To the west, behind a low hill, he saw a cloud of dust appear, marking Geraint’s horsemen as they circled the village. Hidden from the rebels inside. The plan was that they would go round the village and wait for Veradis’ shield wall to flush the rebels out of the town into the open meadows beyond, a killing ground for Geraint’s mounted warriors.

Veradis had spent over a moon hunting down the remnants of King Eremon’s resistance. The realm was still not stable, and that would not change while its newly appointed vassal king Conall was away chasing after Edana. Domhain had been conquered, the citizens of Dun Taras throwing open the gates in surrender, in acceptance of Conall, one of their own, with the blood of a Domhain king in his veins.

Even if he is a bastard. But Rhin sitting upon the throne in Conall’s absence had not gone down well. Unrest had escalated into violence, and the streets of Dun Taras had run red. The rebels had notched up a string of minor victories, and even when Veradis and his shield wall had entered the fray it had been hard, bloody work. The shield wall had not been designed for enclosed spaces and back-alley fighting. But eventually the rebels had been defeated and fled. Rhin had ordered her battlechief, Geraint, to give chase, and had asked Veradis to lend his support.

Better to crush them now, put an end to the leaders, than allow them to spread their poison. It will only fester and rear up again, she had said to him.

Veradis knew she was right. The stability of the realm meant peace and less bloodshed.

They reached a field of barley, trampling through the green unripened stalks. A wide street of hard-packed mud opened before them. Veradis heard the bass lowing of a herd of auroch in the distance. He gave his commands and the warriors’ shields snapped together, a concussive crack as they marched forwards, no one breaking stride. Veradis peered over the rim of his shield. It was an improved design, oval instead of round, giving more protection to his head and ankles, while making it easier to stab his short sword around its edges. He’d spent much of the winter thinking on his shield wall, considering strategies, strengths and weaknesses, seeing where injuries were most common, and the new shields were one of a few innovations he had made.

They marched into the village, their iron-nailed boots thumping on the ground like a drum beating time. A narrow street angled away, and Veradis gave more orders. The back row of twelve men broke out of formation and establishing a new compact wall, three men wide, four deep, who took this new street. This was how he’d learned to fight in the city streets – smaller, more compact groups.