Geraint lingered a moment. ‘Keep your head down,’ the older warrior said, then he was riding away too, back down the road to Rhin’s warband – close to two thousand swords spreading wide behind him, a mix of mounted men and foot soldiers.

This is it, Veradis thought, emotion swelling within him.

‘Give the signal,’ he said, and a warrior blew on a horn, two crisp notes. Before they had faded his eagle-guard was spilling from the road, forming into three blocks facing east. He would lead the first one, the other two behind, and together they would become a spearhead of iron and wood, flesh and bone. He marched towards his front rank, glanced at the shield wall to his left, warriors milling, forming lines. He saw Caesus, his captain, leaning out of the front line, looking towards him. They shared a glance and Caesus touched his fist to his heart, a salute. Veradis returned the gesture, then strode along the front line of his wall.

Faces stared back at him, grim and resolute. Many of them he recognized as having stood with him from the beginning, faced the charge of giants and draigs on that hillside in Tarbesh. Nathair’s Fangs, they had called themselves, named after the draig teeth Nathair had given to each and every one of the survivors. Veradis’ hand slipped to his sword pommel, where his draig tooth had been carved into the wood and leather hilt.

‘Victory or death!’ he cried in a loud voice and tugged his helmet on, hefted his shield and took his place in the wall. His cry was echoed, a thunderclap in the dawn as his men slammed tight around him.

The enemy were camped about half a league away, tents sprawled upon a gentle slope to the east of the giantsway, disappearing over the crest of the hill. Their fires were dimming as the sun rose, washing the earth with a pastel glow. Horn blasts rang out and the shield wall slipped into motion, smooth and practised, not a misstep that Veradis could tell. They had all removed the fur from their boots and now their progress was marked by a rumble as they marched forwards.

His heartbeat and the marching of feet kept time, helping to calm nerves, giving a discipline to their advance that somehow helped to keep in check the surge of emotions that accompanied battle – rage, fear, doubt. They passed across open meadows, the enemy growing ever closer.

Veradis’ eyes scanned the hillside but it was still cloaked in great patches of shadow, the sun rising behind it, making silhouettes of tents and figures, and making him squint. Figures stood tall, silently waiting for them.

Wise, making camp with the rising sun at your back. But sunlight will not save them. Not this day.