Men fell before him, a wedge of men from Ripa gathered behind him. Maquin glanced back once and saw that the Freedmen, Alcyon, Tain and Cota were with him too, striding at his flanks, slaying, blood-drenched and battle-grim. And on he marched, into the storm of iron, killing, searching, the cry of OLD WOLF circling around him like a murder of crows, his banner a battle-cry that spread dread as men heard it. And then Maquin saw him, a few score men between them. A Vin Thalun, a half-crushed buckler upon one arm, short sword bloody and notched, a savage glee upon his ring-bearded face as he
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God I love this
