The edge of the blade cut deep into his ankle, severing leather, flesh and muscle before it bit into bone. The pain was instantaneous, like a red-hot bar thrust into the joint. Carmine staggered backwards with an explosive cry of pain and rage.

Glynn glanced back quickly, seeing his commander slump to one side of the entrance. "Next man! Into line!"

The nearest auxiliary, crouching low to protect his legs, pressed himself forward, alongside Glynn, as his comrades thrust their spear tips at the enemy in a flurry of attacks to drive them back from the entrance. Then all at once there was a shout of alarm from the darkness and the crash of heavy masonry outside the watchtower. As Carmine leaned round the frame to look he saw a piece of dressed stone smash down on to the Berber, crushing a man's head as it drove his body to the ground. More rocks and stones fell on the attackers, killing and maiming several before they could scramble back across the site to a safe distance.

"Bloody marvellous," Glynn growled with pleasure at the sight. "See how they like being hit without a chance to fight back. Bastards."

As the enemy moved out of range the barrage of stones tailed off and the sounds of combat gave way to the jeers and whistles of the auxiliaries in the watchtower, and the moans and cries of the injured men in front of the entrance. Glynn took a last glance outside before he motioned one of the men to take his place. Leaning his shield against the wall he knelt down to examine Carmines wound, straining his eyes to make it out by the wan glow from the starry heavens shining through the entrance. His hands gently probed the injury and felt the shards of bone amid the mangled flesh. Carmine sucked in a deep breath and clenched his teeth as he fought back the impulse to cry out in agony.

Glynn glanced up at him. "I'm sorry to say you're fighting days are done."

"Tell me something I don't know." Carmine hissed.

Glynn smiled briefly. "I have to stop this bleeding. Give me your scarf, sir."

Carmine loosened the cloth, unwound it and passed it down. Glynn held one behind the calf and then glanced up. "This is going to hurt. Ready?"

"Just do it."

Glynn wound the cloth round the leg, over the wound, and then bound it tightly over the ankle and tied it off. The searing pain was like nothing Carmine had ever endured before and despite the cold of the night he was sweating freely by the time Glynn finished the knot and rose to his feet.

"You'll have to prop me up on the stairs when the time comes to make our last stand."

Glynn nodded. "I'll see to it, sir."

The officers stared at each other for a moment as they considered the full import of their last exchange. Now that they had accepted their fate Carmine felt that the burden of anxiety over the fate of his command had lifted. Despite the torment of his wound, there was a calm sense of resignation in his heart, and a determination to go down fighting. Glynn glanced away, through the door, and saw the enemy standing in clusters about the site, out of range of the rock and stones that the auxiliaries had thrown from the watchtower.

"Wonder what they'll do next?" he mused. "Starve us out?"

Carmine shook his head. He had served in the region long enough in the south to know the nature of Demacia's enemy. "They'll not wait for that. There's no honour in it."

"What then?"

Carmine shrugged. "We'll know soon enough."

There was a moment's silence before Glynn turned away from the entrance. "So what is this? A raid? The opening of a new campaign against Demacia?"

"Does it matter?"

"I want to know the reason for my death."

Carmine pursed his lips and considered the situation. "It could be a raid. Maybe they saw the construction of this fort as an act of provocation. But it's equally possible they want to clear a path across the Euphrates for their army to cross. It could be the first move towards taking control of Kigali."

Carmine's thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the outside.

"Demacian's! Hear me!" a voice called out in universal. "We call out to you to lay down your arms and surrender!"

"Bollocks!" Glynn snorted.

The man outside in the dark did not respond to the taunt and continued in an even tone. "My commander calls on you to surrender. If you lay down your weapons, you will be spared. He gives his word."

"Spared?" Carmine repeated softly before he shouted out his reply. "You will spare us and permit us to return to Kigali?"

There was a short pause before the voice continued. "Your lives will be spared, but you will be taken prisoner."

"Slaves is what we'll be," Glynn growled and spat on the floor. "I'll not die a fucking slave.'" He turned to Carmine. "Sir? What should we do?"

"Tell him to go to hell."

Glynn smiled thinly, his teeth luminous in the moonlight. He turned to the entrance and shouted his reply. "If you want our weapons, come and get them!"

Carmine chuckled. "Hardly original, but a nice touch."

The officers exchanged a grin and the other men smiled nervously, until the voice called to them one last time.

