The blast of fire from Elsa's outstretched hand melted the orc's arm into a mass of charred fat and muscle from its shoulder to its elbow. Still howling as it burned, the orc fell to the ground, its weapons falling from its nerveless fingers.

Over to the right, Sieghard came barrelling into the side of the orc that was hammering down Viggo's defences, driving his sword in between its ribs. Choking up thick, dark blood, the orc rounded wildly on Sieghard, managing a couple of frenzied, thankfully inaccurate blows before it collapsed. Even as it lay dying, its great meaty hand still clawed reflexively at Viggo's ankles.

All around them, the Brotherhood of Magritta seemed to have the upper hand - but the orcs were standing their ground. A dense knot of greenskins had formed around their tattered standard, while their leader was laying into the Estalians with his mace, flattening a swordsman with every blow. Esteban had just about reached him, and looked to be leading the big brute on a merry dance as he began slipping aside from the strikes of the enormous maul.

The occasional crossbow bolt was raking down from the battlements of Manann's Keep, but Elsa couldn't see past the orcs ahead to see how the defenders on the other side of the bridge were faring. Esteban's men needed to break through soon, or the village might already be overrun.