"We’ll crush them against the Sarsen," Moragon said, once again surveying the battlefield.
Primate Melovar smiled. "We’ll probably drown more than we’ll kill with the sword. I’m always pleased when we can do things without magic."
"You should be pleased, then" Moragon grinned, sweeping his arm grandiosely.
The Black Army stretched to the horizon in all directions, an unstoppable force. The catapults and trebuchets were lined up. A surprise lay in store for the defenders, for the stones were covered in runes — a trick they had copied from the Battle of Bald Ridge.
Forty imperial avengers led the advance elements of the legion. Behind the elite troops would be the full weight of the army. Dirigibles and mortar teams were ready to rain destruction on the embankment. Pikemen and a motley collection of swordsmen formed the bulk of the men in the rear.
It was a glorious sight. The defenders looked pitiful in comparison.
"Is that their command?" said the Primate, pointing.
Moragon nodded. "Do you want to offer them terms?"
The Primate barked a laugh. "Terms? At this point? Let us offer them unconditional surrender. Who knows — they may take us up on it. If they do, that river is going to be very handy when it comes to disposing of so many bodies."
Moragon spoke briefly to a herald, as Melovar continued to survey the field.
"And the status of the bridge?" Melovar asked.
"They weren’t able to rebuild it. They have constructed rafts. They are ferrying the refugees across the river, a score at a time."
The Primate laughed out loud. "They’ll be there until the end of the world — which it probably is for them. Every beautiful garden has its weeds. It is time to remove the last bunch."
61
The women in Mornhaven are easy. Young or old, they’re as meek as kittens. Of course, it helps when you have a shaved head. Heh.
— Tingaran legionnaire, date unknown.
MIRO had feared it would come to this, but he’d always held out hope. The Evermen had turned their backs on them this day.
"How many are still functioning?"
Marshal Beorn’s face was as still as the grave, "None, Lord Marshal. Some hours ago, the runes faded on our last functioning zenblade. None of our enchantments will activate. It’s been too long since the Lexicon has been renewed."
"Let’s not focus on what we don’t have. We still have the tools of the artificers — prismatic orbs, dirigibles, mortars."
"I’m sorry, Lord Marshal," said Lord Rorelan. "We did our best. I expect we’ll get little mercy from the Primate, but perhaps we should consider surrendering."
"No!" said Miro. "I would rather fight and die here today than see our people butchered out of hand. You know we can’t expect any mercy, not after what happened at Ralanast."
"Miro," said Lord Rorelan. "We tried. But even if our bladesingers were able to fight, even if the iron golems and the other animators’ constructs were fully functional, we can’t last against an army of this size."
For the first time, Miro accepted the chance of defeat. He’d tried so hard! The despair clutched at his chest, he felt he couldn’t breathe.
"There must be a way!"
"I’m sorry, Miro," said Marshal Beorn. "Ordinary soldiers just won’t last against imperial avengers and elementalists. With no enchanted armour the prismatic orbs — both ours and the enemies — will devastate our men. Our entire battle plan relies on our enchantments."
A strident trumpet blared out. A courier came running, his breath coming in gasps.
"The Emperor, he’s giving us a chance to discuss terms," the man said.
Miro looked at Marshal Beorn, and then at Lord Rorelan.
He sighed. It was over. "Tell the Primate I’ll discuss our terms of surrender."
~
MIRO walked alone through the masses of the enemy. Lord Rorelan had begged him to take an escort but he didn’t want to risk their lives as well as his own. He felt naked without his zenblade — he’d left it behind, even though its runes had faded over a day before. He still wore his green armoursilk; it looked strange without the spidery symbols covering every inch of its fabric.
Surrounding Miro on all sides were armoured templars with white tabards, escorting him to his meeting with the Primate. The soldiers of the Black Army drew back from them fearfully. Templars were well-trained soldiers, but this was something else. Then Miro noticed their yellow eyes, and remembered what he’d seen in Rosarva. These men had the taint.
For the first time in his life, Miro saw the Emperor. The man was still far away enough that it was difficult to distinguish his features, but the purple robe and the Tingaran raj hada were unmistakeable, particularly against the black and white of the soldiers around him.