Miro watched the Alturan heavy infantry pour into several gaps that were opening up in the line. They were holding the Black Army back. Just.
He looked behind them, past the panicking refugees and at the Sarsen. The makeshift rafts crossed the turbulent water at a snail’s pace. The refugees crowded next to the abandoned bridge, wailing and screaming, terrorised beyond belief. Barely a tenth had crossed. Miro had given orders that, in the event of their being overrun, the rafts were to be destroyed, along with all of the construction work on the bridge. Pamella, the refugees’ leader, had sworn an oath that she would see to it.
The bladesingers had re-entered the battle. There were only half a dozen of them now. Miro saw Ronell leap impossibly high, landing next to two avengers. His zenblade flashed upward in a spray of sparks to tear the closest monster open at the waist. The second avenger’s flail curled around Ronell’s torso and tore him into two pieces.
Miro thought of the boy who had faced his fears. He hoped Ronell was now at peace. He forced himself to avoid looking for Bartolo among the remaining warriors.
One of the soldiers, an Alturan by the green of his raj hada, ran flying ahead into the massed enemy forces. Carrying a great glowing sword, he fought like a man possessed. The enemy fell back from his furious assault, giving the line a chance to reform. The gaps were stopped. They were safe for the moment.
"Who is that?" Miro said.
"I don’t know," Beorn replied.
62
It pays to be brave.
— Memoirs of Emperor Xenovere I, 181-5, 381 Y.E.
IGOR Samson, Master of the Academy, threw himself into the battle. He snarled and thrust at a legionnaire. The man raised his glowing sword to block, a shocked expression on his face as the enchanter’s enhanced blade cut through it as if it wasn’t there. The legionnaire went down.
Igor turned and whirled, wielding the huge, fiery weapon with two hands. Even the Alturan heavy infantry around him gave him room.
Igor was fighting for Amber.
He muttered the runes like curse words, biting them off with each blow. He activated the sequence for the prismatic spray. A dozen of the enemy went down as the rainbow of sparks flew from his sword, burning out their eyes.
The lessons learned from his brief spell of training at the Pens as a younger man were coming back to him. He cut a legionnaire in half, and then turned on his heel to reverse his blade into a man holding a long spear. A space opened up in front of him and he ran into it, screaming his rage.
A monster of flesh and grafted weaponry stood in front of him, its flail twisting and lashing against the ground like the tail of an agitated beast. Its other arm had been grafted into an immense black sword. The head was nothing but a steel mask, showing a menacing red slit.
The avenger waited. Igor activated the full strength of his enchanted armour. It would drain terribly at this rate, but he knew he would need its protection. He strode forward, his great sword throbbing in his hands. He activated another sequence. A high-pitched buzzing came from the blade. He could feel the heat washing off it, even from within the protection of his armour. All of the men around him fell back from the phenomenal temperature, leaving just Igor and the avenger.
The flail flickered forward. Igor ducked and then leapt forward, sweeping his sword high above his head. He caught two of the steel chains, shearing them off. He ran forward and thrust at the creature’s rune-covered chest. His sword scored along it in a line. Sparks fountained off.
Then the avenger’s black sword hit his armour, cutting through his back and into his flesh. Igor cried out.
He swung his sword against the creature again and again, each time blocked by the black sword. A dark shadow passed overhead. The whip of the flail.
Igor activated the final sequence in his specially crafted sword. The buzzing whine grew louder, until it was all that could be heard, the crash of steel inaudible. A bolt of pure energy left the sword. The runes dimmed by half as the power of the blade was projected forward.
The bolt struck the avenger, leaving a hole where the monster’s chest had been. The avenger pitched forward and fell, dead.
The cataclysmic confrontation left a gap in the enemy’s ranks. Igor surged into the empty space, his mind filled with determination. He cut down three legionnaires one after the other. The rest fell back from his fury.
He reached a small rise, from which he could see above the heads of the sea of the enemy. There, ahead of him, was a tall prominence, a broken outcrop. He saw a man in a full-length coat of imperial purple. The immense collar framing the man’s head identified him as one man, and one man only: the Emperor. Next to him was a man in the white robes of the Primate.