“Took your time,” he commented drily. “Thought I’d have to storm the place alone.”

She jabbed a thumb at the milling chaos below. “Weren’t keen on letting us through.”

They exchanged smiles that were almost crazed.

Bloodlust’s on her too, he thought. Good.

Alfray, custodian of the Wolverines’ banner, joined them and drove the flag’s spar into the semi-frozen earth. The warband’s two dozen common soldiers formed a defensive ring around the officers. Noticing one of the grunts had taken a pernicious-looking head wound, Alfray pulled a field dressing from his hip bag and went to staunch the blood.

Sergeants Haskeer and Jup pushed through the troopers. As usual, the former was sullen, the latter unreadable.

“Enjoy your stroll?” Stryke jibed, his tone sarcastic.

Jup ignored it. “What now, Captain?” he asked gruffly.

“What think you, shortarse? A break to pick flowers?” He glared at his diminutive joint second-in-command. “We get up there and do our job.”

“How?”

Coilla was staring at the leaden sky, a hand cupped over her eyes.

“Frontal assault,” Stryke replied. “You have a better plan?” It was a challenge.

“No. But it’s open ground, uphill. We’ll have casualties.”

“Don’t we always?” He spat copiously, narrowly missing his sergeant’s feet. “But if it makes you feel better we’ll ask our strategist. Coilla, what’s your opinion?”

“Hmmm?” Her attention remained fixed on the heavy clouds.

“Wake up, Corporal! I said—”

“See that?” She pointed skyward.

A black dot was descending through the gloom. No details were obvious from this distance, but they all guessed what it was.

“Could be useful,” Stryke said.

Coilla was doubtful. “Maybe. You know how wilful they can be. Best to take cover.”

“Where?” Haskeer wanted to know, scanning the naked terrain.

The dot grew in size.

“It’s moving faster than a cinder from Hades,” Jup observed.

“And diving too tight,” added Haskeer.

By this time the bulky body and massive serrated wings were clearly visible. There was no doubt now. Huge and ungainly, the beast swooped over the battle still raging on the plain. Combatants froze and stared upwards. Some scattered from its shadow. It carried on heedless in an ever-sharper descent, aimed squarely at the rise where Stryke’s Wolverines were gathered.

He squinted at it. “Can anybody make out the handler?”

They shook their heads.

The living projectile came at them unerringly. Its vast, slavering jaws gaped, revealing rows of yellow teeth the size of war helms. Slitty green eyes flashed. A rider sat stiffly on its back, tiny compared to his charge.

Stryke estimated it to be no more than three flaps of its powerful wings away.

“Too low,” Coilla whispered.

Haskeer bellowed, “Kiss the ground!”

The warband flattened.

Rolling on to his back, Stryke had a fleeting view of grey leathery skin and enormous clawed feet passing overhead. He almost believed he could stretch and touch the thing.