Swan-painted shields hitched up another inch along wall and rooftop. Dust sprayed as a kraikon thrust its great sword deep into the packed mud behind the gateway. Then it stooped and set shoulder to the timbers. The second joined it as Kurkas took his place on the wall.

The rightmost grunda gave a mournful, hooting bellow and reared up in sudden spasm. The wagon’s timber spars shattered like matchsticks. The beast pitched sideways, crushing a handful of luckless Hadari. Kurkas cheered with the rest of his soldiers.

“That’s one!” he bellowed. “Now bring the others down!”

Ahead, the wall of shields parted. The Hadari shrank away, and the grundas picked up speed. The ground shook. Kurkas’ teeth rattled in their sockets.

“Come on, you worthless bastards! Bring them down! Now!”

Another volley hissed out. The leftmost grunda stumbled but lumbered on. The creak of the accompanying wagon was almost as loud as the thunder of its three-toed feet. Kurkas couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beast. It was coming straight for him. It cared nothing for the wall and the braced shields in its path.

The first treacherous voice of dismay whispered in Kurkas’ ear. He shouted all the louder to drive it out. “Brace yourselves my lads and lasses! Brace . . . !”

The wall exploded in a shower of dust and fragmented stone. A hearthguard vanished beneath a filthy slab the size of a tomb’s lid. Another died beneath the grunda’s lumbering feet. Kurkas sprawled to his left, thrust clear by the hearthguard to his right. She died in his place, impaled on the massive, curved horn.

The grunda slumped glassy-eyed atop the broken wall, its last strength oozing from its sides.

Kurkas scrambled to his feet. He hawked to clear the dust from his throat. “Hearthguard! To me!”

The line reformed as the Hadari shieldsmen struck the breach. Kurkas parried a spear thrust and lunged to kill his attacker. The space beyond the dead grunda was thick with foes. War horns blared as the Hadari sensed victory. Kurkas leapt onto the ruins of the wall. A sword-thrust took one Hadari in the face. His boot lashed out to send another backwards onto his comrades’ spears.

“This is my bloody farm! Find your own!”

The third grunda struck the gate in a cacophony of breaking timber and mangled bronze. Golden light crackled outwards. A massive, invisible hand hurled Kurkas from the shattered wall.

Armund struck at full gallop. His mailed fist smacked around the phoenix banner’s shaft. Its knightly bearer, faced with the choice of being dragged from his saddle or relinquishing his grip, wisely chose the latter.