Then he was being dragged over wet, muddy corpses and blood-slicked clay. The arrows no longer descended from the sky but sped low over the ground, striking wood and flesh on all sides. Duiker rolled through a deep, twisting rut, then came up against the spoked wheel of a wagon.

‘Let go the rope!’ the marine commanded. ‘We’re here, Duiker—’ Here.

He wiped the mud from his eyes, staying low as he looked around for the first time. Wickan horsewarriors, sappers and marines lay amidst dead and dying mounts, all so studded with arrows that the entire landing looked like a reed bed. The nobles’ wagons had been cleared from the end of the ford and arrayed in a defensive crescent, although the fighting had pushed beyond them into the forest itself.

‘Who?’ Duiker gasped.

The woman lying beside him grunted. ‘Just what’s left of the sappers, the marines ... and a few surviving Wickans.’

“That’s it?’

‘Can’t get anyone else across – and besides, the Seventh and at least two of the clans are fighting in the rearguard. We’re on our own, Duiker, and if we can’t clear these woods...’

We will be annihilated.

She reached out to a nearby corpse, dragging it closer to remove the dead Wickan’s helm. ‘This one looks more your size than mine, old man. Here.’

‘What are we fighting out there?’

‘At least three companies. Mostly archers, though – I think Korbolo wasn’t expecting any soldiers at the front of the column. The plan was to use the refugees to block our deployment and stop us from gaining this bank.’

‘As if Korbolo knew Coltaine would reject the offer, but the nobles wouldn’t.’

‘Aye. The arrow fire’s tailed off – those sappers are pushing them back – gods, they’re mayhem! Let’s find us some useful weapons and go join the fun.’

‘Go ahead,’ Duiker said. ‘But here I stay – within sight of the river. I need to see ...’

‘You’ll get yourself skewered, old man.’

‘I’ll risk it. Get going!’

She hesitated, then nodded and crawled off among the bodies.

The historian found a round shield and clambered up on the nearest wagon, where he almost stepped on a cowering figure. He stared down at the trembling man. ‘Nethpara.’

‘Save me, please!’

Ignoring the noble-born, Duiker turned his attention back to the river.

The stream of refugees who reached the south bank could not go forward; they began spreading out along the shoreline. Duiker saw a mob of them discover the rope crew for the upstream bridge, and descend on them with a ferocity that disregarded their lack of armour and weapons. The crew were literally torn apart.