Miro nodded, "Well done."
He looked again along the line of men. It was a motley collection of Alturans and Halrana. He could see heavy Alturan infantry, their scaled metal armour glowing silver, drawn swords ready to be activated. They would stop all but the strongest of the enemy. He could see Halrana pikemen, their mouths set in a thin line, their eyes steely with determination. But the line was mostly made up of regulars, soldiers with ordinary swords and spears, some with armour of metal, some with armour of leather, and some with no armour at all.
Miro stood with Lord Rorelan at the centre of the line. Behind him was his carefully assembled flying brigade, men he had worked with, men he knew. When the time came, he would fight with them. And most likely, he would die with them.
He met eyes with Rorelan, finding a surprisingly determined gaze looking back at him. The young lord wore his raj hada on his cloak. Underneath he wore heavy enchanted armour. The sword at his side was bright — it had probably never been used. Miro hoped he would stand. Nothing took away men’s courage like seeing one of their leaders run.
There was a man in a grey cloak working his way through the line towards him. Miro frowned. Then the man reached Miro.
"Excuse me, Captain," the man in grey grinned, looking up. "I thought perhaps I might join you here."
Miro laughed and reached out his hand. The man threw off his cloak, revealing bright green armoursilk below. It was Bartolo. He laughed as well, clasping Miro’s hand in a firm grip.
"Happy to have you. Very happy indeed. Lord Rorelan, this is Bladesinger Bartolo."
"Always a pleasure to fight beside a bladesinger."
"My Lord," Bartolo acknowledged.
Bartolo stood beside Miro and watched the Black Army’s preparations below. He looked along the line and whispered to Miro. "What have we got, five thousand?"
"Something like that," Miro murmured.
"Against, what, fifty? Lord of the Sky, help us."
"It’s nothing our young lord can’t handle," a grizzled soldier grinned, coming up behind them and taking a sip from a flask.
"Tuok!" Miro gripped the man’s hand, smiling broadly.
"Listen well to Captain Miro Torresante, men," Tuok called loudly. "If anyone can beat this scum, it’s him."
A man came out to stand in front of the forward elements of the Black Army. He threw his head back and his jaws opened. Miro didn’t need to be able to hear to tell the man was laughing.
It was Moragon. He pointed up at the hills, directly at where Miro stood. He made a sweeping gesture across the line of his throat.
A horn sounded — three powerful blasts.
The first wave of attackers surged forward.
Lights flared along the line of defenders as runes were activated. There was a hissing sound as weapons were drawn from scabbards. Bartolo and Miro both stayed silent, they would save their song for the battle itself.
"Tulak-mahour," Lord Rorelan murmured. His scaled armour began to glow. He activated his sword.
Miro looked down at the running attackers. It was a testing push, a thin line of men meant to draw out any surprises the defenders had in store. Many of the running soldiers carried long wooden planks. Miro waited until they reached the spiked trenches, halfway to the ridge.
"Mortars!" he cried.
The air crackled as the mortars released their charges. The orbs vanished into the night sky. There was a moment of silence, and then the explosions began. Gouts of flame and earth poured into the air, followed by pieces of men. Many still managed to get their planks down before the second round of orbs took its toll. Then the attackers were no more.
Moragon ran out in front of the army again. He shouted something and pointed his arm in the air.
The horn sounded again, a long drawn out blast, followed by a short note.
Ten-thousand legionnaires stepped forward. At their front were two of the imperial avengers.
"Here it comes," Miro heard Tuok mutter.
Miro signalled the two enchanters he had managed to request. They stepped forward. "The devastators. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Captain. The gaps in the line of trenches?"
"The gaps are there. Just release them at the places I’ve indicated and they’ll get through."
The enchanters nodded and withdrew.
Moragon dropped his arm and the legionnaires surged forward. Miro watched one of the avengers. It ran like some kind of grotesque puppet, lurching first one way, then another. The tendrils of its flail made it seem like some kind of many-armed creature.
The mass of men swamped up the hill, covering its surface.
"Release!" Miro cried.