Iridescent white flame arced high, launched from siege engines concealed where the pine-forested slopes fell away towards the border. The missiles slammed into the southern bastion. Ancient stones cracked and fell away. Ballistae crashed from their mountings. One of Voldmarr’s precious remaining kraikons slid sideways as the outer walkway collapsed. It struck the courtyard’s flagstones with enough force to send cracks racing like jagged spider webs.

Through it all, ballistae fired blind into the distant trees. Again the fire came, this time plunging past the ruined north bastion and the crumbling curtain wall. Gellern’s hastily assembled defensive line broke apart even as it reached the gaping breach in the east wall. Wounded thrashed madly as white fire burned flesh black. Shields locked together once more, the line of flesh and steel desperate to prevail where stone had not.

To Hedragg’s eyes it looked so thin. So terribly, terribly thin.

The herald returned as the bombardment faltered. She resumed her station at Karmonov’s side without a word. Her eyes never left the forest.

Thick black smoke spiralled into the sky above the north bastion as fire took hold. The first gold glinted at the tree line’s edge. The drums stopped.

“They’re coming,” Hedragg muttered.

“This is it!” Karmonov bellowed. “Make Lumestra proud! We fight to the end!”

“To the end!” The shout crashed back across the ramparts.

Pride emerged triumphant from Hedragg’s swirling emotions. In a way, Karmonov was right. There was glory to be won and duty to be upheld. But still he couldn’t shake the feeling that lives spent today were lives wasted.

The first Hadari marched up out of the trees. Formations took shape on the slopes. Silken robes and golden scales of the Emperor’s Immortals advanced in steady lockstep, their shields braced against crossbow fire. The finest warriors in the Empire, come to Voldmarr Watch. Overkill in the highest degree, to Hedragg’s judgement. It marked the enemy commander as impatient, or perhaps inclined to offer compliment to the doomed garrison by sending his best onto the walls. Clansmen of the Imperial heartlands pressed in behind, their garb drab and muted by comparison as they scrambled up the slope. Arrows fell like rain.

And the banners. So many banners, each bearing a warchief’s heraldry. Wolf masks, snake fangs and crow brands.

Two-score banners. Two-score warchiefs. And more to come, yet hidden beneath the trees. Kai Saran had brought thousands of blades.

The drumbeats crashed back, louder than before.

A kraikon broke ranks at the northern end of Gellern’s line and surged downhill. Huge legs pounding against stone, it ploughed into the Immortals. Shields buckled beneath the impact. Bodies were flung away by the killing weight of living bronze. Golden magic leapt along the blade of a longsword taller than a man. It crackled as its wielder reaped shadowthorns. A massive, brazen hand plucked a screaming Immortal aloft and wielded him as a bloody flail.