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left their outpost with two hundred men but now stood with fifty. The Penna had made fools of them. The men still thought it strange for a woman to fight among them, but Rigby had made it clear that if they caused trouble with me, they were picking a fight with him.
    Battle had proved my abilities. I stroked the bow I had mastered. It was heavier than some, but delivered the steadiness required for accuracy. I had taken it from the first man I killed in war. Two axes I had also claimed hung by my side. They were lethal for throwing, as one man who took me on had found. As I pulled out an axe, I stared at my reflection in the metal. My eye fell on the scar. Pale against the sun-kissed color of my skin, the scar stretched pink and red; a memorial of the last opponent I had fought. He had drawn a dagger and hurled it even as my arrow found his chest. If I had not seen it coming, it would have done worse than create a scar.
    I crouched lower, movement catching my eye. I brushed my hair back. The dark strands always seeming to block my vision when clear sight was most needed. Three men on snowmobiles were riding just below the ridge, only the reflection of their helmets showing above the snow. I cursed, scrambling swiftly out of sight and sprinting back to the others.
    “Enemies on the hills ahead!” I announced, sliding down the icy ridge to our evening encampment. Rigby nodded, glancing over at the men. They were all tired. After three months of fighting, they had lost hope well before losing that final battle. With so few men, they could scarcely hope to avoid the enemy who would try to enslave or murder them. I knew the Penna well. The army of Cyan needed to regroup and make their way to safety, or die on the icy land.
    “Tudor, remain at my side. I value your aim. Men, get on your mobiles and prepare for battle. If those Penna try to take us, they will discover we won’t be found sleeping.”
    Though exhausted, they had been trained to be instantly ready at the prospect of a fight, and the men scattered to their positions. I stood alongside Rigby, my guardian and would-be protector since he had discovered that I indeed fought harder and better than any of his men. He acknowledged that I had mastered the art of the bow.
    “Tudor, get on your ride, and get ready to shoot.”
    I nodded, schooling my face to remain expressionless as a movement caught my eye. Four ice-covered hills away, a head poked above the snow then ducked down in a hurry.
    “A scout,” I said, keeping my voice down so only Rigby could hear me.
    He nodded before calling out, “They will be here soon. Be ready.”
    The men crouched down on their snowmobiles. They had already dug in for the night, so except for the narrow entrance, they were surrounded by a six-foot snow wall. The men also were in complete shelter as they prepared their bows or pulled out their daggers.
    Reaching back, I grabbed my bow and strung it. The quiver was accessible, hanging just behind my right shoulder. Readying my aim, I waited for victory or death.
    We did not have to wait long. Over the ice mounds and through the shifting snow charged a mixed body of men. Twelve had snowmobiles and the rest were on foot. I drew back my shaft, watching those on snowmobiles. As they drew near, the Penna raised a wavering cry and hurtled toward our defenses. One of the men came within range. I smiled as I released the shaft. The arrow sped true, piercing between the slit of the man’s visor to send him crashing to the icy floor.
    The other men reined back in shock. Few fighters could fire a shaft as I could. The Penna had thought themselves safe. I smiled, loosing arrows at random among the advancing enemy, most of whom had left their faces completely unprotected.
    I dodged an arrow and returned fire, taking out one of their archers. Their bows were often better than mine and the archers were out of normal range. They could not know that I wielded a stolen bow that was just as powerful.
    I