The five Red-Ships were still drawn up on the beach. The boats of Neatbay, mostly small fishing vessels, were a burned and scuttled wreckage spread along the beach. The tides had played with them since the Raiders had destroyed them. Blackened buildings and smoldering wreckage fanned out from where they had landed, marking their path like a spreading contagion. Foxglove stood in her stirrups and pointed out over Neatbay, combining her observations with what she knew of the town and Keep. “It’s a shallow, sandy bay, all the way out. So when the tide goes out, it goes way out. They’ve drawn their boats up too high. If we can force them to retreat, we want to do it on a low tide, when their ships are sitting high and dry. They’ve cut through the town like a hot knife through butter: I doubt there was much of an effort to defend it, it’s not really defensible. Probably everyone headed for the Keep at the first sight of a red keel. It looks to me like the Outislanders have battered their way in past the third circle. But Kelvar should be able to hold them off almost indefinitely now. The fourth wall is worked stone. It took years to build. Bayguard has a good well, and her warehouses should still be fat with grain, this early in winter. She won’t fall unless she falls to treachery.” Foxglove stopped gesturing and settled in her saddle again. “It makes no sense, this attack,” she said more softly. “How can the Red-Ships expect to sustain a long siege? Especially if they are, in turn, attacked by our forces?”