Fiallach grinned. A sword lunged for the older man's face. Bane blocked the blow, killing the wielder with a reverse cut across the throat. On the left several hundred Iron Wolves had breached the Stone line. Breaking into a gallop they rode behind the reserve, which struggled to form its own defensive square. Bane and the Iron Wolves around him attacked again. Bane beat aside a shield and sent his sword slashing through the bearer's leg. The man fell. Fiallach, following in, killed him.

A young dark-haired officer stepped in front of Bane. It was Cara's husband, the young Maro. Maro's sword slashed towards him. Bane swayed back, deflecting the blow with ease. Fiallach's sword smashed through the young man's skull, sending blood and brains splattering over Bane's golden armour.

On the hillside at the north of the square Jasaray drew back his front lines, ordering Heltian to reinforce the rear with another two Panthers. 'Oh, and forget what I said about taking Connavar alive. I rather feel that his death would be advantageous at this point.'

Jasaray stood calmly, arms clasped behind his back. The charge of the Iron Wolves had been well executed, the use of fire wagons quite brilliant. But the charge was over now, the battle still to be decided. Jasaray's expert eyes scanned the scene. More than half the Rigante army had been killed or wounded, whereas he had lost around a third of his force. The death of Connavar would turn the tide. It was always the problem with heroic leadership. Yes, the men would be inspired by the golden figure at their head. But when that man died, so too did the inspiration, and in its place came despair. Connavar was the pumping heart of the Rigante. Every tribesman fighting here was performing above his abilities as a result of his presence. They would break and run when they saw him fall, Jasaray knew.

The emperor watched dispassionately as Heltian led another six thousand men into the fray. They charged into the Iron Wolves who had made it to the rear of the reserve square, killing the horses, toppling the riders and stabbing them to death. Then, forming a fighting wedge, they began to push back at Connavar and the men with him. Connavar – as Jasaray expected – gave no ground and the Stone Panthers surged around the Iron Wolves. Now Connavar was fighting within his own defensive ring. The losses suffered by the Panthers were very high, for they were fighting not lightly armoured tribesmen, but Connavar's elite warriors, picked for their courage and strength. Even so they were cut off from the main force of Iron Wolves, and outnumbered some six to one. It was, Jasaray considered, but a matter of time before the golden-garbed warrior fell beneath the stabbing iron of Stone.