Rising tall in her stirrups, she stared at the coiling serpent that was the northern end of the Tressian line. Two hundred ragged souls and barely a score of shields. Not that shields offered unswerving advantage on the hillside. The ground was too broken to support a sturdy line. Moreover, the cleft-and stream-riddled slopes were fertile fields for ambush. And there would be ambush aplenty. Melanna knew the drab leathers of Jesver Merrik’s Free Kellin band from her time in Maiden’s Hollow.

Still, she had near five hundred warriors, and her fifty lunassera could have taken the slope without them. But there were rituals of battle that even an Ashanal was wise to follow.

“Warleader, the honour of the first charge is yours.”

Aedrun squared proud shoulders. “As you command, Ashanal.”

The shuddering ground. The rumble of galloping hooves. The chill of fear and the fire of defiance mingling in the blood. The oppressive, claustrophobic closeness of comrades. The hardness of the sword-hilt Revekah knew she gripped too tight. The sawing, chafing pressure about her left forearm from the shield-slings.

The final hours of Zanya crashed back; unstoppable, implacable.

That too had been unwinnable. Didn’t mean you didn’t fight.

“Brace!” bellowed Revekah. “Brace!”

She leaned into her shield, felt the press of bodies at her back. A whimper. A prayer. A curse to shiver the soul. To her right, Tarn closed his eyes, his lips moving wordlessly. Revekah thought only of Katya, and what her long dead friend would ask of her this day.

The cataphracts struck the line. Screams rang out from men and horses. A spear shattered against Revekah’s shield. Her boots skidded on trampled crops. The press of bodies held her upright.

Above her, a faceless cataphract abandoned the wreckage of his spear and drew his sword. Revekah bent her knees and scraped her shield higher against its neighbours. The cataphract’s sword clanged off the steel rim. A heavy spear took him in the throat. Blood rushed golden armour red, and he slid from the saddle with a gurgling cry.

Another took his place, but the charge’s impetus had passed. With it went the cataphracts’ chief advantage. The shadowthorn’s hooked spear hissed over Revekah’s head. A choking scream sounded behind.

The spear did not withdraw. The cataphract lurched forward as unseen hands hauled on the shaft. He released his grip too late and fell against Revekah’s shield. She thrust.

A scream. A wet, rasping breath. The weight on her shield vanished.

A horn rang out. Cheers rippled along the line. Revekah blinked sweat from her eyes. The space to her front filled with riderless horses. She felt, more than saw, the phoenix-line start forward.

“Hold!” she roared. “Hold! See to the wounded! They’ll be back!”