The Nah’ruk front was less than a hundred paces away.
They had seen him and now they took note. Lightning blistered all along the front line.
Horse clambering drunkenly from the crater, Ruthan Gudd shook his head, readying his blazing weapon. Dirt streamed down his back beneath his smeared, steaming armour. He spat grit.
That wasn’t so bad now.
Directly in front of him, twenty paces away, looming huge, the front line. Their eyes glittered like diamonds within the shadows beneath the rims of their ornate helms. The fangs lining their snouts glistened like shards of iron.
He had an inkling that they had not expected to see him again. He rode over to say hello.
‘Crossbows at the ready!’ Fiddler yelled. ‘Go for the nodes!’
‘The what?’
‘The lumpy ones! That’s where the magic’s coming from!’
Koryk scrambled to crouch beside Fiddler. The man was sheathed in bloody mud. ‘Who pops up for a look, Fid?’
‘I will,’ said Corabb, surging upward and clawing up the berm. ‘Gods below! That captain’s still alive! He’s in their ranks-’
As Corabb made to clamber out of the trench-clearly intending to join Gudd and charge the whole damned phalanx, Tarr reached out and dragged the fool back down.
‘Stay where you are, soldier! Get that crossbow-no, that one there! Load the fucker!’
‘Range, Corabb?’ Fiddler asked.
‘Forty and slowed, Sergeant-that captain’s carving right through ’em!’
‘Won’t matter much. I don’t care if he’s got Oponn’s poker up his ass, he’s only one man.’
‘We should help him!’
‘We can’t, Corabb,’ Fiddler said. ‘Besides, that’s the last thing he’d want-why d’you think he went out there on his own? Leave him, soldier. We got our own trouble come knocking. Koryk, you take the next look, count of ten. Nine, eight, seven-’
‘I ain’t getting my head blasted off!’
Fiddler swung his crossbow round to point at Koryk’s chest. ‘Four, three, two, one-up you go!’
Snarling, Koryk scrambled upward. Then was back down almost instantly. ‘Shit. Twenty-five and picking up speed!’
Fiddler raised his voice. ‘Everyone ready! The nodes! Hold it-hold it- NOW! ’
Hedge led his Bridgeburners just to the rear of the last trenches. ‘I don’t care what Quick thinks, he’s always had backup, he never went it alone. Ever. So that’s us, soldiers-keep up there, Sweetlard! Look at Rumjugs, she ain’t even breathing hard-’
‘She’s forgotten how!’ Sweetlard gasped.
‘Remember what I said,’ Hedge reminded them, ‘Bridgeburners have faced worse than a bunch of stubby lizards. This ain’t nothing, right?’
‘We gonna win, Commander?’
Hedge glanced over at Sunrise. And grinned. ‘Count on it, Sergeant. Now, everyone, check your munitions, and remember to aim for the lumpy ones. We’re about to pull into the open-’
A concussion shook the very air, but it came from the Nah’ruk lines. A billowing black cloud rose like a stain of spilled ink.
‘Gods, what was that?’
Hedge’s grin broadened. ‘That, soldiers, was Quick Ben.’
Lightning arced out from hundreds of clubs, from multiple phalanxes to either side of the one he had attacked. The bolts snapped towards him, then slanted off as Quick Ben flung them aside. And I ain’t Tayschrenn and this ain’t Pale. Got no one behind me, so keep throwing them my way, y’damned geckos. Use it all up!
The first dozen or so ranks of the phalanx he’d struck were down, a few writhing or feebly struggling to rise with crushed limbs and snapped bones. Most were motionless, their bodies boiled from the inside out. As he walked towards those who remained, he saw them regrouping, forming a line to face him once more.
The huge falchions and halberds lifted in readiness.
Quick Ben extended his senses, until he could feel the very air around the creatures, could follow currents of that air as they slipped through gills into reptilian lungs. He reached out to encompass as many of them as possible.
And then he set the air on fire.
Lightning shunted from the High Mage, careened off into the sky and out to the sides.
Sergeant Sunrise shrieked as one bolt twisted and spun straight for Hedge. He flung himself forward, three paces that seemed to tear every muscle in his back and legs. He was a Bridgeburner. He was the man he had always wanted to be; he’d never stood taller, never walked straighter.
