“Barbaricprimitiveand yet so fierce! They are driving into our forces like a coals through cream!”

“What? It cannot be. We have five thousand troops and they have five hundred. All the reports confirmed that number.”

“There are more than five hundred, my lord. Many more.”

“Have all the scouts lied, then? Or are we all going mad. These barbarian warriors, they must have come

with Hawkmoon from Amarehk. What now? What now? Are our forces rallying?”

“They are not, my lord.”

“What are they doing, then?”

“They are falling back, my lord.”

“Retreating? Impossible!”

“They appear to be falling back rapidly, my lord. Those that live.”

“What do you mean? How many remain of our five thousand?”

“I would say about five hundred infantry, my lord, and a scattered hundred of cavalry.”

“Tell the pilot of my ornithopter to prepare his machine herald.”

“I will, my lord.”

“Is the pilot ready to fly, herald?”

“He is, my lord.”

“And what of Hawkmoon and his band? What of the men in the silver helms?”

“They are pursuing the remains of our force, my lord.”

“I have been deceived in some way, herald.”

“As you say, my lord. There are many dead. But now the barbarian warriors slaughter the infantry. Only the cavalry escape.”

“I cannot believe it. O, curse this blindness! I feel as if I dreamt”

“I will lead you to the ornithopter, my lord.”

“Thank you, herald. No, pilotto Londra. Hurry. I must consider fresh plans!”

As the ornithopter beat its way up into the pale blue sky, Meliadus felt a great silver flash pass across his eyes and he blinked, looking down. And he could see. He could see the six flashing helmets the herald had mentioned, he could see the slaughtered legions he had known would destroy Hawkmoon’s force, he saw the remains of his cavalry scurrying wildly for their lives. And he heard distant laughter he recognised as belonging to his most hated enemy.

He shook his fist. “Hawkmoon! Hawkmoon!”

Silver flashed as a helmet turned to look upward.

“No matter what tricks you use, Hawkmoon, you will perish by the night. I know you will. I know!”

He looked again, seething as Hawkmoon laughed on. He looked for the barbarians who had routed his soldiers. They had vanished.

It was a nightmare, he thought. Or had the herald been in league with Hawkmoon? Or were Hawkmoon’s barbarians invisible to his eyes?

Meliadus rubbed at his face. Perhaps the blindness, so recently left him, was still troubling him in some obscure form. Perhaps the barbarians were on another part of the field.

But no, there were no barbarians.

“Hurry, pilot,” he called through the sound of the metallic wings flapping at the air. “Hurrywe must return to Londra as fast as we can!”