Tom Lloyd - The ragged man

'Damn,' he muttered, stalking outside again.

There were soldiers everywhere: reinforcements, running up to the wall in groups of fifty or a hundred, and auxiliaries, humping fat bundles of arrows forward for the archers. The sky had lightened a little, but that only served to make clearer the true horror of their situation.

A line of men was strung across the causeway, thousands committed to the fight in one go, and hundreds were already dead. Those at the front were barely fighting; they just stood behind shield and spear and allowed those behind them to hold spears above their heads and thrust at the enemy, who were doing likewise. It was a battle of attrition. Beyn had several thousand men in reserve – but so did the Menin.

A piercing shriek of jubilation cut through the brutal clash of steel on steel, sending a chill down Beyn's spine. He looked up, and saw a pair of dark shapes in the sky hurtling towards him.

'Dapplin!' he roared at the nearest unit of pikemen, 'get ready!'

The squad moved forward as the captain yelled orders, but still they barely had time to get into position before the first of the Reavers arrived. Squatting low over a blade-edged shield, the Menin white-eye smashed into Dapplin's men. His long braided black hair flying, the Reaver tore a bloody path through them, the shield cutting through flesh wherever it touched, until it slowed enough for the white-eye to roll off, grab it and loop the leather hold over his shield-arm, and start towards the archers beyond.

Beyn caught sight of the weird tattoos and scars that adorned his face, which was contorted in berserk rage as the Reaver hacked at the archers with his great spiked axe. Two men fell almost at once, then another as the white-eye turned around and slashed a man's chest with his razor-edged shield.

As Beyn raced towards the frenzied white-eye, Cober hard on his heel, the Menin abruptly changed direction and launched himself at the pair like a whirlwind of steel. His speed almost caught them out, his axe whipping around to catch them mid-step. Beyn managed to abandon his charge in time, throwing himself to the ground and skidding under the warrior's outstretched arm, but Cober was not so lucky – Beyn heard a crunch of blade parting mail.

The King's Man twisted as he slid on the rain-slicked cobbles and hacked at the Menin white-eye's foot as his momentum took him through the Reaver's legs. Before he'd come to a halt Beyn was turning, one weapon above his head, while he jabbed the other at the unprotected back of the Reaver's knee. The Reaver arched in agony, but his howl of pain was cut short as one of the archers fired at almost point-blank range. The arrow punched a hole in the Reaver's cuirass and threw the white-eye backwards onto Beyn, who collapsed under the enormous white-eye. He desperately tried to free his weapons before realising it was dead weight on him, not a living enemy.

'Don't just stand there!' he cried, struggling to get the dead man off him, 'bloody shoot the rest of them!'

As he got to his feet he saw the other Reaver had been surrounded and impaled, but several soldiers had been lost in the fight. The victory was short-lived as four more Reavers landed, flying directly into the defending line like an artillery strike. Those at the back turned to the nearest reserve squad, while the other two charged into the undefended rear of the battle line and began to slaughter the spearmen.

'Get to them!' Beyn roared, then he faltered as he looked down and saw Cober, still on the ground. The white-eye's hands were clasped around his neck and blood flowed freely from between his fingers. His mouth was open, as if he was trying to speak. Beyn looked into Cober's eyes and saw the horror there: the pain, and the fear of his impending death.

A wave of anguish swept over Beyn and his knees wobbled for a moment, but there wasn't time, not even for a man's last moments of life. Cober's body spasmed, and his mouth moved again, but no words came out.

His face tight with rage, Beyn turned away and headed for the fighting.

Styrax heard the door finally shatter to triumphant bellows from the minotaurs. The huge horned beasts started on the barricade filling the door, eagerly grabbing the lumps of rock and tossing them carelessly behind, drool hanging from their gaping jaws as they worked. The Menin lord fought his way clear of his soldiers and went around to the shattered remains of the Tollhouse's main entrance. The bronze head of the ram was a mess, but it had done its job, and inside the pile of rubble had already started to slip away.

Realising others would fit through the breach more easily Styrax let a sliver of magic run over his tongue as he shouted to the minotaurs, 'Withdraw! Be ready to breach the wall.'

The great beasts turned and regarded him. Bloodlust clouded their senses for a moment, before they understood the order. Even the smallest were bigger than Styrax, with their limbs like tree boughs and great jutting horns that were as much weapons as the maces and clubs they carried. They wore no armour, but one lucky neck-shot aside, the several who had arrows protruding from their flesh were unconcerned, for their skin was tougher than leather.

Without waiting for a response Styrax gathered a fistful of flame and launched it into the building. The fire flowed over the chunks of rock and debris with serpentine speed, and Styrax was rewarded with the chilling screams of the defenders. He reached up and grasped the inside edge of the doorway, bracing himself against it while allowing more power to flood through his body. He swung himself up and kicked forcibly at the top of the rubble. For a moment nothing happened, then a great rumble heralded a landslide on the other side and Styrax clambered through the gap at the top. He heard whoops and warcries from the Chetse troops as they followed him, dragging more stones out of the way to clear a path for their comrades.

The moment he was inside, he swept Kobra forward to behead the one soldier still standing, then moved through to the next room and cut down the three archers who had left it too late to flee. Two more soldiers ran in, their spears levelled, and charged the Lord of the Menin, but with a wave of his hand a shield of misty grey appeared before him, the spearheads glanced sideways, and Styrax stepped around his magical defence and beheaded the pair.

Now his Chetse warriors were through too, and half a dozen moved past him, their axes ready for the next defenders foolish enough to try to plug the breach. Styrax let them go on ahead as he turned to the left-hand wall. He took a deep breath and flattened his pale left hand against the Crystal Skulls on his chest. The shadows inside the Tollhouse were banished by a bright light which wrapped around his black armour. Styrax felt a small pain at the back of his head as he drew deeper on the Skulls than he'd intended, but he didn't relent.

There was a bricked-up doorway in the wall; he'd seen it from the outside. It looked as if there had once been another part to this building, and this originally an internal wall, and so it was likely weaker than the rest. Styrax dipped his shoulder and ran straight into the wall beside of the doorway. The entire building shuddered as a blaze of light exploded from his magic-laden armour, momentarily igniting the mortar between the stones.

Styrax backed up and charged again, and this time he felt the stones buckle under the pressure. A third blow, and a section of the wall toppled down onto the soldiers behind it. For good measure Styrax kicked the doorframe again, sending another cascade of stones onto the Arothans outside. For a moment all he could see was the dust of the fallen building, then the screaming began as the Menin soldiers surged forward.

Behind them charged the minotaurs, shoving aside the Menin infantry in their eagerness to get at the enemy. They leapt nimbly over rubble and bodies alike, and the line of defenders buckled, then collapsed, brutally ravaged by the minotaurs. Styrax left them to it and headed out the back of the Tollhouse, following the stream of Chetse troops still piling through the broken doorway.