The clearing at the edge of the forest looked like an execution ground, carefully prepared.
Wicken and his more than forty Ironborn were completely exposed on the flat grassland. Four hundred soldiers had already encircled them: spears stood like a forest, shields formed a wall, and the Ironborn were trapped in the middle.
"Form up!" Wicken's shout was hoarse. He should have left long ago. A moment's carelessness had landed him in this predicament. It was all because of those damned, brainless idiots, who had let his guard down.
The surviving Ironborn didn't hesitate for a moment. Well trained, they quickly formed a tight circle, standing back-to-back. They raised their round shields high, locking the edges together to create a moving shield wall. Spears and swords extended through the gaps like the spines of a hedgehog.
Then they let out beastlike roars, stamping hard on the ground and pounding their shields with swords and spears. They tried to use the most primitive show of force to frighten away the enemies before them—enemies who looked far too orderly, unlike the ones they had faced earlier.
But their enemies didn't react at all. Instead, they watched with curious expressions.
Rosso Brune rode up beside Suleiman. His gaze fixed on the roaring circle, his expression grave and a little awkward. After all, he had just told his lord that he would let him inspect the results of his training.
"Lord Suleiman."
"Though the Ironborn's round-shield formation is crude, it's very solid. Every one of them is skilled in close combat. If our household knights charge straight into their formation, we'll suffer unnecessary casualties."
Suleiman gave Rosso an approving glance. His newly sworn knight hadn't let his earlier words or his eagerness to distinguish himself cloud his judgment and drive the household knights to