Hurkel swung. The first blow smashed against the Keeper’s stranded shield, tearing a chunk from its edge. Hurkel hacked away, bellowing all the while, hewing through wood and metal, splitting the mail beneath. Then bright blood sprayed, and with a sickening crunch the sword bit bone. Matil’s screams pierced the wind as she sagged lower, muscles tearing, then Hurkel delivered the final blow. The Keeper dropped like a sack to the bloodied stone beneath, while Hurkel threw down the sword and tore the ruined shield from his metal prosthesis. Feet planted wide on the wagon roof, he raised the shield over his head while blood streamed from the severed arm still strapped within, and roared his challenge at the walls.

Wordlessly, Kosh pushed the crossbow back into Rennic’s outstretched hands. ‘Finally,’ he tried to say, but his voice faltered, and he swallowed the word. The Nort began to edge away from the ramparts, her gaze like cracked glass, on the verge of shattering. Rennic slotted a bolt against the newly drawn string, and met the little Nort’s fractured glance.

‘I will put this between that fucker’s eyes.’

He propped the crossbow back against the fortifications, drawing a bead on the rampaging giant above the wagon. Already the confessors were flooding forward onto the bridge, their own shields held high in triumph and as protection from archers. An arrow flashed from the wall, slamming against Hurkel’s armoured hide. It splintered on impact, falling away as shards. Hurkel was laughing.

‘Laugh it up, metal man,’ Rennic muttered. ‘Let’s see you chuckle with a bolt in your teeth.’

‘Wait!’ Chel had one hand on his arm, meeting his glare with a gesture to the bridge. ‘Look.’

On the bridge, Matil was moving. Mutilated and bleeding heavily, the Keeper had dragged herself upright against the back of the flattened wagon, and was leaning lop-sided against it. Her remaining arm flapped against its thick hatch, leaving streaks of rusty blood on the metal.

Rennic froze. ‘Nort. Nort!’

Kosh stumbled forward, her mind a thousand miles away.

‘I need fire. I need a flaming bolt. Like in the citadel, you understand? Just like that.’ He grabbed her arm, shaking her, forcing her to acknowledge him. ‘Can you do it?’

Hurkel ripped the dismembered arm clear of the shield and hurled it to the dust below, laughing. Another shot from the walls pinged from his armour, increasing his mirth. Behind him, the confessors advanced. They had begun to chant again.

Kosh focused. She grabbed the bolt and withdrew to the back of the rampart, rummaging in the bundle she’d brought. A moment later, she scurried back, handing Rennic the bolt, a thick wad of something dark slathered around its shaft.

‘What’s—’

She only shook her head, then extended her hand, ready to drop something onto the bolt. ‘Ready?’

Rennic slotted the bolt, and took aim. ‘Almost.’