The enclave appeared on the morning of the ninth day.
Or rather—what remained of it.
They were on the last ridge before the ground fell away north, the land dropping through broken terrain toward the wide coastal shelf where the northern enclave had been built.
Aragon had come down from Elivira an hour ago and left her on the ridge crest, crouched in the particular low, watching posture she used when she was reading something at a distance. He stood beside Malaica, who had her captain of horse on one side and her senior scouts on the other, and they looked north together in silence.
The enclave had been a settlement that was now devoid of humans.
Most of that was still visible.
It was too full of ships.
