All the while the dragons above, twenty or so, keep up the attack. Each dragon carries a rider, a Sorcerer and perhaps ten more Ores, who shoot bolts into our ranks with crossbows. Their Sorcerers pound us with spells, attempting to break through the protective barrier set up by Lisutaris and her companions. Shafts of fire pierce the sky as our own Sorcerers return the fire.
In the deafening confusion no one can hear Senator Marius's orders. His centurions struggle to bring the men into line. Noise and confusion are always present on the battlefield A well-trained phalanx could cope. We're not a well-trained phalanx. By the time we're turned to face the attack there are gaps in our ranks and our whole right flank is lagging behind. I scream at the men around me, ordering them to get in line and bring our long spears into position. There's frantic movement on all sides but we're nowhere near organised when an Orcish phalanx looms out of the snow, marching in good order towards us. With their craggy features, black clothes and dull armour, it's a sight to unnerve the novices around me.
The instant they appear I know we're doomed. Whatever we might have believed about the Orcish army's lack of organisation was wrong. This phalanx is fearsomely well organised. As soon as they see us, horns blow and the long spears that point to the sky are lowered towards us, forming a sharp and deadly wall. The Orcish phalanx breaks into a slow run, picking up speed as they advance. Each man around me grasps his short spear, preparing to hurl it at the enemy, hoping to break their ranks. This doesn't work as well as it should. The whole of my phalanx should toss their spears in unison, raining a blizzard of steel on to the enemy. Men all over the line, unable to hear their orders and forgetting their training, let go of their spears far too early. Most of the missiles fall short. Meanwhile the disciplined Ores have held their fire. Without pausing in their stride, they let go with their own short spears. A lethal barrage of pointed metal rains down around our heads. All our Sorcerers are engaged with the dragons and we have no protection from the enemy spears. Every man here wears a breastplate and helmet, but a sharp, heavy spear, falling from above, can penetrate the sort of armour worn by a common soldier. Even if your armour turns the spear away, the next one is as likely to hit an arm or a leg, causing terrible,- incapacitating wounds. Men on either side of me crumple to the ground. I've raised my shield over my head. A spear catches it. piercing it, and scraping my helmet. Fortunately it doesn't penetrate far enough to wound me.
By now the front line of my phalanx has yawning gaps which grow larger as a supporting unit of light Orcish infantry, running alongside their phalanx, pelts us with spears and arrows. I scream at the men behind me to advance, to fill in the gaps, but it's useless. Panic is setting in. Many of the long spears, which should bristle from the front of our formation, are either lying on the ground or pointing at the sky as men struggle to keep some sort of shape in the face of the onslaught. The man in front of me falls to the ground with an arrow in his eye. I step forward into his place. I'm now in the ragged front line. The Ores are forty feet away, running towards us at great speed. Their long spears are held rigidly in line as they charge. I grab the lance that's waving above my shoulder, held there unsteadily by the men behind me, point it firmly at the Ores, and wait for their phalanx to strike. As I do so I mutter a prayer which, I'm quite certain, will be the last words I ever say.
The dark Orcish phalanx crashes into us. My spear goes through the throat of an Ore but few others do. Our front line crumples on impact and the Ores mow us down. I'm on the ground with bodies piling on top of me, feet trampling us into the snow, my face covered, unable to breathe. I use my strength to fight my way to my knees. My helmet is gone, I can't free my arms and an Ore from the middle of their phalanx draws back his sword to cut my head off. I yell out the spell I've been keeping in reserve, a spell for killing Ores I learned a long time ago. My assailant falls silently to the ground, slain by magic. Three or four Ores around us fall with him. By now I've freed my arms and drawn my sword but my situation remains hopeless. My phalanx is broken, I'm isolated from my troops and I'm surrounded by hundreds of Ores. I can use my spell one more time before it vanishes from my memory. I do so. The three closest Ores fall dead. That's it. My magic is used up. I've killed eight Ores. Not so bad for a death stand. I raise my shield as they come in swiftly from all sides.
Suddenly there's a violent flash and the air around goes green. I'm thrown down and find myself once more lying in the trampled snow. When I hoist myself to my feet I'm the only one that does so. All around me, dead Ores lie in twisted heaps. Somewhere a Human Sorcerer has come to our aid. Needing no more encouragement, I sling my shield over my shoulder and set off at a run, hurdling bodies and weapons as I rush through the falling snow, looking for any company of armed Humans. As generally happens in battle, I have little idea of what's happening. I'm guessing things aren't going so well for Turai.
About a hundred yards on I run into the remains of my phalanx. They're hurrying along under the protection of young Anumaris Thunderbolt, recent recruit to the Sorcerers Guild. She's lost her horse and her rainbow cloak is in tatters but whatever she's suffered she's managed to rescue a group of men from my phalanx.
'Good spell,' I say: Any left?'
'Just one,' she replies.
There are around forty or so men here, many of them wounded. No sign of Senator Marius, or any of his centurions. Not even a corporal. I take command, ordering the men into four lines of ten. We set off towards the city walls, though they are now invisible, hidden by snow and smoke from the Sorcerers' spells.
Above us dragons are still raging in the sky, though some have been killed, and some have landed to set down more troops and Sorcerers to press their attack. I'm quite clear as to the Ores' intentions. Prince Amrag wants to seize Turai to use it as a bridgehead against the west. He's taken the risk of attacking us in winter before our allies arrive, and the risk might pay off. Knowing that the battle is lost, it's the duty of all Turanians to get back inside the city to defend it. I lead my men towards the gates. The main body of Orcish forces has passed on by. If the slaughter of Turanian troops has been everywhere as bad as on this part of the field, we'll have little chance of reaching the city in safety.
I urge my small squadron onwards. Anumaris jogs alongside us. Her face is deathly white and I can tell that she's profoundly shocked. She's never seen rows of corpses before, never had to run over a carpet of dead men and blood-spattered Ores. I check on her as we progress. The young Sorcerer saved my life and if necessary I'll carry her back to Turai.
The Stadium Superbius looms large on our right, a huge building covered in snow. All around the entrance are the bodies of slaughtered fighters, killed by the dragons and Sorcerers as they rushed from the stadium to join in the fray. I wonder if Viriggax is among the dead.
Through the blanket of snow, I catch sight of a large body of Ores. I hold my hand up, halting my troop. I hesitate, uncertain what to do. If I was with Gurd and a trusty group of warriors, I'd charge. My companions are mostly young recruits, some of them wounded, most of them scared. I don't give them much chance of hacking their way through any sort of opposition. A gust of wind clears the snow, allowing me to make out the shapes in front of us. There, on a small knoll, Makri is standing with her weapons raised. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, lies dead or unconscious at her feet. Makri is protecting the body from a force of around one hundred Ores. Makri's face is covered by her helmet but she's easily recognisable from the hair which billows from underneath, and from the weapons she bears: one dark Orcish sword and one hefty silver axe. The Ores close in on her from all sides.