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Together, they were unstoppable.

The first wave of battle erupted around him with a deafening roar, a battering shudder rippling through their entire frontline as their forces collided.

Chaos. Pure chaos.

‘Shadow-touched! Shield!’ Talemir bellowed.

From their ranks darkness now spilt forth as well, and no one flinched as the shadows slid into place around the army, forming a temporary shield of protection around the perimeter. It was just enough to give them an edge, a moment to get their bearings, precious time bought.

When the shield faltered, the ground trembled under the thunderous clash of steel and the anguished cries of howlers and men alike filled the air, as both sides warped beneath the force of the impact. Everything was a blur. Wilder slashed through the enemy while keeping his attention on their own lines. They had to hold. They had to keep formation.

The rugged, uneven terrain, marked by rocky outcroppings and steep slopes, made it difficult for troops and horses to traverse, to keep their places in the structure they had drilled over and over again. The ground itself was littered with mud and icy slush, impeding movement and hindering the effectiveness of their heavy cavalry.

‘Hold!’ Wilder shouted above the carnage. ‘Hold the fucking lines!’

All around him, soldiers panicked as another assault tracked in a wave across the vast landscape, the screams of horses and men echoing all around, tangling with the screeches of the howlers.

Up close, Wilder could see the haze of empath magic clouding the eyes of the enemy soldiers, could feel the unease of it himself. He forced down his guilt, his pity. There was no saving these men. He could give them only one thing: a swift death. And he obliged.

‘Break their lines!’ Talemir was shouting from nearby. ‘Smash them apart!’

Wilder steered his stallion deeper into the fray, carving a path through the enemy for their own men and women behind him.

Cut the head off the snake had been the instruction, and he scanned the battlefield for Artos to no avail. Naturally, the bastard wasn’t in the thick of the fighting – but he saw a flash of gold at the rear of the enemy forces.

Wilder wrenched a spear from a corpse at Biscuit’s hooves. Artos was taking cover amid the thicket on the far end of the field. Nothing but a coward.

Wilder raised his spear, drawing his arm back, his new armour moving with him like a second skin. He threw the spear with all his might, and watched as it hurtled across the battlefield towards the treacherous king.

A terrified horse almost trampled Artos, knocking him just out of the spear’s direct path. Instead, it glanced across his golden armour, with enough force to make Artos stagger, wide-eyed in shock, but not enough to penetrate his breastplate, or take him down completely.

‘Fuck.’ With a frustrated growl, Wilder decapitated two howlers with one sweep of his sword, their heads tumbling to the blood-soaked snow, their bodies collapsing with the rest of the trampled dead.

Pandemonium was swallowing their forces whole.

It didn’t matter how many times Wilder, Torj or Thea shouted for them to hold their lines, to smash the enemy’s – their army’s discipline was faltering already. Howlers, arachnes and other monstrous beasts rushed forth, eyes gleaming with malevolence as they lunged at what had become the vanguard of Warswords.

‘Let’s show them how it’s done,’ Torj called from the helm of his unit.

Wilder braced himself, rallying to the Bear Slayer, Talemir, Vernich and Thea, against Kipp’s advice for them not to become a single target. Right now, they needed to give their own forces hope; they needed to demonstrate their strength and ferocity. They needed to show them the meaning of the word Warsword.

Together, their presence formed a near-unbreakable wall of protection. With each swing of their swords, they slashed a swathe through the enemy lines, their blades cutting through scales and flesh with uncanny precision, allowing for the other defenders of the realm to sweep through and unleash carnage with their own orchid-imbued blades.

The agonised shrieks coming from the monsters surrounding Thea told Wilder she was handling herself just fine, and when he caught her eye across the bloodbath, her face and armour splattered with red and black, she grinned.

A fresh wave of enemy forces assaulted them, their lines faltering again, their shield wall buckling.

‘Hold,’ Thea’s voice cut through the madness. ‘Hold!’

In his peripheral vision, Wilder saw her throw a handful of silver stars, each one finding its mark in the eyes of the howlers bearing down on their frontline. Incapacitating their leaders gave the midrealms’ forces a brief moment to gather themselves and reform their lines. But the reprieve was over in a second, and the swell of soldiers surged with another onslaught, a two-pronged attack this time.

Somewhere in the distance, something exploded, and Wilder was suddenly airborne, hurtling from Biscuit’s back and hitting the ground hard. The impact had his teeth singing, but he rolled, leaping to his feet to avoid the trample of hooves, blades raised again.

From the ground, the battle was even more chaotic, and Wilder hoped Biscuit either found his way back to him or retreated to the outer perimeter. He slashed his way through howler after howler, their blood flowing faster than any river. He revelled in the screams of their demise. Wilder fought side by side with Talemir’s shadow-touched, glad for their shadows and wings more than once.

‘Cal!’ Thea’s voice echoed above the carnage. ‘Now!’

She was still atop her mare, a vision of blood-soaked glory, motioning to her friend, who was stationed at a vantage point on the left flank.