Gamet pulled his sword free as he urged his horse directly towards the beleaguered position. As he approached, he saw two marines go down before an onrush from one of the attacking groups – and the barrow was suddenly overrun.

The fugue gripping his senses seemed to redouble, and he began sawing the reins, confused, bewildered by the roar of sounds surrounding him.

‘Fist!’’

He lifted his sword, as his horse cantered, as if of its own will, towards the barrow.

‘Fist Gamet! Pull out of there!’

Too many voices. Screams of the dying. The flames — they’re falling away. Darkness closing in. My soldiers are dying. Everywhere. It’s failed — the whole plan has failed—

A dozen raiders were rushing at him – and more movement, there, to his right – another squad of marines, fast closing, as if they’d been on their way to relieve the overrun strong-point, but now they were sprinting in his direction.

I don’t understand. Not here – the other way. Go there, go to my soldiers—

He saw something large fly from one of the marines’ hands, down into the midst of the warriors attacking him.

‘Fist!’

Two lances whipped out, seeking him.

Then the night exploded.

He felt his horse lifted beneath him, pushing him down over the back of the saddle. The animal’s head snapped upward, impossibly so, as it continued arching back – to thump down between Gamet’s thighs a moment before he tumbled, boots leaving the stirrups, over the horse’s rump.

Down into a mist of blood and grit.

He blinked his eyes open, found himself lying in sodden mud, amidst bodies and parts of bodies, at the base of a crater. His helmet was gone. No sword in his hand.

I was ... I was on a horse ...

Someone slid down to slam against his side. He attempted to clamber away, but was dragged back down.

‘Fist Gamet, sir! I’m Sergeant Gesler – Captain Keneb’s 9th Company – can you hear me?’

‘Y-yes – I thought you were—’

‘Aye, Fist. But we dropped ‘em, and now the rest of my squad and Borduke’s are relieving 3rd Company’s marines. We need to get you to a healer, sir.’

‘No, that’s all right.’ He struggled to sit up, but something was wrong with his legs – they were indifferent to his commands. ‘Tend to those on the barrow, Sergeant—’

‘We are, sir. Pella! Down here, help me with the Fist.’

Another marine arrived, this one much younger – oh, no, too young for this. I will ask the Adjunct to send him home. To his mother and father, yes. He should not have to die – ‘You should not have to die.’

‘Sir?’

‘Only his horse between him and a cusser blast,’ Gesler said. ‘He’s addled, Pella. Now, take his arms ...’