On the bridge, Matil drew her long, straight sword, keeping her shield pressed against her body. Chel suspected she had already broken her arm. He felt his shoulder throbbing in sympathy. Hurkel advanced, towering over the gold-armoured woman, a giant in black iron. She swung, slashed, stabbed, each blow of her sword meeting only impenetrable plate metal. The giant continued his stomping advance, good hand empty, the other a gleaming metal trident. Her blade boomed away once more from his shell, and then he lunged, wrapping the prongs of his fork-hand around the blade of Matil’s sword and twisting. With a cry, she dropped the weapon, and as it clattered to the stone he lunged with the trident again. She dragged the shield in front of her body, but the prongs punched straight through and into the arm beneath.

Despite the wind, her scream echoed across the city.

Matil fell to her knees, free hand struggling against the gruesome spikes that transfixed her arm and pressed into her body beneath. Hurkel bent over her, driving the fork-arm forward again and again, a slick grimace pulling at his uneven mouth with every thrust. Then, with his remaining hand, he picked up Matil’s fallen sword.

He turned to face the city, yanking the stricken Keeper with him, and began to speak.

‘The fuck is he saying?’ Rennic muttered.

Chel shook his head. ‘Can’t hear over the wind.’

‘Bombastic prick. Where is that fucking alchemist?’

Hurkel was still speaking, gesturing with the sword and occasionally refreshing the Keeper’s screams with a fresh twist of his trident hand. Then he reached some kind of crescendo, and yanked her to her feet. Slowly, Hurkel made his way onto the smashed wagon, clambering stiff-legged until he stood upon its groaning roof, then dragged Matil out into empty air above the bridge, dangling by her ruined arm, still impaled upon his fork-hand.

Kosh came bustling back onto the rampart, a bundle in her arms. ‘I have enough for a temporary repair, although the force of another shot may snap it again. Really, it needs to go back to the workshop for a proper replacement, but it was only ever a prototype, and in the newer models I’ve—’ Her gaze slipped beyond the battlements to the bridge and her mouth formed a small O of horror.

Rennic filled her vision, crossbow extended. ‘Just fucking fix it!’

Hurkel was speaking again, his words lost to the wind, while Matil hung limp and lifeless from his extended arm. Chel had to give horrified respect to the man’s strength; the Keeper was a solid woman, no waif, and he had her entire body weight swaying from his replacement hand. Hurkel roared something at the walls, presumably in triumph, then raised Matil’s sword.

‘Hurry up, Nort,’ Rennic growled, one eye on the bridge.

‘What is—’

‘Just hurry the fuck up!’