The tower reared over rooftops ahead of them, its unshuttered windows like dark eyes in its granite face. They are here somewhere, could not have slipped away in the night. He saw a flash of movement in one of the windows. Holed up in the tower, then.

A sound seeped into his awareness, more a vibration at first, travelling into his boots, up his legs. It grew louder by the heartbeat, and then a cloud of dust was roiling down the street towards them. He stood, gaped open mouthed for long moments before he realized what was happening.

‘Auroch,’ he bellowed, leaping to the side, pulling men with him.

The huge cattle stampeded down the street, swinging their long horns from huge, shaggy-haired heads. Tall as giants, they were mountains of muscle and fur. The ground shook beneath their hooves.

Veradis slammed against a wall, other men with him, some crashing through doors and shuttered windows. One of his warriors stumbled in the road. Veradis reached out a hand, but the auroch were already upon them. One moment the warrior was there, the next he was gone, blood splattering Veradis’ face as a seething, stinking mass of cattle surged by, the thunder of it almost overwhelming.

And then they were past, stampeding down the street, out into the fields of barley. He called out to his men, his voice a croak choked by the dust, and he saw shapes scattered on the ground, knowing they were his sword-brothers and that many would never stand again.

For the first time in an age he felt a deep, mind-numbing fear fill him. The shield wall had been dominant for so long in his memory, crushing any opponent with overwhelming regularity, that to see it broken and scattered so easily was shocking. Not since the very first battle, when he had stood in the wall and faced a charge of draig-riding giants had the shield wall been so easily destroyed.

Then he heard voices, battle-cries, saw shadowy figures emerging from the settling dust. The rebels, come to finish any survivors before we can regroup.

Somehow he was still holding his shield. He drew his short sword. ‘To me,’ he managed, more a choking whisper than the battle-cry he was hoping for, then again, louder, the act dissolving the fear that had frozen him, transforming it into anger. His eagle-guard would not fall like this. He glimpsed a handful of his warriors moving towards him. Then the rebels were on them, screaming their defiance.

Veradis took a blow on his shield that reverberated through his arm. He swept his shield wide, opening his foe’s defence, and plunged his sword into the man’s belly, wrenching it free in a spray of blood. He snarled and kicked the collapsing man away, strode into the chaos, a hot rage filling his veins.