The household went up the last few yards with their archers loosing at very close range—most of them already at or behind trees as big as the columns that supported a church roof.

The daemons stopped the captain’s household cold, and didn’t give a foot’s breadth. Nell fell there, cut almost in two by a daemon’s axe, and Toby saw the captain go down—struck in the chest by a rock—he rolled, and got to his feet before Toby could take any action. Then Toby missed his guard and caught most of a blow—his helmet did not fail, but his head moved too far, he screamed and fell, and the captain’s ghiavarina was everywhere for a few seconds. A daemon fell—another rolled forward, tripping on its own tangled guts.

“Back!” roared the captain.

Toby had never seen the company stopped. He could not, at first, believe it, and Cully, safe behind a tree at the base of the slope, had to pull the stunned boy out of the line of rocks now falling as the daemons taunted the beaten company.

The household retreated slowly, dragging their wounded. The rest of the company was not retreating—in some cases, like Ser Michael’s lance, they had won the race to the crest.

“Was that Nell?” the captain asked Toby.

“Yes,” Toby spat.

The archers continued, working through their livery arrows at a stunning rate. The thrown rocks were not enough answer, and their shafts began to tell. The daemons were suffering. One of their shamans tossed a working.

The captain unravelled it.

“Listen,” the captain said to Toby. “Listen to the horns.” He smiled.

Toby heard only the sound of desperate combat: horns, and horns, steel and shouting, and screams. Nell—Chris Foliak… He had never felt so tired. So beaten.

“Ready everyone?” the captain called. “Fast as you can to the top. Everyone kill one. This is it.”

Toby looked around. What did he hear? They were going again?

The captain stepped out from behind his great tree and a stone hit his left arm. He raised his right and blew a long call on his horn.

The beaten household got up, or came out from behind their trees.

The captain was already a third of the way up the slope. He was flying over the rocks like a faery horse. Toby decided to try not watching his footing and jumping—in full plate armour—from rock to rock.

It was insanely foolish.

He fell, and his breastplate took the force of his fall on a sharp rock—rose, and jumped.

He could no longer see the captain, but suddenly, above him, there was a great beaked face.

Sometimes, you have to go up the hill first.