraway Jarima, even seen some when Adanul’s cousin had come to the court in Lewangwati all those years ago, but now wondered at their meaning having seen what they could do. A single well-placed arrow or javelin killed as well, yet without producing such fear as did a fire lance. What caused the thunderclap sound, he wondered, and how could it be harnessed? How must one fight against such terrifying power? If Kalo Malut was an example, one simply could not. Some wars the Adusinate must have against themselves, with such weaponry at their disposal. Keranta might have feared these men if it was him who faced them instead.

Still, he knew them to be men. Let Kalo Malut think them more than that, but Keranta had seen them eat and sleep and all manner of other things on their smelly, cramped ships. He knew that underneath those iron plates was flesh; he knew that behind them all was a boy who thought that all it took to be a man was the ability to shout commands and spend gold. Men such as that could be used and if they could be used, they could be discarded.

Keranta and the others did not walk long before they reached the village itself, set on a rise that overlooked the beach amidst a clearing in the palm trees. To the rear a stream flowed, and the opposite bank was already cluttered with small boats from those who had floated their valuables and livestock across it and fled. What remained of the houses had already been given to flame that caught and spread swiftly through thin wood slats and dry palm fronds. There would be no more battle here.

Before the sun had reached its zenith the flames had already been replaced by smoke, the Adusinate had already looted what little remained here, and the crunching of footsteps coming up from the beach told Keranta that Adanul had finally chosen to join his men. Just in time to claim their victory for himself, Keranta thought, adding one more reason why he would look forward to killing this one.

At least Keranta himself was not content to simply let others do his killing for him; only most of it.

Lati walked by Adanul’s side as always, bearing no weapons. Surrounded by soldiers like these foreigners, what good would his own do? Keranta caught their eyes first.

“Our enemies are fled,” he said, looking to Adanul. “Such is the way in our wars.”

Lati translated, then waited on the Adusinate to respond in his own language.

“Chief Juyata will need proof. What would you send him?”

“Your fastest ship, to tell them of our victory.”

“Kírnesan nídechen senár, ched sedér wur rul ráded sehéd.”

“Fill it with the spoils of Kalo Nubi and those survivors your men find inland and Kalo Patwa will join us at Lewangwati. You have my word.”

What irony if Keranta’s own duplicity was matched by his friend’s. In Juyata’s own position, how tempting it would be to only take the loot and slaves, then rid himself of both the politics of the court in Lewangwati and these meddlesome strangers by letting them all kill each other on the opposite side of the empire. But if the chief had one duty above all others, even above pushing away the violence of more powerful others who threatened his own rule, it was to provide. Households of wives and freedmen and slaves did not feed themselves; only shows of submission carefully performed could do that. Just as it was in Keranta’s interest to appease Adanul, it was in the chief of Kalo Patwa’s to join Keranta in overthrowing the usurper. The Many-Splendored General was nothing if not loyal.

He only hoped Juyata would appreciate the new ship.