"I smell something…" a sibilant voice hissed.
"Saryah, some Alturans ran over that hill, hunt them down," a deep voice said.
"Yes…" the voice responded.
The presence was gone.
Ella stayed perfectly motionless, her breath still, listening to them as they searched the dead and dispatched the wounded. A man sobbed softly for help. Ella recognised the voice of the soldier who had handed her the water bottle. His voice was quickly cut off. The tears dried on her cheeks. She simply wanted the earth to swallow her, to take her out of this terrible place.
"The Petryans wanted the body of the High Enchantress."
"I’ll see to it."
"Did you save one?" the deep voice said.
"Yes, Templar. Here, their captain."
There was a sound as of a body being dropped. Captain Joram! Ella held her breath. Was he alive?
"Please," his voice was almost indistinguishable. He spoke with a strange gurgling sound.
"Listen, man. You’ve got no legs. They’ve cut your arms off too. Next we’ll take your eyes. Why not tell me, where is the Lexicon?"
"No," Joram said in a voice of indescribable pain.
"Take his eyes!"
Ella was forced to listen as they tortured poor, rigorous Captain Joram. He knew exactly where she was.
He lasted through to the very end.
For her.
47
The Emperor’s menagerie held all manner of creature. The lengths that had been gone to and the expense that had been incurred, well, it astonished me. I saw birds with plumes of feathers ten times as long as their bodies. Large furred creatures with tails and pitiful expressions on their round faces. Mighty lizards with mottled hides, and translucent fish that were born, lived and died in the span of a day. What insane system meant the Emperor could possess animals from further than I had ever travelled, yet none of these places were rendered on our maps?
— Toro Marossa, ‘Explorations’, Page 38, 423 Y.E.
THE bulk of their forces had left a week ago. The soldiers’ faces had been grim. They knew the coming battle for Ralanast would decide the fate of Halaran once and for all. The great horde of men and constructs had departed, leaving behind perhaps a tenth of their number.
Miro had watched them pass. Dirigibles without number. All of the bladesingers but Miro. The still-functioning ironmen, woodmen, and bonemen. Alturan heavy infantry. Mortar teams. Halrana pikemen. Three of the massive colossi stormed off. The animator cages atop their great heads looked tiny by comparison.
It was like some great exodus.
Miro wore a different raj hada now over his green armoursilk. It proclaimed him a captain of the Alturan army.
They had decided to make their stand at a place called Bald Ridge. The morning sky was dark — the colour of smoke. The colour of the great plume rising from the Halrana town of Sallat as it burned. It started to rain, a cold drizzle that pooled in the freshly dug earthworks to form puddles of mud. Miro looked back and forth along the line of men.
"Would fighting two deep be more suitable, Captain?" Lord Rorelan said.
It still felt strange hearing his rank on the man’s lips. Rorelan was a young man, perhaps three years older than Miro. He had a beaked nose and small eyes, but he seemed much more reasonable than many of the other lords Miro had met. Rorelan had looked the battle-hardened bladesinger up and down and then deferred instantly to Miro. He thought carefully through decisions they had made about their deployment and even made some useful suggestions of his own.
"No, My Lord," Miro said. "We occupy a long ridge, which gives us the advantage of high ground. We want to hold the entire face, so it is better for us to have a long thin line than a short deep one. The enemy will be seeking to overrun one of our positions and then come at us from behind. Men who will face an enemy down from a hill balk at being attacked from behind. If we allow the enemy to outflank us, we are dead in moments. Moments."
"Ahem," Lord Rorelan said. "Hence the flying brigade then?"
"Yes, My Lord. If there is a breach we need to stop it up immediately."
Miro and Rorelan looked down at the plain below. The Black Army scurried about like ants. Miro could see mortar teams forming up under the cover of dirigibles. That was his greatest concern. If the enemy commander was clever he would concentrate his bombardment in one area then hit the same area with his troops.
It was what Miro would do.
There were five imperial avengers at the forefront of the mass of enemy soldiers. They were obvious by the way the soldiers in black stood apart from them, fearful of the monster in their midst. Miro could just make out their barbed flails. There was a great danger here, he knew.
A man ran up to Miro, "Everything is ready, Captain."