"And where did they come from? All our men are in the city?"
"Aye." Romna shifted. He hesitated, squinting. He rubbed his bulldog
jaw. "Except those that died at--Falga."
Faolan stood there a moment. Then he rapped his empty cup.
"More wine, bard. More wine."
He turned to the battle again.
"Oh, gods, if I could see it, if I could only see it!"
Below, a ringing crash. A silence. A shouting, a pouring of noise.
"The Gate!" Faolan was stricken with fear. "We've lost! My sword!"
"Stay, Faolan!" Romna laughed. Then he sighed. It was a sigh that did
not believe. "In the name of ten thousand mighty gods. Would that I
were blind now, or could see better."