The camp was busy as it was every morning, and in the east the sun had blossomed, flooding us with light through the Ac pass. If the Thorns had given up on water, it was to drown us now under a blinding deluge of pale gold. In the valley bottoms we had left behind, the pine tops swayed slowly on lakes of mist, and in the heights to the north, dazzling snows sparkled on the peaks. I sniffed the icy air that flowed from the mountains, while absentmindedly saddling Pike, who wanted to return to graze on the abandoned grain fields.

The memory of the previous day's horrors had been pushed aside or digested. Lager was behind us. The camp seemed to be reborn, back to its routine, as if what we had seen yesterday was only a bad dream. I remembered the day Narsilap had told me that professional soldiers are the undisputed masters of denial, and I chewed on that memory like a thorny candy.

Right in front of me, between the gelding's hooves, I could see the soldiers preparing their packages, while the workers were piling the canvas of the tents on the carts. I was still struggling to tighten my straps when a shadow came to veil Pike's grey coat. "Whoa, young Val," barked Ringer, who leaned beside me, his thick jaw slit with a smile that was meant to be benevolent. "Slept well?" I grimaced as a greeting and he clapped me on the back with a series of manly slaps before taking a bite of his chewing tobacco. "Nice day for walking," he said in a conversational tone and I nodded enthusiastically. The mercenary's gaze detailed the surroundings as he ran blackened fingers over the three-day beard that bristled on his thick jaw like a pig's bristles.

Farther on, Ofrid and a few other Vals were already mounted and their horses caparisoned. The freshly polished armors glittered and our hettman spoke loudly to the rest of the vaïdoerk.

Jask, who was listening on the periphery of the group, gave me a friendly nod when he saw me. Ulrick had already warned me that some of the highlanders spoke a bit of valsi, so I had to be careful what I said, and in whose company. Jask was obviously not missing a single bit of the conversation. I checked my equipment one last time, then Ulrick joined me, dragging Berda by the tether. "Ofrid is nervous", he said without preamble, then, as Ringer stared at him intently with a flat expression on his face, he continued in brownian. "We'll see with Morvin if he doesn't want a few riders on the road ahead. I volunteered." I looked at the Val. His eyes twinkled under his bushy eyebrows. "Can I come?" I asked immediately, then as if to justify myself, "That's what hobblars normally do." Ulrick chuckled. "I've already nominated you. But I'm glad to see we agree."

"It's not right for them to leave us in the dark like this," Ringer grumbled. "If it's not a bad sign, I don't mind having my junk cut off."

He spat a dark spray that landed on Berda's pearly hoof. "Wadd's seneschal is young," Ulrick replied with an irritated look. I guess he didn't like Ringer's constant vulgarity so much. "This is his first war and..." The Val paused to let the end of his sentence dissolve in the cool morning air. His eyes darted over the horse's neck. There was a rumor of commotion at the other end of the camp, a strange turmoil in the human mass. Suddenly we were all looking in the same direction. A few alarmed cries rang out, then, in an explosion of disorder, the civilians massed towards us. To my right the Vals hesitated, and suddenly a great concert of warlike cries rang out in the facing woods. I saw the first shots flying at the camp as Ulrick shouted, "Arrows!" and Ofrid's hoarse voice came from behind him "Vaïdogans! Grab your weapons!"

Ulrick grabbed me by the shoulder and dragged me with him toward the vaïdoerk. Ringer ran beside us, glancing anxiously at the hillside. A hundred massed figures surged from the heights and roared into the dazed ranks of our lancers. A small group of horsemen emerged from the forest and charged the flank, spears in their hands. "Hill!" I could hear the lead rider yell. "Hill! For Lager!" and they charged Vaw's soldiers who were frantically trying to form a line. The din suddenly became musical. Iron tinkled on iron and the screams of the first wounded echoed in the valley like a painful litany. There was Morvin's voice barking orders somewhere in the chaos, but the soldiers were panicking. Some were already mingling with the civilians in their frantic flight. My instinct was to follow them. Ofrid's voice brought me back to my senses. "Vaïdogans, I want a wall!" he barked from his mount. "Yunlings to the rear, bows strung! Cataphracts with me!"

