She looked up at her father, who regarded her, grim-faced.

"Kill the rest of them," Jenoe called to his soldiers, without taking his eyes off of Tirnya.

She walked over to the nearest of the children. It was a small girl; she couldn't have been more than five or six years old. Her face was smeared with dirt and tears, and her long white hair was in tangles, but Tirnya could see that she was beautiful. She had a small rounded nose and eyelashes that were fine and long and pale, as if made of spun silver.

Yes, she was a white-hair, but in that moment Tirnya would have given up everything she owned to spare this child the horrors and anguish to which she would awake.

She heard a footfall behind her, but didn't bother to turn.

"We should do something for them," she said.

"There isn't much we can do," her father told her, as she had expected he would. "You know we can't take them with us, not even as prisoners."

"Yes, I know." She looked back at him. "What about food? Could we leave them some of…?"

She trailed off. He was shaking his head.

"We can't start giving away our provisions, Tirnya. If this war goes as I expect it will, these aren't the last children we'll be leaving behind as orphans. It's not our responsibility to feed them all. This is war. Even the Fal'Borna would tell you that."

Tirnya nodded, knowing that he was right. There were older children lying nearby. No doubt the Fal'Borna had food stored somewhere in the sept, and if the children needed to leave this place, they could take some of the horses. This little girl and the others around her would survive.

Jenoe looked like he might say more to her, but Enly, Gries, Marshal Crish, and several of the other captains were coming toward them. So, too, were Fayonne and her son.

"The rest of the wolves are dead, Marshal," Gries said, casting a dark look sidelong at the eldest. "The men who were wounded will be all right. None of the adult Fal'Borna survived. Fourteen children were killed."

Jenoe's mouth twitched. "Damn."

"I'm sorry, Marshal," the eldest said. "We didn't know that this would happen."

"Of course you didn't, Eldest. How could you?"

She glanced at her son, but quickly faced the marshal again. "This was an ancient magic, and we thought it would help us win the battle. The next time we-"

"There won't be a next time," Tirnya said.

Her father frowned. "Tirnya."

"No more of those… creatures. I want you to promise me."

He looked at her with obvious concern, his eyes straying to the drying wolf blood on her mail. But then he took a breath and shook his head. "I can't promise that," he said, keeping his voice low. "We'll have to be more careful next time. But the wolves the eldest and her people created for us did what we wanted them to do. We defeated a Fal'Borna settlement today. Not a single Eandi soldier was killed. Only five were hurt. I'd be mad to promise that we won't use that magic again."

"There are other creatures we can conjure," Fayonne said. "It doesn't have to be wolves."

Tirnya eyed the woman for a moment before turning and starting the long walk back to where they'd left the horses. She brushed past Enly and Gries, and continued past men from all the armies, including her own soldiers and lead riders, but she said nothing. Reaching the stream, she paused long enough to wash the blood from her blade and sheath it. Wading through the water chilled her, but though she was shivering she stopped again halfway across to splash away the blood on her coat of mail. The other captains had followed her, and several walked past now. No one spoke to her, though, or even made eye contact.

The foot soldiers had remained behind, and Tirnya could see a column of dark smoke rising from the settlement and twisting in the wind. "What are they doing?" she demanded of no one in particular. "They're burning the dead. Men and wolves."

She turned. Gries stood waist deep in the stream a short distance away. "The dead children, too?"

He nodded. "Your father had his men move the survivors so that they wouldn't awaken to all that blood."

Tirnya continued to stare at the billowing smoke.

"Come on, Captain," Gries said, starting toward the far shore. "You'll freeze in this water."

Reluctantly, she walked after him. When they reached the bank, he held out a hand to her and helped her up the slope to the plain.

They found the horses just where they had left them, and soon the captains were riding back to where the rest of the armies waited for them. Tirnya had tethered her father's mount to her saddle, so that he trotted alongside Thirus. Gries had done the same with Hendrid's horse.

By the time they crossed the stream again and found the two marshals, several of the Fal'Borna children were awake. They sat in a tight cluster, watching the Eandi soldiers. The youngest among them looked frightened, but a few of the older boys and girls wore expressions of pure hatred. Jenoe and Hendrid stood a short distance off, speaking in low voices and glancing occasionally at the children.

Tirnya and Gries steered their horses to the marshals. Tirnya dismounted and approached her father.

"How long have they been awake?" she asked.

He shook his head and began to untether his mount. "Not long. Fayonne thinks the others will be awake soon. It would have been easier if we'd been able to leave while they were still sleeping."

"Have they said anything?"

"Not a lot." Jenoe pointed to a long-limbed boy who wore his hair tied back. "That one threatened me. He said that he'd follow our army and cut my throat while we slept."

Tirnya stared at the boy. He had a narrow, bony face and he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his muscular forearms wrapped around his shins. Tirnya had heard that Qirsi came into their power around the age of sixteen; this boy couldn't have been more than a year or two away. She noticed that he had an empty sheath strapped to his side.

"Is that why you took his knife?" she asked.

"You should have heard the way he said it," Jenoe said, sounding defensive. "You would have done the same."

"I don't doubt it."

After watching the children for another few moments, Tirnya approached the angry boy her father had disarmed. His eyes flicked in her direction, but he seemed determined not to look at her.

"My name is Captain Onjaef," she said. "You can call me Tirnya." No response.

"It looks like you'll be in charge here now. Do you know where your people stored your food? Will you be able to feed the others?"

He continued to ignore her, but a few of the other children were watching. Tirnya approached one of them, a girl who looked to be nearly as old as the boy. She had a dark wound on her neck-an old burn, from the look of it, perhaps from when the plague struck-and a cut high on her cheek that appeared to be healing well.

"What's your name?" Tirnya asked.

She didn't answer.

"Is there food here? Do you know where to find it?"

The girl hesitated before nodding once.

Tirnya smiled. "Good. Thank you for telling me that." The beautiful young girl Tirnya had seen earlier was still asleep beside this older child. Tirnya pointed to the young one now and asked, "What's her name?"

"Don't answer," the boy said. He scrambled to his feet and crossed to where Tirnya was standing. Looking down at the older girl, he said, "Don't tell her anything more. Do you hear me?"

He was half a head shorter than Tirnya. From all that she had heard about the Fal'Borna, she gathered that he wouldn't grow much taller, but would wind up broad in the shoulders and chest. Right now, though, he looked terribly young, even more so than he had when he'd been sitting. Still he didn't flinch from her gaze.

"I was speaking to her," Tirnya said. "You had your chance to answer my questions."