'Bugler, tell the reserves to advance,' he ordered.

The man sounded a flurry of notes, which were repeated back a few moments later. The division was arranged in three lines, bows at the ready, no more than a hundred yards from the fighting. Torl looked for the short figure of Suzerain Saroc, but he couldn't pick out his friend amongst the crowd. The only man not in a Brethren uniform was Chaplain Wain, who was standing up in his stirrups and waving his moon-glaive like a berserker.

Under Torl's commands his own division reordered itself and turned to face the enemy again, advancing to the right wing of the reserves with a clear gap between. They had the advantage of speed over the Bloodsworn and the minotaurs; as soon as they clashed, there'd be no avenue of escape and the Farlan men would likely be crushed.

On Torl's extreme left, a division of Farlan light cavalry were doing their best to distract the minotaurs and break up the Menin line, but their arrows didn't seem to be having much effect. The beasts had been making a terrible racket even before they took any casualties, and as Torl watched, they pulled further left, having seen their Menin counterparts creeping around behind the minotaurs, trying to out-flank them. The Menin light cavalry were holding back, cautious of a head-on charge they wouldn't win. Although they'd really only drifted from one side of their lines to the other, looking for an opening, Torl knew he couldn't afford to let them get around.

'Call Macove back,' he called, judging the benefits of his forward momentum to have finished now. As the bugler sounded the order, some of the soldiers began to peel away even before the order was repeated. 'Come on,' he said, gripping his reins, 'you're hating this, so just fucking charge us!'

'Bastards aren't listening, sir,' Brother-Captain Sheln said from beside him. He wore an open helm which had only a leaf-shaped nose-guard to protect his face. For the first time that Torl could remember there was colour in Sheln's cheek – obviously leaving his lance-head in a knight's throat had a better effect on some than others.

'They won't,' Torl predicted. 'Looks like everything we've heard about the Bloodsworn is true. Bugler, tell the reserves to advance and fire on the minotaurs – let's see how much punishment they can take.'

'Arrows!' called a man, pointing ahead as dark streaks began to slam into Macove's retreating division, courtesy of a group of crossbowmen who had appeared on the centre ground. There weren't that many men, but the crossbows were powerful weapons and it wouldn't take many volleys to leave the division disordered and vulnerable.

'Division advance at the canter,' Torl roared, 'bows ready! Close the range and fire as you go!'

As he urged his horse forward, he saw the majority of the centre line had closed with the Menin line – a fine idea if one were leading the Ten Thousand, no doubt, but in this case it was a waste, using cavalry to fight on infantrymen's ground.

We're not going to break them on this flank. The minotaurs are their only weak point here and we can't bring a sustained attack to bear. If you do have a plan, Chalat, now's the time.

Amber swivelled and chopped down through the shaft, swinging up his shield as the Farlan passed him and smashing it into the man's side, almost knocking him from the saddle. Hain jumped forward and hacked into the man's back with his axe, the man screamed as his horse carried him on past, and the two Menin were on to the next enemy soldier.

The stretch of wall they'd been defending had collapsed under the weight of a falling horse and the Farlan were piling towards the gap. Although they couldn't charge, they still had the advantage of height.

Amber chanced a step forward again and gasped as a spear missed his face by scant inches. The man who'd thrown it was already reaching for his mace when a crossbow bolt knocked him from the saddle, but a moment later he was replaced by another. They wore filthy robes over their mismatched armour and sported symbols of the Gods. Amber hadn't heard the Farlan cults had been recruiting, but that's what it looked like to him. Penitents of Karkarn were a common enough sight back home and he recognised the War God's black dragon's head symbol sewn over the man's heart.

The penitent was unable to get his horse past the wall, so he leaned over in his saddle and struck down at the shield of a private standing next to Amber. The blow sent the man to his knees, but it gave Amber the opening he needed. More spears were thrown; the Farlan charge had been halted for the moment, held by the Menin line of infantry. Amber bellowed words of encouragement which were taken up by the sergeants along the line.

The Farlan were unable to use the weight of their horses in a charge, so they were getting picked off one by one. It wasn't long before the recall was sounded.

'Hold the line!' Amber yelled at the top of his voice, but he needn't have worried. The Cheme troops were content to watch the Farlan retreat; only a few crossbow bolts and the odd boo followed the retreating Farlan. Then Amber saw a flowing white figure twice the height of a man flicker suddenly and vanish: someone had taken out a priest. The Aspect's disappearance was met with a renewed cheer. Judging by the bodies strewn on the ground and the horses milling around, the priests and their knights had put up quite a fight.

'They'll be hack,' Captain Hain commented, letting the axe handle slide through his hand until the butt hit the ground and he could rest his arm on the weapon, 'but that could have gone worse!'

Amber nodded. 'Took me by surprise, though. I was expecting something more than a straight charge.'

'Maybe what we heard about Farlan cavalry is only rumour,' Hain laughed. 'Maybe they made it up themselves to make folk run away.'

Amber took a quick count of their losses; it didn't take him long to confirm that the Farlan had been badly mauled. 'Something's wrong sure enough,' he said. 'They're doing themselves no favours, fighting like this.'

'We didn't get the worst of it,' Hain said, pointing east.

'Aye, hope there's something left of Larim's coterie over there,' Amber said. 'Looked like they were having to deal with a whole lot of flames.'

Lord Chalat might have been deposed and turned mad with fanaticism, but his power was undiminished. The Chosen of Tsatach was well known for walking into battle wreathed in flame and directing great torrents of fire towards the enemy. They couldn't match him for raw power, so three members of Larim's new coterie had been ordered to do nothing but deflect his attacks throughout the battle, blunting his efforts to break the line.

Amber breathed deeply. The air felt cold in his lungs, as though evening was drawing in, but he knew it was no later than midday. Assuming there were no breaks in the line, they'd be defending for another hour, he guessed. The Menin didn't have enough cavalry to counter-charge, and they needed to wait for the right moment before committing their reserves.

The minotaurs and Bloodsworn had loaded the right flank specifically to encourage the Farlan to attack the left. The main bulk of reserves were infantry, so they needed the Farlan close. If Lord Chalat broke through the centre, they would have to deploy the reserves and hope their cavalry would be enough to screen five legions of infantry from the waiting Farlan behind.

'Come on, you bastards,' he whispered, 'take the bait.'

'They're redeploying, my Lord,' General Lahk said, standing up in his stirrups. 'Going to turn to the right flank.'

Isak looked back at the ongoing battle. His stomach was a tight ball of fear and nerves, and he knew he was clinging to the false hope that the departure of the wyvern meant Lord Styrax was absent. No plan, however brilliant, survived contact with the enemy, after all. The whole reason Isak had raced to the Circle City was to catch his enemies unaware – to act contrary to expectation.