In the moonlight, twisting tendrils of the freezing river mist crawled over the outer wall of the island. The guard trudging between the towers had his mind on staying warm, rather than on any possibility of an attack.
She was sitting on the battlement.
Naked.
Wet.
Her eyes were empty and glowed green.
He screamed and tried to flee.
She caught him easily.
So many of the others had drowned themselves in the freezing river, rather than be caught.
Barely a handful made it to the boats, an only two of those boats reached the shore.
The fishes would feed well.
The Ban Ilescu was not in his fortress that night. He was discussing troop dispositions with his boyars in his city of Orsoua.