In moments or minutes, he could not tell which, the enemy fled under the onslaught. Many threw their weapons down and ran blindly, racing for the safety of the Menin line, which had now turned to face the Farlan. Isak screamed his frustration as he saw them run and drew on the Skull again.

He reached up and brandished Eolis above his head, and in the glittering blade's wake, silvery threads appeared, and spun and spun at a blinding speed until Isak threw the swirl after the fleeing soldiers. Though it barely brushed the first, it ripped his arm and shoulder away, and streaked on past the shrieking man into the main bulk of soldiers. Everyone it touched was thrown to the ground, blood fountaining from a thousand cuts; those it engulfed simply disappeared in a crimson blur.

Isak released the stream of magic and panted for breath. The knights with him were cheering as they watched the enemy flee. He looked lower and saw the brutalised remains of the Menin infantry, a carpet of corpses spread out behind him.

'That's what it's about, my Lord!' yelled a man beside him, his voice ragged from heaving breaths and elation. Isak didn't recognise the crest for a moment before his memory kicked in: rose petals and a dagger; that's Suzerain Lehm.

'Showed the bastards what a heavy cavalry charge can do, eh?' Lehm gestured at the slaughter all around him and Isak realised he was right. Half of the dead would have been killed by the steel-shod, armoured horses.

'We've no time yet for celebration,' General Lahk roared, his voice carrying over the clamour, 'form up!' Men jumped to obey as the familiar repeating warble of the horns rang out. Light cavalrymen rode forward in pursuit of the routed troops, looking to cut them down before they reached safety.

As Isak watched, the Menin cavalry regained some semblance of order and started preparing to repel the Farlan soldiers – then a cry came from behind him as someone shouted, "Ware! Attack – attack from the city!' The alarm in his voice was plain for all to hear, and Isak turned at once and began to force his way through the crowd, Vesna close behind him, leaving the general to berate hurscals and nobles alike for not reforming quickly enough. Somewhere near the back, a hurscal in Suzerain Foleh's colours called out, 'Don't know how it happened, but judging by the way they're running, looks like someone's just torn through that legion.' The man, who didn't appear much older than Isak himself, was standing in his stirrups, pointing back towards Byora. Despite his youth he sounded assured, like a veteran.

Isak could see the reserves were already turning; doubtless they'd heard the bugle calls from the legion guarding the entrance to Byora.

'There's never a bloody scryer when we need one,' Isak growled.

He closed his eyes and placed one hand over the Skull fused to his cuirass, drawing deeply on its energy again. A cold wave surged through his mind, making him gasp with shock. He centred himself, breathing slowly and deeply, and closed his mind off to everything but the steady rhythm of his beating heart for a moment before sending his senses soaring high up into the brooding sky. He ignored the angry swirl of clouds and concentrated instead on the Land below. The wind rising up off the ground carried the damp smell of earth and the tang of spilled blood. He could feel the remaining priests and Aspects as a gentle fizz at the back of his mind; Kastan Styrax was a bright burning beacon, his Crystal Skulls causing a spark of sharp pain until Isak managed to block him. He felt a sense of great age wash over him when he looked north: whatever was attacking them was old, very old. At the back of his mind a presence stirred, then all of a sudden there was a rushing sensation and he yelped, throwing up a hasty wall around his mind before realising he didn't need the defence, he wasn't under attack. Something had left him – maybe not entirely, for he thought he could still detect a thread of energy connecting them – but it had found the strength to cross the battlefield. The Soldier, he thought, the Aspect of Death who is at his strongest on the battlefield-

He paused, suddenly struck by something: the presences out on the field felt remarkably similar to the Soldier, more like divine than mortal. Before he could investigate further, a stirring in the east grabbed his attention. When he turned in its direction, a vast presence suddenly locked its gaze onto him, and in that instant Isak sensed rage beyond anything he'd experienced before, even surpassing that fury that had almost consumed him in his first battle.

Isak didn't wait to find out any more but broke the flow of magic and forced his eyes open.

Vesna, his face-plate raised, was peering anxiously at him. 'Gods, that's never a good sign,' he said, not even trying to sound light' hearted as Isak pulled his helm from his head and tried desperately to suck in air.

Isak shook his whole body, like a wet dog. 'Wasn't my fucking fault this time,' he gasped, 'but something's waking up on Blackfang.'

'What do you mean, waking up?' Vesna said in dismay. 'And something! Do you mean another water elemental?'

'No such luck – whatever it is, it's far bigger.' He paused, trying to place the sensation, then a memory stirred in the back of his mind. 'Gods,' he breathed, 'it reminded me of Genedel.'

Vesna blanched. 'There's a bloody dragon about to attack us?'

'Me,' Isak corrected him; 'it's about to attack me.'

'What did you do to it?'

Isak snapped, roaring, 'Nothing!' as he shoved Vesna with such force that he almost toppled from his saddle. 'For once it's not my damn fault!' He looked back at the Menin line and snarled, 'And it's not our only bloody problem either – whatever's attacking from By or a is kin to the Reapers.'

'Kin?' Vesna thought for a moment. 'Piss and daemons; those bastard sons of Death. It's the Jesters. We hoped they'd died in the fires of Scree, but looks like no such luck. Cockroaches always find a way to survive, don't they?'

'I doubt leaving Azaer's employ is an option either,' Isak said grimly, 'dead or alive. But more important: right now we're surrounded.' Their plans hadn't included fighting their way out of a trap – none of the scryers had found enough troops to entrap a mounted army, and the legion stationed at Byora's gate should have been enough to stop any surprise sorties. 'Suggestions?'

Vesna looked down at his wrist, then towards the Menin lines. His mouth opened a little, then closed again as indecision took over.

'Nothing?' Isak asked. 'Do you think we might be able to rout the Menin with an all-out push?'

Vesna gave a helpless shrug. 'I don't know. They're formed up now, so we won't catch anyone alone out in the open.'

He looked around at the Farlan light cavalry regiments on either side of them. They were able to strafe the enemy lines, whilst remaining manoeuvrable enough to dodge any potential counterattacks. In the distance, the drums on the Menin lines beat out an ominous tattoo of orders he couldn't understand.

'We can't just stand here,' Vesna muttered, thinking aloud. 'If we call a full retreat we'll have them snapping at our heels, but as long as we can break through the Jesters, it should be manageable. If we push on… Well, I've no idea what we're going to meet.

They know they only need to blunt our attack, and what with the Reavers, the minotaurs and Lord Styrax himself, they've pretty much got the weapons to do it.'

'Fuck,' Isak breathed as he turned back to the eastern horizon, his mouth dropping open.

For a moment Vesna couldn't see what had attracted Isak's attention. He scanned the outline of Blackfang in vain before realising Isak was looking higher: at an indistinct black shape that was climbing, slowly, ponderously, into the sky.

'Gods…' Vesna stared at the shape, trying to gauge just how large it was, but he gave up. There was no point. 'That is what's coming for you?'