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Bahir stood at the ready for the battle, his eyes on the archers he would supply. They would not ask outright for the flamed arrows; he had learned early that painful lesson. Instead he must watch for the subtle signs their bodies gave that another would be needed, or that he must speed up for a volley, or now slow down as the target drew out of range.
The order had not come yet to his section of bowmen to let fly. Bahir shook off the tension and refocused himself. For a moment, though, his eyes were drawn to the deck where the Captain stood. Some few of Lord . . . no . . . King Sangalazin’s guards surrounded Chatazrakin. They had given him something; what, he could not see. But now they had positioned themselves about the Captain’s deck.
His eyes narrowed and he sucked at the corner of his lip, considering what this might mean. Perhaps nothing, except that the Black clad ones wished to fight. His gut urged him to a different conclusion. There had been a subtle shift in power, he thought. And he wondered how it would play out once the King got wind of it. On the other hand, what could he do? The cream of his guards had made this choice and who would stand against them?
He ducked, only just in time, as Balak’s great fist came round to clout him on his head. ‘Eyes forward, Boy!’ the tall, burly man rasped out. ‘The Captain has signaled us to stand ready.’
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