Kurkas had a perfect view of the battle from atop the barn’s tiles. Not so much as a single shadowthorn had strayed south of the Kevor redoubt, though he knew that wouldn’t last. Or he hoped so, anyway. Danger ranked low amid his concerns. Boredom perched right at the very top.

He whistled through his teeth and stared down at Blackridge Farm’s uneven courtyard. Timber-framed buildings and a low stone wall didn’t make for much of a bastion. But it beat raven feathers out of standing in the open. And if some aspiring shadowthorn had a mind to slip between the farm and its neighbouring redoubt? Well, Kurkas had fifty pavissionaires of the 14th who’d make them sorry for the attempt, and two hundred Swanholt hearthguard to back them up. He’d have preferred to be in the centre, but understood that his position on the flank betrayed Lord Akadra’s unspoken nervousness about the battle to come. The hearthguard could be trusted to stand to the last, and the centre would hold longer if inexperienced soldiers weren’t worried over endangered flanks.

Quarrels and ballista-shot raked the killing ground. Golden corpses littered the cataphracts’ wake. There was even a dead grunda, its caparisoned hide peppered with bolts. Kurkas reckoned that was just as well. Though not a squeamish man, he’d no enthusiasm for seeing what happened when an enraged grunda struck a shield wall.

The Hadari charge gathered speed. Kurkas shook his head at the lone dark figure standing in the teeth of the charge. “Daft grandstanding bastard. Always have to do it showy, don’t you?”

“What was that, captain?” asked a nervous-looking Major Keldrov.

“Never you mind.”

He’d marked Keldrov out as a pampered brat from the first moment. So far, she’d done nothing to dispel the idea. He suspected she was every bit as unimpressed by him. No “real” soldier liked taking orders from one she outranked. Especially not a tattered ruffian who’d left too many parts and pieces on old battlefields.

“What in Lumestra’s name is he doing?” breathed Keldrov, her wide-eyed gaze directed north.

“What he always does,” Kurkas sighed. “Making the rest of us look useless.”

“But . . . he’ll be killed.”

“Will he though?” Kurkas grinned. “Care to make a wager of it?”

She hesitated. “No.”

So much for easy coin. “Then get yourself down to the courtyard. Make sure we’re ready.”

“Are we moving out?”

He snorted. “Blessed Lumestra, no. You think I want to go traipsing all the way up there to die? Our turn will come soon enough.”

An arrow skittered off a tile at Kurkas’ feet. Others thudded into the gable wall. He fell prone, feet skidding as he grabbed at the moss-caked ridgeline. Keldrov collapsed beside him. A tile shattered beneath her hip and fell into the barn. Dark shapes flitted through the woods to the south-east.