After the initial confusion, during which the oblivious rushed to get their equipment, the oiled mechanics of the vaïdoerk fell into place. The seven mounted Vals gathered around Ofrid, their overexcited mounts chomping at the bit. Within a moment, thirty shields bounded with the clatter of a ship broken by the sea, and behind them were thirty vaïdogans to man the rampart, thirty of the most fearsome killers that gold could buy. I wanted to join the square of yunlings who were feverishly stringing their bows, but Ulrick grabbed me by a piece of cloak. "You stay close to me, Fridkayer," he said sarcastically, "there are enough arrows coming from the other side." Feverish and disoriented, I placed my shield on his and lowered the spear over it for good measure. I swallowed, my throat dry, hanging on the slightest quiver of Ofrid's lips. " You!" he shouted at the handful of swordsmen and spearmen who had taken to sleeping next to us. "Back up the wall! Vaïdogans, forward!"

The wall of shields shook as did my heart. The world sank until it became an unreal thing, streaked with deafening noise and brilliant colors. I felt as if my legs were carrying me on their own as we moved through the chaos at a rapid pace, our ranks occasionally opening to let a fleeing civilian or mercenary through. I was the last fighter on the left, pathetically small compared to the massive warriors that formed the rest of the line. Ringer was pressed to my back, his bitter breath pulsing, hot and fast on my neck. "I'm here kid," he whispered to me, over and over. His heavy spear swung close to my ear. I tried to breathe in rhythm, camped behind my shield, while in front I did my best to make sense of the mess of bodies.

"Vaïdogans! Halt! Yunlings! Kill the horses!" I heard Ofrid yell as he marched forward with the cataphracts on his right flank. His voice was clear and his orders sharp. The curved bows snapped. The handful of enemy horsemen had retreated to a mound of ferns a little way from the fray, and their commander was bellowing orders to his men as he looked at our wall. They were brownian nobles, with coats of arms set with the orange tower of Hill. Heavily armored in chain mail and plates, they had little fear of our arrows, but the yunlings were aiming at their mounts, and aiming well. The first volley created havoc among the noblemen. A second followed close behind. The beasts reared up in panic, while salvo after salvo, arrows landed on their flanks. I saw several men fall as they tried to control their panicked horses. I held my breath as a bloodstained pot-boy came around my shield crying, then Ofrid blew his horn, a long, wild howl. The cataphracts charged the mound. As one man, the wall resumed its progression.

The battle in front of us was indescribably chaotic, and the civilians fleeing all around did not help the situation. Our lancers had failed to form a line and, in the confusion, Morvin's desperate orders had been ignored. The small companies were doing best, because they had their own hierarchy, and no commander.

Here and there, they had folded in on themselves like little steel hedgehogs and, with more than two against one, they were fighting for their lives. The hillians militiamen had scattered all around these bastions of spears. Since they had advanced too far, they could no longer regroup properly.

"Sletling!" shouted Ulrick to my right. "You kill your man and leave the wall when we smash them. You don't follow us." I nodded weakly, my eyes screwed on the cataphracts, which had just struck the opposing commander like a tiny metallic storm. The two nobles who had not been disarmed by the assault fled. The hoarse roar of Ofrid's horn resounded in the valley.

The men of the wall drew their swords or hammers and we accelerated again. A stray arrow whirred far above my head. My heart was beating so hard I was shaking, but I could also feel the calm, icy rush through my veins. The enemy came to meet us in a disorderly mass, which was fortunate, because they had the advantage of numbers, and by far. There was a chorus of shouts from the opposite side and, in response, the terrifying silence of the Vals, the silence of thirty warriors ready to do what they were born to do. The militia crossed the last few spans quickly, I had time to spot my man, and then, in a series of deafening shocks, the shields collided. The wall reared up like a beast struck by lightning.

Had I not had Ringer behind me, I would have been thrown to the ground, and surely killed in the process, for it was his ferocious spear strikes that forced my assailant to restrain his attack. He was an aging, dry, gnarled sergeant who had lost his spear in battle and now relied on his longsword. He seemed to know that the Hillians would have to crush our flanks to defeat the wall, and he was working his ass off to do so. Disoriented, I crouched behind my shield as, with a hoarse cry, Ringer thrust his weapon into the gambeson of the Brownian who was trying to attack Ulrick. The man yelped as he backed away, waiting for another to take his place. The sergeant came again, gray mustache bristling like iron wire, and twice he knocked his shield down on mine, before Ringer drove him off again. Then four or five men farther, Rared Rotsakk broke his sword.

