The nearest proctor jerked about, his golden scarf trailing. “Captain, I don’t think . . .”

“Do it! Bring them down!”

Shields parted. Bronze blurs sprang away up the hillside, gaining speed as they closed. And then they simply . . . stopped. As one, the simarka downed haunches and sat amid the carnage of the roadway.

Morvinna touched her brow in the sign of the sun. “They can’t see them.”

Sark spurred his horse towards the proctor who’d voiced objection. Leaning low in the saddle, he seized the man by his collar and dragged him off his feet.

“What are they doing?” he bellowed. “Have them tear those holy drabs apart!”

The proctor cuffed at Sark’s wrist. “They can’t. You said it yourself! They’re holy! Blessed by Ashana!”

Like the Forbidden Places were blessed by Ashana, or by Jack, or by another of Lumestra’s cursed siblings. And if the simarka couldn’t see the lunassera, neither could the kraikons.

“Loose! Loose, damn you all!”

Crossbows rattled a third time, shooting far over the heads of the frozen simarka. This time the rank of women shuddered and left bodies behind on the slope.

The banner-woman drew her sword. Moonlight spiralled skywards as a perfect white flame. “Ashanael Brigantim!”

“Ashanael Brigantim!” sang the lunassera. The words spilled from the rhythm of their bleak, beautiful hymn with the inevitability of moonrise.

As one, they charged.

“Loose!” bellowed Sark. “Loose!”

Too late, he realised that not all in the shield wall had reloaded. What should have been a rush of quarrels sounded as a ragged stutter. A volley that should have sucked the heart from the charge felled barely a dozen lunassera. The rear ranks of the shield wall, whose halberds should have been levelled to greet the charge, were still tangled in the business of reload.

“Shields! Brace!”

Even then, Sark knew it was too late.

The banner-woman crashed against the front rank. Her sword hacked down. White fire surged. A shield struck the roadway, smote in two. Its bearer reeled, his face masked in blood. A halberd thrust from the second rank. The woman twisted past the heavy blade. Her counterblow split the halberdier’s helm. Still keening her battle hymn, she spurred into the gap.

The lunassera came after. Their hands were no longer empty, but clutched spears of angular, silver light, like shards of splintered glass, or the spirits of smelted weapons. Shields shuddered. Blinded soldiers cried out as the shard-spears cheated shield rims to draw blood behind.

One lunassera leapt impossibly high, her skyward climb hastened by the locked hands braced beneath her bare feet. She descended with spear braced and landed in the third rank. A scream sounded. Silver flashed. Blood spattered blue tabards. The space around her bloomed as soldiers shrank away. Another lunassera dropped into the clearing. And another.