Blademaster Rogan now openly derided their strategy. He knew what was about to happen, with a dangerous foe still lurking to the north and the occupied city of Ralanast to the west.
Prince Leopold gave the order to split the army. Half would stay to face the enemy to the north. The other half would try to take back Ralanast.
No one said it, but everyone knew. Neither of the new armies would be sufficiently close for the Ring Forts to provide reinforcement in the event of a defeat.
It was now the last night before the split.
"Bladesingers, this is the farthest north we have come in our travels," Rogan said. "As you know, we lie between the borders of two houses — Raj Halaran, and Raj Loua Louna." He paused for effect. "But to our north lies the border of another house." He gazed around, meeting the eyes of each in turn. "Raj Vezna, the cultivators. They stay silent while around us men die. We cannot miss this opportunity. I have no permission from high command, I have sought none. But I propose we find out where the cultivators stand, rather than sitting idly by and waiting for them to throw their lot in with the Black Army. Can I hear support for my proposal?"
"Altura!" the bladesingers shouted.
Rogan smiled. "Good. I will hear plans for an information gathering mission. Remember, stealth and secrecy is the priority here."
He withdrew into the perimeter of the circle. Bladesinger Huron Gower walked into the middle.
"Once in Veznan lands the trees will provide plenty of cover. It’s getting through enemy lines that will be the problem. Our best bet is to use the cover of Tovitch Forest, then the Sarsen itself — it’s shallow and wide in these parts."
He received a rumble of assent from the circle.
Huron continued. "One man. One man only, in the new black armoursilk. He can be shadowed by the rest of us for part of the way, protected for a time. But it is my opinion that he stands the best chance alone."
"But who?" called one of the bladesingers from the circle.
Some names were bandied about. Then, to Miro’s complete surprise, he heard his own name.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. Something of a legend had grown up around him since the test. He probably had the animator to thank for that. The Halrana simply couldn’t believe that an un-armoured man had defeated an iron golem, even with a zenblade. Miro had been quizzed at length, but he’d said nothing about turning the zenblade blue, and with nothing to prove he’d just said he’d picked up the wrong set of armoursilk. The bladesingers thought it was hilarious. But they’d also looked at him with a new respect.
"Miro," someone else said his name again.
Huron nodded. "It was Miro who asked the enchanters for the black armoursilk. He can obviously fight without the full armour — something some of us may depend too much on — and he is not one I would wish to face in battle." He grinned, "Plus, he had a problem with his last testing, so this would be a good clincher."
Blademaster Rogan called out, "Can I hear an assent?"
"Aye!"
"Miro, do you accept the request?"
Miro felt he was being swept up in the tide of events. "I do."
"Good. Prepare yourself. You leave tonight."
They swept through their own army, a single man in black followed by a phalanx in green silk. Not one soldier queried them on the way. None were prepared to challenge the bladesingers.
The moon cast a silver glow on the hills that separated the two armies. The enemy were encamped in a wide crescent, the western edge of which touched on Tovitch Forest. There was no chance of going unseen — the Black Army had erected huge towers on all fronts, dirigibles floated above, sentries patrolled ceaselessly.
At some unspoken command first one, then another of the bladesingers began his song. The runes flared as they were activated, the armoursilk took on the strength of mountains, the lightness of air.
They ran like the wind over and down the hills, a speeding triangle of elemental figures. As they ran they drew their swords, and added the zenblades’ song.
The enemy responded with deadly speed. Soldiers poured down to support the western point of the encampment. Mortars sparked, orbs began to rain down in the midst of the bladesingers. Six dirigibles covered the approach before the bladesingers had even reached the defences, ready to pour fire on those below.
Slightly to the side, unseen and unnoticed in the commotion, Miro ran with them. He sang only for lightness, speed and shadow. He was a black void amongst bright stars. Their song stirred his blood, and he wanted nothing more than to draw his zenblade and join them in the attack.