She looked at him. The lamplight made her face sharp and amber.
"That's where you come in."
"Their heavy weapon emplacements are on the northeast tower and the gatehouse roof."
He'd spent a full day identifying them — bulky, mounted, nothing like a catapult but filling the same strategic space, the things the Arakenys deployed when they wanted to stop a lot of people from moving across open ground all at once.
"I take those first. While they're looking up, your men cross the open ground."
"How fast can you hit both?"
"Fast enough."
She held his gaze.
"Aragon."
"Fast enough," he said again, and the way he said it closed the question without rudeness, just certainty, the particular tone of a man who has already run the calculation and doesn't need to run it again.
He looked at the enclave one more time.
"The moment Elivira crosses the wall, every eye up there turns to the sky. That's your window. Don't waste it."
"I never waste anything," Malaica said.
