A horse and rider crunched into them, Daria staggering, almost falling, the warrior swinging at Tukul’s head. Tukul blocked the blow, irritated at being delayed from reaching his intended foe. Rotating his shoulders, he turned his block into a downward chop, but he was parried, the enemy swaying in his saddle and turning his own defence into a stab at Tukul’s throat.

Tukul flicked the sword-point away, nodded and smiled, acknowledging the skill of his opponent. He took a heartbeat to study him – an ornately etched helmet with horsehair plume and mail tail protecting the back of the neck, shirt of mail, single-handed sword and an iron-rimmed shield – fine, solid equipment, better than most around him.

A leader of men, then. A captain, perhaps even lord. Because of the man’s skill Tukul gave him the respect of his full attention.

He touched his heels to Daria’s ribs, urged her to the left and forwards, sending a combination of blows at his enemy as he rode at him, a series of swooping chops and short lunges, splinters and sparks flying from the warrior’s shield and blade. His opponent blocked most of them, though ever more wildly, each time pulling him more and more out of position, blood welling from a cut to his thigh and another on his forearm. Daria bit his mount’s neck, causing it to pull away, for a heartbeat spoiling the rider’s balance. Tukul struck again, opened a cut across the warrior’s bicep, slicing deep into muscle just below his mail sleeve, slashed at the reins, severing them, a short backswing, sword crunching into the man’s mail shirt, bruising if not breaking bones, then pulled back and chopped down once, twice, three times, the third blow glancing off of his opponent’s helmet and slicing into the gap between mail shirt and the helmet’s mail tail. Blood spurted, though Tukul knew instinctively that the wound was not deep.

Nevertheless the combination of blows sent the man reeling in his saddle and, without his reins to balance himself, he toppled from his mount, crashing to the ground, where he lay, winded and bleeding.

Tukul hovered over him, looking for a space to lean down and finish the man, then he heard a scream from his right, saw a Jehar sent flying from his mount by a bear-swipe.

That beast needs to stop killing my sword-kin. He whispered in Daria’s ear and she leaped away, found some open ground and launched herself at the bear and its rider.

There was a pile of corpses about the bear and giant, horses and Jehar massed like a tide-line of the dead. Tukul mastered his anger, guiding Daria along the bear’s flank, and he sliced into the animal’s rear leg, pulling away, knowing it had been a good blow, cutting through muscle and chipping bone.