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The Shadow Prince came soaring towards him, hand outstretched, and Wilder only had a second to brace himself and hold out his own hand before Tal’s wrapped around his forearm.

Suddenly he was airborne, Talemir’s wings beating hard above him while his former mentor flew them straight towards the frost giant. Icy wind whipped around them and arrows soared past in terrifying proximity. Wilder only hoped Cal’s aim was as good as everyone said.

As he hung onto Tal with one hand, Wilder’s focus homed in on the enormous creature, searching for weak spots in its flesh as it drove its club through another entire unit of the midrealms’ forces. With the way it was moving, its arms swinging across its chest, it would be near impossible to pierce its heart.

Which meant there was only one place he could strike.

The air grew even colder, and he realised they were gaining height, flying high above the madness now, closing in on the frost giant from above.

‘You’re up, Apprentice,’ Talemir called down to him, and let him go.

Stifling a shout, Wilder fell through the air. Decades of training kept his limbs from flailing as he plummeted, not towards the blackened ice, but towards the frost giant. A thrill surged through him, blood roaring in his ears.

He landed hard on the creature’s shoulder, immediately scrambling to find purchase as the beast staggered forward with a thunderous bellow. The shadows around its throat and wrists compounded in a burst of darkness, ribbons of onyx power surging straight for Wilder, already tempting his worst nightmares to the surface.

With a shout, Talemir was there, slicing through the shadows with his twin swords, his wings beating furiously to keep him aloft as he defended Wilder. Terrence soared into view, talons poised for damage. The hawk clawed at the monster’s eyes with a vengeance.

Gripping the rag the giant wore, Wilder managed to get himself upright on the moving creature as it careened across the battlefield. Slashing through more tendrils of shadow that attempted to wrench him off the giant, Wilder threw himself at the beast’s head, climbing up the back of its thick neck, using its lank hair as rope.

He fought back disgust and disbelief at what he was doing as he reached the crown of the giant’s skull. It was flailing beneath him now, fighting the shadows at its wrists to reach up and rip him from its head. More dark power came for Wilder, digging into his memories and bringing every horror to the forefront of his mind. But the frost giant beneath him grounded him in a surreal reality, and he gripped a handful of its hair to steady himself, to hang on.

Clutching his sword with his other hand, Wilder took a deep breath, and speared his blade into the creature’s shoulder. The roar that followed could have flattened the surrounding mountains.

Wilder pushed his weapon deeper into the tendons, causing the beast to twist, allowing him to direct the impact towards Artos’ forces as he and the giant hurtled towards the ground.

Wrenching his blade from its flesh, Wilder aimed and, with all his might, drove the blade into the creature’s brain from above.

Hot blood spewed from the wound, covering Wilder in a stream.

Suddenly, the frost giant was falling, and Wilder wrenched on its hair. At the last moment, he leapt from it, the impact as he hit the frozen earth making his teeth sing and his knees jar as he skidded across the black ice.

‘Holy fucking shit,’ Torj’s voice sounded nearby.

Wilder could only watch; time seemed to slow as the frost giant’s corpse collided with the ground, decimating two entire units of the enemy’s force, crushing soldiers beneath its hulking body, sending a wave of aftershocks through the army.

Wilder felt Torj at his side. His fellow Warsword motioned to the blood coating his new armour, his face and his hair.

‘Not yours?’ was all the Bear Slayer said.

‘Not mine.’

‘Good.’ Torj slammed his hammer into a howler’s face with a sickening crunch, and launched himself back into the fray.

Panting, Wilder surveyed the sea of monsters and carnage. A loud mechanical groan echoed across the front line. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he shuddered as he spotted the source – a long-armed catapult being loaded on the enemy’s side, ready to blow more holes in their ranks.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THEA

They were losing. Their lines had broken long ago, and even though Wilder had brought down the frost giant in a spectacular display of ingenuity and strength, despair filtered down through the ranks as the enemy loaded a catapult.

Thea had fought at the battle of Notos, had sliced through man and monster alike. But it had been nothing like this. The savage brutality, the choking nature of battle was overwhelming.

She had leapt from her mare long ago to help Drue battle back a horde of howlers. Now, she searched the field for another, desperate to clap eyes on Artos again and hunt him down through the madness. Thea was going to kill him. Twice she had saved his life. Now, she was going to end it.

Kipp’s voice carried across the clash of shields and swords, and she whirled around to find him amid the fighting. Wasn’t he meant to be at the back?

‘Get the oil barrels! The Flaming Arrow will be ready,’ he was telling Talemir, gasping for air. ‘Drench the fucking lot of them with oil and we’ll light those fuckers up.’