The Werebear ran towards the rear of his men as they were forced back, the enemy wedging itself in the shattered Kingsgate like a barbed thorn, immovable. Bergan’s eyes fell on a two-wheeled hay wagon that had been pushed off the road. He threw his axe to one of his men, the poor fellow almost tumbling over with its weight. The Bearlord grabbed the cart, lifting it on to his chest, heaving it once more until it was above his head. He roared before throwing the wagon into the enemy ranks.

They toppled like skittles, knocked over, crushed, slaughtered by the splintering cart. Bergan snatched his axe back and with one bound leapt over his men, landing on the broken timber of the hay wagon. Axe, claws and teeth flew, shredding the Omiri about him into a red mist.