Above him, the wind howled through the crenellations like the blowing of a flute below. Actually the wind wasn't the only thing howling, some feet below a man was screaming himself hoare.
Asag looked from the trembling levies to the dark, broken shape twitching at the foot of the wall, wondering which company was more loathsome.
"Unlucky bastard," one of the spearmen muttered, his knuckles white as he leaned over the rampart to peer into the gloom. "One chance in ten and he took it. "
"Must have shattered his spine and his legs both," another answered, "Hear that wet rattle? Bloody hell..."
"The Gods must have willed it so," a third whispered, clutching a holy symbol made of wood. "Must have been a loathsome man."
"The Gods decide a lot," a third growled, spitting a glob of phlegm over the edge, "but I recall it was one of our spears that put the cunt over the side. Give credit where it's due.The gods have little in this."
