A moment later there was a great crash as Corban and the bulk of the warband smashed into the front lines of the enemy. He saw Storm leap high, tear a rider from his saddle. Tukul’s eyes searched for Gar, thought he saw him, a curved sword rising and falling. Fear for his son fluttered in his belly. He will live or he will die, he told himself, dragging his eyes away.

He touched his reins, guiding his horse into an arc that led back towards the road, fixed his eyes on a pocket of warriors who seemed to be organizing quicker than the rest. They were gathered about the wains, were spreading along the embankment of the road, moving to flank around Corban’s arrowhead that had punched into the heart of the enemy. He glanced behind him, saw the Jehar and Benothi were following him, spreading either side. They would be a wall when they hit the enemy, not a point. He saw Akar’s face, the man nodding grimly to him. Tukul had mixed both groups of the Jehar, having noticed a polarization occurring between the Hundred that had followed him from Telassar and the survivors of those who had followed Sumur. That is not good. We are kin. What’s done is done and there should be no grievance between us. And nothing binds like battle.

Tukul was two hundred paces away when he urged Daria to a gallop and let her go. She did not need telling twice, exploding forwards. Wind whipped his face. He looped his reins around his saddle pommel, pressing his knees tight against her flanks, flicked open the leather catch on his axe’s saddle holster.

A hundred and fifty paces.

The ground was drumming to their charge, hooves and iron-shod giants. He pulled his axe free, drew his sword from his back in one long sinuous move. All about him he heard the Jehar echoing him.

A hundred paces.

Battle was raging further along the road, Corban and his followers carving deep into the warband, their progress slowing, horses jostling and heaving in a mass of flesh. Closer to Tukul men amongst the enemy were screaming orders, moving to meet Tukul and his hundred.

Fifty paces, and Tukul fixed his eyes on a trio of warriors standing together, braced, shields raised, spears dipped like stakes. Elyon above, I give you my sword and my soul.