Iven heard the first launch before he saw what it carried.
A deep wooden crack came from the ridge above the western receiving ground. Something dark turned against the afternoon sky. It struck the empty cart shelter beyond the scales, broke through the roof and burst into a low spreading fire.
The second vessel landed among the stored slings.
Oil ran over the stone.
“Clear the center,” Iven shouted.
He caught a child by the back of her coat and sent her toward the open lane with the adult beside her. Kesh was already at the scales, driving people away from the covered places where a frightened crowd might trap itself. The receiving ground had broad exits. They needed people to use them before smoke made the choice seem smaller.
Tavin stood on the far side of the slings with two carriers. The fire had cut their shortest way out. Iven pointed toward the stone trough and saw the captain understand.
They went around it, not through the burning oil.
