‘Sound the halt,’ he grunted to the signaller stationed behind him. A horn blast rang out. The shield wall rippled to a standstill, the other two on his wings doing the same, only heartbeats behind. Veradis stared at the clusters of figures before him, standing straight-backed and static, a breeze tugging at their cloaks, a fluttering of fabric.

He lowered his shield and stepped out of the shield wall, cursing himself for a fool.

He strode forwards, past a guttering fire, drawing the longsword at his hip as he approached the first group and hacked at a figure. It collapsed to the ground, the sound of sticks splitting, others in the line tugged to the ground where they were tied and stacked together.

He kicked at the form at his feet – sticks bound together and wrapped in a cloak. Cries from the woodland on his flank rang out: Rhin’s horsemen moving through the open trees, discovering the true nature of their foe. Caesus reached him, eagle-guard at his back.

‘Search the campsite,’ Veradis ordered, already knowing what they would find. Or not find.

Rhin cantered up the hill to him, Geraint and a dozen shieldmen about her.

‘A trick, my lady,’ Veradis said bitterly, lifting a tattered cloak from the ground as she drew near.

‘That I can see,’ she snapped, her face tight with rage. ‘The question is: where are they?’

Just what I was thinking.

A cry sounded from his warband, spreading, taken up by others. From the slope they were standing on they had a fine view of the surrounding countryside. Veradis saw men pointing back towards Uthandun. A sick feeling flowered in his belly, the aftermath of a punch to the gut. He stared hard at Uthandun, walls bathed in the light of dawn as the sun fully crested the hill at his back. At first he could see nothing wrong, then a flicker drew his eyes. Not Uthandun, but close to it. The Vin Thalun ships.

Their sails were burning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

TUKUL

Tukul ran up the boarding plank onto the black-sailed ship, his sword dripping red, Corban and a score more following behind him. All along the riverbank his Jehar were doing the same, killing guards and boarding ships. Thus far there was little clamour of battle – the defenders having been taken by surprise.

That won’t last much longer.

They’d chosen eleven ships to board, eight of these sleeker galleys and three fat-bellied transporters. Enough to hold their entire warband, and their horses as well, if all went to plan.

But I’ve never known any plan to go smoothly.

To his right there was a burst of brightness and a wash of heat. He glanced, saw a furled sail burning fiercely, fire feeding greedily on fabric, saw the flicker of arrows, flames trailing incandescent in the sky and in moments more ships were on the way to becoming crackling torches.