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the arms of the House of Landor. The irony of its presence was reinforced when ‘Colonel’ Benner Landor came sprinting towards Duncan, just ahead of a hail of bullets, his father’s steed left fallen across the Northern Trading Road. Look, Father . . . we can die on our own land .
    ‘Bandits!’ Benner Landor yelled towards the trees. ‘Filth! You’ll hang for this. I’ll see every one of you swinging from a tree!’
    Duncan pulled his pistol out from its holster and fired blindly into the tree-line. Branches wavered in the volley of counter-fire, but it might just have been the chill wind making the leaves sway. ‘I don’t think they know who you are.’
    ‘On my own acres,’ growled his father, as though the shame of being ambushed here was worse for the powerful Benner Landor than any of the wounded soldiers lurching away from the river’s fast-flowing rapids.
    All the way down the road their regiment took cover where it could, returning fire into the woodland. Behind walls. In ditches. Lying flat in wheat fields. Their ambushers could be inside the trees or the thick bush below or they might have already retreated, vanishing into the wilds like malicious tree sprites. Duncan was glad that Paetro and Helrena had stayed with the Vandian fleet, the Imperium’s great ships landed in river flats to the east. Legionaries were felling trees for miles around, constructing fortified landing fields, camps and barracks for their forces. Nobody from the Imperium to witness my countrymen’s incompetence . This was still an army of hastily-formed amateurs. Bullets cut down fleeing southern soldiers trying to gain the field wall. Nope, our bushwhacking friends haven’t pulled back yet .
    An officer came crawling towards them, using the cover of the wall, pieces of flint flying from the stone above his wide-brimmed hat. Hugh Colbert was Northhaven’s prefect. He’d worn the additional title of General of the Army of the Bole easily when it seemed like advancement under the king’s patronage. Less easy now, though, with the politician crawling behind a field wall crumbling under heavy fire. Mud from the soggy ditch concealed the three gold-embroidered stars and wreath on the high collar of his blue double-breasted coat, but it couldn’t hide his temper.
    ‘I was told our path into Northhaven had been scouted and declared clear of marauders,’ barked Colbert.
    ‘It was,’ said Benner Landor. ‘The skyguard flew over this road only two hours ago.’
    ‘And the pretender’s supporters move at night,’ said Duncan, fighting to keep the exasperation from his voice. ‘Rarely in numbers large enough to count from the air.’
    ‘Move our cannons behind the wall!’ yelled Benner Landor down the road. ‘Load for grapeshot.’
    Duncan’s father appeared content to benefit from shelter denied his artillery-men. Out on the road soldiers struggled to hold the horses steady as nearly invisible snipers aimed shots at gunners and the trains of horses bearing each artillery piece. The royalist army’s heavy pieces had been crossing the bridge, leaving the survivors with relatively light gallopers and six pounders. Small mercies. We stand a chance of getting them behind cover. Bullets whizzed like angry hornets through the air. They were starting to be lost in gun smoke coming from the southerners, rifles loaded with shot after shot and emptied into the woods. Ammunition carriages were dragged off the road and unceremoniously dumped around the artillery, left halted in the mud as wagoneers forced their horses to lie down. Some soldiers loaded their cannons even as the artillery pieces were manhandled back behind the flint wall, charges and ammunition canisters rammed into place, and then the cannons bucked, discharging deadly clouds of grapeshot into the woods. Birds erupted for the sky as tree trunks splintered, their calls lost beneath the explosions. Duncan’s ears rang from the detonations. The nearest cannon was less