The Melody had slept out on the slope, hundreds of small fires lighting the hill around the city, double watches to prevent a night attack that hadn’t come. Ilandeh had been surprised by that – the Tokob and Yaloh facility with ambush and trap had convinced her they’d be fighting from the moment they emerged into sight of the city.

Still, it would be over soon. She and Calan had crept down to Pilos’s position once night had fallen to co-ordinate their attack, and now they just had to wait and see how the defenders would fight – whether they’d march out to try and break the forces arrayed against them, or whether slave warriors and dog warriors would take the walls and hold them for macaws and then eagles to wash the streets with blood.

Pilos’s order was to give the defenders until halfway to highsun; if they hadn’t surrendered or come out to fight by then, the Talons would assault the walls. All around Ilandeh stood the rest of the macaws, fierce and bright in their war paint and their salt-cotton armour, feathers and spears and glass blades winking in the morning light.

As they watched, the gates opened and warriors flooded out to both east and west. And then the upper gate opened too. They were making a stand of it.

Ilandeh glanced downhill and saw Calan hold her spear and small shield crossed above her head; she returned the gesture. ‘Let them come!’ the Flight shouted as the lines around her shifted. ‘Do them that honour, for though they fight for the wrong reasons, they are brave.’

The Tokob began their war chant and the Yaloh wove theirs through it, and as it rose into the sky it sent a warning shudder down the length of her back. It wasn’t full of fire and vengeance and promises of retribution; it was a quiet defiance, eerie, and hauntingly beautiful. If the sacred song of the Empire could be given human voice, it might sound something like this. She shuddered again at such blasphemy and whispered a soft, fervent prayer for forgiveness to the holy Setatmeh.

The Melody’s own chant rose sporadically along the lines and grew in strength and vigour and Ilandeh added her voice to it, feeling it lift her and fill her with righteousness. Their chant too was beautiful, and it drove them all, speeding their hearts and their blood. When they reached the moment within the song that called for movement, for passion and fire, they began to flow downhill towards the enemies who would one day be happy, productive members of the Empire.

‘Range,’ called voices up and down the line as they ran, and the front ranks loosed their arrows. They thrummed through the morning and the Melody flowed behind them, three volleys and others coming back to meet them, and then they reached the second range and their throwers launched their big, heavy javelins.