"So be it. Then this place will be your grave. Or rather . . . your pyre."

A faint glow had appeared on the far side of the construction site and as Glynn watched a small flame flared up, silhouetting the warrior crouched over his tinder box. The flame was efficiently fed so that it quickly flared up into a small blaze as men gathered round to light torches hastily gathered from the surrounding scrub.

Then they approached the watchtower and as Glynn watched the first of the fire arrows was offered to a torch until the oiled rags caught alight. At once the archer drew his bow and shot at the watchtower. The arrow blazed through the darkness and thudded into the scaffolding, scattering a small shower of sparks. Immediately, other arrows flamed towards the structure, embedding themselves in the wood with splintering cracks and burning as they lodged there.

"Shit!" Glynn clenched his fist round the handle of his sword. "They mean to burn us out."

Carmine knew there was no water in the tower and he shook his head. "There's nothing we can do about it. Call the men down from the watchtower."

"Yes, sir."

A short while later, as the last of the survivors crowded into the small guard room at the foot of the tower, Carmine hauled himself up and leaned against the wall so that he could address them.

"It's all over for us, lads. We stay here and burn, or go out there and take some of those bastards with us. That's it. So when I give the order, you follow Centurion Glynn out of the tower. Stay close to each other and run hard at them. Understand?"

A handful of them nodded and some managed a few words of acknowledgement. Glynn cleared his throat. "What about you, sir? You can't come with us."

"I know. I'll stay here and deal with the standard. They can't be allowed to take that." Carmine held his hand out to the cohort's signifier. "Here, let me have it."

The standard bearer hesitated a moment, and then stepped forward and handed the shaft over to his commander. "Take care of it, sir."

Carmine nodded as he grasped the standard firmly and used it to support the weight on injured leg. Around them the crackle and soft roar of flames filled the warm air and a lurid orange glow lit up the ground around the watchtower. Carmine staggered towards the narrow wooden staircase in the corner. "When I get to the roof, I'll give the order to charge. Make every thrust of your spears and every blow of your swords count, lads."

"We will, sir." Glynn replied softly.

Carmine nodded and clasped the Centurion's arm briefly and then, gritting his teeth, he made for the roof, painfully working his way up the wooden stairs as the air grew heated around him and wisps of smoke curled into the orange light seeping through the windows and arrow slits. By the time he reached the roof, the side of the watchtower closest to the enemy was ablaze. Carmine could see scores of Berber waiting in the bright glare of the flames and he drew a deep breath.

"Centurion Glynn! Now! Charge!"

There was a thin chorus of war cries from the base of the tower and Carmine saw the Berber raise their bows, concentrating their aim, and then the air was filled with the flitting dark splinters of their arrows. Over the parapet he saw the small compact body of his men charging out across the site.

Their shoulders were hunched down behind their shields as they ran straight at the enemy, following Glynn as he bellowed insults at the Berber. The archers stood their ground and shot their arrows as fast as they could at the moving target. Those who still had fire arrows to hand loosed those and brilliant flaring paths cut through the air towards the Demacian's. Several lodged in shields and burned there as their owners ran on. Then Carmine saw Glynn suddenly draw up and stand still, his sword dropping from his hand as he clutched at the point of an arrow that had passed through his neck as the last of his cries still echoed over the site. Then he slumped to his knees and toppled forward on to the ground, writhing feebly as he bled to death.

The auxiliaries closed round his body and raised their shields. Carmine watched them in bitter frustration. The impetus of the charge had died with Glynn and now they were picked off one by one as the Berber arrows found their marks in between the shields. Carmine did not wait to see the end. Leaning heavily on the standard he crossed to the far side of the platform and looked down the cliff towards the river. Far below the mist had cleared and moonlight rippled off the swirling current as it flowed over some rocks. Carmine tipped his head back and looked into the serene depths of the heavens and breathed the night air deep into his lungs.

A sudden crash of timber from the far side of the tower made him glance round and he knew that there was no time left if he was to make sure the standard did not fall into enemy hands. Through the wavering curtain of flames and smoke he could see the shimmering ranks of the Berber and he knew that this was only the beginning. Soon a tide of fire and destruction would spill across the desert and threaten to engulf the southern provinces of the Demacian Empire. Carmine grasped the shaft of the standard firmly in both hands and limped to the very edge of the platform. He took one last deep breath and gritted his teeth and then hurled himself into the void.