The first warning came from the watch station at the northernmost point of the headland.
A signal fire flared against the dark, then two more in quick succession. The pattern was one every sailor on the coast knew: enemy ships, approaching from the north, moving fast.
Then another fire. This one from the east. The secondary station, the one that watched the approach to the harbour.
Lysander was in the war room when the runner arrived. He had been there since dusk, going over deployment maps with Hector and Miros, tracing the lines of defence. The evacuation was complete. The northern settlement was empty. The freighters were armed and anchored at the harbour mouth, their decks reinforced, their crews waiting.
The runner burst through the door, breathing hard. "Signal fires. Four of them. The northernmost station and the eastern station. They're coming from two directions."
Hector was on his feet before the man finished. "How many."
