sunrise. From its height, five thousand feet, the land was bluish gray, smoked
with mists. Irrigation canals caught the first light as if they were full of
mercury. Westward the ocean gleamed, its far edge dissolved into purple and a
few stars. Loklann sunna Holber leaned over the gallery rail of his
flagship and pointed a telescope at the city. It sprang to view as a huddle of
walls, flat roofs, and square watchtowers. The cathedral spires were tinted
rose by a hidden sun. No barrage balloons were up. It must be true what rumor
said, that the Perio had abandoned its outlying provinces to their fate. So
the portable wealth of Meyco would have flowed into S’ Anton, for
safekeeping-which meant that the place was well worth a raid. Loklann
grinned. Robra sunna Stam, the Buffalo’s mate, spoke. “Best we come down to about two thousand,” he suggested. “Just to be sure the men aren’t blown sideways, to the wrong side of the town walls.” “Aye.” The skipper nodded his helmeted head. “Two thousand, so be it.” Their voices seemed oddly loud up here, where only the wind and a creak of rigging had broken silence.
The sky around the royers was dusky immensity, tinged red gold in the east.
