As the King's blood flowed from his wound, and he looked down on himself in shock, a sudden wing came ripple across the walls. The sky had been clear of snow that day, and cloudless. There had been hardly the barest hint of a breeze. Yet that wind came suddenly, and strongly, enough to interrupt the fighting of those thousands of men, and to cut through down towards their bones, freezing them.
It brought Minister Hod stirring with a sudden alertness. He looked towards the direction of the southern wall, from the headquarters that he'd set up for himself towards the south.
"Already?" He murmured to himself, wondering whether he was misreading the situation. But then he saw it in the behaviour of the troops that followed. They spoke it as clearly as the words of a book for a man like Hod. That nervous movement of Tavar's men. That frantic excitement of the Patrick troops. They had not even needed to shout it for him to know.
