When she rode to take her position on the south flank, Fist Blistig watched her, his eyes following her as did the gazes of every soldier round him. Gods below. What kind of rousing speech was that? Salvage it, Fist – before it’s too late. He swung round. ‘For’ard ranks! Dr—’ But he got no further. Weapons snapped out of sheaths and scabbards, shields lifting on to shoulders. And in the faces around him he saw the coldest iron he had ever seen.
