Standing with his unit among the men of the reserve Panthers young Maro tore off his red cloak as flames licked at it. Throwing it to the ground he stamped out the fire. His eyes were stinging with heat and smoke. Around him several of the men were also trying to beat out flames upon their clothing.

The northerly breeze sent the smoke drifting towards the south. Maro saw that very few men had been injured by the attack. The wagons had come to a stop now, and were burning brightly, but the line had closed once more. The archers were regrouping, and all was returning to normal.

Then he heard the thunder, and glanced at the sky, expecting to see storm clouds. But there were none, and in that moment he realized the truth. There was no storm. The thunder was coming from the south, and it was not emanating from the sky. The ground was shaking beneath his feet.

From out of the smoke came the charging horsemen of Connavar's Iron Wolves, and at their head a figure in gold, with a shining shield.

It seemed to Maro at that moment that time slowed. He saw the Stone archers, still trying to regroup, string their bows and send a ragged volley towards the charging horsemen. The arrows seemed to hang in the air for ever. Then they slashed home, and scores of horses fell. Not one shaft struck the golden rider, though many were aimed at him. They bounced from his shield, or sailed past him, plunging into the riders close by. Smoke billowed back over the archers, causing many of them to cough and splutter, their eyes streaming.

Despite their losses the Iron Wolves continued to thunder towards the square. Maro found himself suddenly thinking of Cara, and his son, and the sunlit garden behind the house. He felt a great sadness upon him as he thought of all the letters he had written and had never been able to send.

He drew his sword. The Iron Wolves came out of the smoke, bright swords in their hands. From behind he heard Heltian order the advance. The reserve Panthers began to form a fighting line, locking shields.

Maro closed his eyes for a moment and sent a brief prayer to the Source. 'Let me live to see my son,' he whispered.

Bane leaned low over the gelding's neck as it thundered towards the Stone archers. A volley of shafts slashed through the air. Raising his shield Bane glanced left and right. Alongside him horses went down, their riders thrown through the air. An arrow slashed the gelding's flanks and ricocheted from the bronze greave on Bane's right leg. Another arrow glanced from the rim of his shield.