Moans of the dead and dying overtook retreating hoof-beats. The press of bodies thinned. Injured comrades were dragged back to the physicians. Whimpers danced on the air as Hadari throats were cut, speeding them to whatever reward Ashana offered.

A dry cough overtook a parched throat. Revekah hawked, spat and reached gratefully for Tarn’s proffered canteen. The lad was pale, and no wonder. It was one thing to launch an ambush from the shelter of the trees. Even to scramble away into the night after a raid gone wrong. Standing the line was different.

She returned the canteen. “You all right?”

He nodded a mite too hastily. “I think so.”

“First time’s the worst. Keep your shield locked, and don’t strike unless you mean to kill.”

He clamped his lips. His head bobbed. “I won’t let you down.”

Revekah glanced north, to the banners flying free between the redoubts. “Not me, lad. The Phoenix.”

A nervous grin. “I thought we were all phoenixes.”

“That we are. So let’s make her proud, shall we?”

Horns came again. Drums quickened to match the thunder of hooves. “Shields up!” Revekah bellowed. “They’re coming back for more. Let’s not disappoint!”

Melanna heard the winding of the horns. She knew its meaning even before her father’s charge fell back in disarray.

He’d struck deep. Broken bodies lay scattered across a bloodied field. But it wasn’t enough. The twin banners still flew.

Sera drew level. “The battle goes well.”

Melanna supposed she was right, but there was too much bloody gold amid the wheat. Too many fathers and sons who’d return home only as treasured rings and honoured memories. She only hoped her own sire was not among them.

“There’s no victory if my father falls.”

“Then go to him.” Sera gestured at the lunassera and chandirin scattered through the rocks. “We will follow wherever you lead, Ashanal.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ve been given a task. I will see it done.”

A clash of steel rang out across the slope, followed by a sharp scream. Aedrun’s ragged line of shields shrank inwards. A band of leather-clad figures ran headlong for the Tressian lines, pausing only to trade arrows with longbowmen scattered throughout Aedrun’s line.

Melanna scowled in frustration. “This is going too slowly.”

“Then set a new pace, Ashanal,” said Sera. “If men cannot carry the day, then women must.”

Viktor welcomed the fire in his limbs, the rising sweat that spoke to labours well-pursued. So much better than arguing. So much more direct. And directness had been the order of the day. If ever he’d doubted that Kai Saran sought spectacle in victory, he did not do so now.