Parahan seized the commander’s sword and dagger and turned to greet a soldier who rushed him, a sword in his fist. The big man was grinning, his teeth bright against his brown skin. The soldier who had come to attack him halted just out of reach, his sword at the ready. Parahan feinted to the side. The soldier was stupid enough to swing that way, bringing his weapon up to guard. He never saw Parahan cut his head off.

Evvy glanced at movement in the windows on the second floor of the guardhouse. Archers hung out of two of them. She reached into her sling and brought out two flint circles, handling them carefully. Briar only had a moment to register their color before she sent first one, then the next, flying through the air just as she had the rounds of quartz. They flew straight at the archers. One circle embedded itself in the archer’s chest. He vanished from view. The other circle struck the second archer as he lowered his crossbow after shooting. His bolt went over Rosethorn’s head and narrowly missed a peacefully grazing mule. The dark circle the girl had thrown hit the archer’s throat. He pitched forward, out of the window, and lay still on the ground.

At last everything was quiet except for the soft roar of the river and a hawk’s distant shriek.

Parahan wiped his mouth on his wrist and groped at his waist for his water flask. It startled him and his companions to see that his belt had fallen off, cut in two by the commander. His flask had gotten trampled at some point. He looked at the women and Briar, confused.

“Wait,” Briar called. He took his own flask over to the big man.

“Thanks,” Parahan said. He set the sword he had taken on the ground, gulped half of the water, and then poured the rest over his head.

“Were they waiting for us?” Rosethorn asked.

Parahan shrugged.

Briar saw sheets of paper flutter under a stone near where the commander of the soldiers had first been standing. He wandered over and pulled them out from under the stone. He couldn’t read the Yanjingyi writing under the drawings on each paper, but the pictures were perfectly clear: Parahan on one; Evvy, Rosethorn, and Briar on the other. He gave them to Rosethorn, then went to make certain that the mules were unharmed.

Rosethorn remained in the saddle, watching the guardhouse. Once she had looked at the papers, she stuffed them in the sling on her chest and took out more thorn balls, just in case.

Evvy dismounted from her pony. She let the reins trail so the animal wouldn’t wander, then trudged toward the guardhouse.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rosethorn called.

Evvy looked back at her. “Are you joking? Do you know how long it takes me to knap an edge on those flint pieces so I can throw them just right? I don’t think I’m going to find more flint here, either.” She looked at the fallen archer, gulped, and bent down to pry the dark stone circle from his throat.

Parahan followed and took it from her fingers to wipe it clean on the dead man’s clothing. “Beetle dung. It is flint,” he said. “I’ll get the other one, Evumeimei. You wait here.”

“I’ll go with him,” Briar told Rosethorn. “Evvy, come watch the mules.” He waited until Evvy took the reins before he ran into the guardhouse after Parahan.

The downstairs was empty of animals except for chickens on their nests. Upstairs was the main living room. Midday for the guards sat half eaten on a long table. Pallets were rolled up and stacked in a corner. The archer who had fallen inside lay in a heap on the floor, plucking at the flint circle stuck in his chest.

Parahan killed him with a sword thrust. “We can’t have them reporting who did this,” he told Briar. He retrieved Evvy’s second flint circle and wiped it off. “Perhaps you shouldn’t tell Rosethorn, though.”

Briar grimaced. Rosethorn would not like to hear of the killing of a wounded man, but Parahan was right. “We’d best get out of here, then, before the townsfolk come.”

“Yes, you’re right. Ouch!”

Briar saw that the big man was sucking blood off a fingertip. “Oh, sorry. Those things are nasty sharp.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and slid the circle from Parahan’s hold. Carefully he wrapped the flint and put it in his sling, but even so, he could see it was cutting through the linen of the handkerchief. Evvy owed him a fresh one.

As they went down the ladder, Parahan said, “I confess, even with their magic, I am … impressed with how strong-hearted our ladies are in battle. Will they need time to calm themselves? We can’t linger — the herd boys will report trouble here to the town.”

When they went outside, they found that Rosethorn had tethered her pony. She had managed to catch one of the horses and saddled and bridled it. From the length of the stirrups, she meant the brown gelding for Parahan. “Are you finished?” she asked them. “Because I would like to put some distance between us and this, now.”

“Yes, Mother,” Briar said. To Parahan he said, “See? She’s calm.” He skittered out of the way when Rosethorn mimed a swat at him. Smiling, Briar took Evvy the flint disk Parahan had recovered. She tucked it into the pocket with the other flint after wiping off the last traces of blood. Briar said nothing to her about the vomit he could see a few yards away. Evvy never faltered in battle, but blood still set her back on occasion.

Moving quickly but without fuss, Parahan resupplied himself from the dead soldiers until he had two swords, a belt, an iron-covered leather jerkin, and leather boots that fit. After testing a couple of the spears used by the Yanjingyi guards, he fashioned a quiver for them and his spear, and slung it across his back. Evvy found a spare water bottle for him. She and Briar swiftly searched the food packs for some kind of midday meal before they swung into their own saddles.