I heard the giant roar in annoyance, and like an enraged bear, he grabbed a surprised militiaman and dragged him behind our ranks. Ringer swore, the vassi swordsman threw himself into the breach before the line collapsed, and I was left alone. Ringer had gone to Rottsakk's aid. The vociferous sergeant struck me with a blow that would have knocked me down, if I hadn't had my shield placed on Ulrick's. I retaliated with a weak thrust that bounced off his mails, but he still took a step back. I guess he didn't expect a kid like me to stand up to him. He came back more cautiously, his shield held high. With clenched teeth, I tried desperately to keep him at bay, while Ulrick rained blows on the wounded Brownian facing him. There were drops of blood glistening in his beard. War cries and shrill complaints rose all around in a confused cacophony. To the left, span by span, our wall was still advancing.

My third thrust landed in the sergeant's shield, right in the orange tower, and he took the opportunity to deftly pull the spear out of my hand. The jolt nearly dislocated my shoulder. I had time to let out a cry of distress, my free hand wrapped around the carmian dagger on my belt, and he was on me again. I felt like a tree in front of a lumberjack.

The man struggled so hard on my shield that it slipped off the wall, and I found myself almost on my knees, pressed against my shield. Scared out of my wits, splinters of wood waltzed on the trampled grass. Time slowed down strangely, I could have sworn that an hour passed between each impact. Fearing at all times that the steel would cut into my flesh, I arched my back, cursing, calling out to Ulrick with all the strength I had left, but the forest of disordered legs I could see from my crumbling refuge told me that the Val had his hands full. The militia was pressing the attack. Between the steady thumps on my shield, I could hear the occasional snap of the yunlings' bows as they protected our flanks with the paxxian javelinists. I suddenly spotted Ulrick's voice among the other shouts. "Let him bite," he yelled at the top of his voice, as panicked as I was. "Let him bite!"

I don't know how, but these few panicked words were enough to channel me. Perhaps I realized that right now Ulrick needed me as much as I needed him. I took a deep breath, my head suddenly cold and murder in my eyes. Sticking my boots in the mud, I quickly straightened the angle of my shield between blows, to offer the edge to my opponent. The sergeant's whistling blade sank two inches into the soft pine, and I nearly lost an eye. The man barked, pushing and pulling to try to free his weapon.

Hurried as he was, Ulrick still managed to land a blow with the flat of his blade across his helmet. I rolled under my own shield and grabbed the stunned man by his mails. The carmian steel glinted.

Two sharp blows, in the groin, up to the hilt. The man cursed. I pushed him back with all my strength, he staggered, then fell hard on his knees, hands placed on his wound. Blood flowed between his fingers in scarlet spurts.

I looked up in time to see Ulrick split the cloth of a screaming militiaman, another one came running towards me, but his face was caved in and he had two arrows in the body, and I don't think he really knew where he was going.

The enemy was finally giving way. Each Val had a dead or dying man at his feet, and the militiamen were beginning to retreat in disorder. I tried to reach the wall that was still advancing, hoisted my shield and almost skewered myself with the sword still stuck in it, before remembering the order Ulrick had given me. Our lancers were now gathering, in small bloody groups, and they joined the counter-offensive that was turning into a chase. On the hill I heard Ofrid's horn blowing, and saw the cataphracts disappear under the foliage, to rout the ambushed archers. I breathed out a great trembling exhalation, and all my strength left me at once. It was over. I was alive. I was even intact. I sheathed my dagger with a feverish hand. Near me, in the square, the fifteen yunlings were shooting their last arrows at targets I could not see. Sven turned and saw me, as I stood there, motionless. His face was serious, even more than the day before.

"I have a son your age." I laid incredulous eyes on the man I had wounded, as he emptied himself into the grass by his ruined femoral. He stared at me dazedly, half lying down, short breathed. "I have a son your age," he repeated in a louder voice. I could see the effort it was costing him, while I wondered if he had understood that I had killed him, and by way of answer I mumbled a few words that meant nothing. He had a pale smile, and spread his arms, as if to ask me to give him a final embrace. Then Jask trotted past me, raised his spear and nailed the old sergeant to the reddened grass. I stepped aside from his last shuddering, confused, ears ringing. I ended up sitting a few steps away, my forehead wrinkled, my hands shaking.

Gradually, Sven and some other yunlings came to sit beside me. They filled the silence with their looks, which spoke far louder than any words. My eyes flew over the battlefield, detailing the dead and wounded crawling about. The wall had broken down, the Vals were regrouping, and our surviving soldiers were giving chase to the Hillians.

Somewhere a man was shouting that he had lost his hand, and in the midst of all this I kept wondering whether the sergeant had opened his arms for me, or whether he had wanted to offer his heart to Jask. Then the first crows arrived, and in response, amidst the wailing and sobbing, I listened to their greedy croaking.