'Do you want him taken alive too, lord?'

Jasaray shook his head. 'No. Kill him with the rest. No prisoners today, Heltian. No slave lines. Every Keltoi standing against us must die. When Valanus was defeated the Rigante placed Stone heads upon spears at the border. Today we will plant a forest of heads, so that all who dream of rising against Stone will take heed.'

'Yes, lord.'

Jasaray saw that the man looked troubled. 'What is it, Heltian?'

'You are the Scholar, and I do not have your skills in strategy, lord. Yet it seems to me that to march into their trap is unnecessary. If we storm their right, pushing back their infantry, they will be forced to change their battle plan, and be thrown into disarray.'

'Ah, yes,' said Jasaray, with a smile, 'indeed they would be. But where's the joy in such a simple victory? The enemy will think they have us, and then, when we show that we know their plan, their hearts will break. Cruel, I know, but emperors must have their pleasures.'

Bendegit Bran stood on the rising ground and watched as the columns of Stone marched out of the morning mist almost a mile to the south. Around him the volunteer forces from Pannone, Norvii and Rigante stood their ground, fierce eyes observing the advancing enemy.

Bran had made no fiery speeches to these men, nor exhorted them to fight hard for their loved ones and their land. There was no need. They knew that today's battle could change for ever the lives of every Keltoi. They knew that if they failed their wives and daughters would be enslaved, their children slaughtered. No, thought Bran, there was no need to inspire these men.

Although, in truth, he wished there was someone who could inspire him.

The death of his first-born son had all but unmanned him, but the news Banouin had given him several hours ago had been crushing.

Connavar was dead, killed by Braefar.

Even now Bran could scarcely believe it. Wing had always been a troubled soul, but Bran had never doubted his love for Conn, or his own people. Yet he had, in one dreadful thrust, destroyed both his brother and the hopes of the Keltoi. Connavar's legend was such that he was worth ten thousand men in battle, for the troops would see him in his golden armour, and their spirits would soar like eagles. Even now Bran could see men scanning the hillsides, wondering when the king would appear.