In a dreamlike state he began to walk down, into the battle. The zenblade grew brighter and brighter. It moved through yellow, to orange. The blade flared in a burst of red fire.
A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he saw a shape in green running through the ranks of the defenders. Miro knew that face. It was Amber.
What in the Skylord’s name was she doing here? She was heading directly into the battle!
Miro began to run. He swiftly outdistanced the two commanders in their heavy armour. He could see Amber, a flash of green through the intermingled bodies of friend and foe. He cut down a legionnaire in black, and then thrust his blade through the neck of another. The soldier put his hand to the gushing wound and fell down.
Miro cut left and right, following Amber, but always she was too far away. The intense light of a bladesinger drew the enemy from all quarters. He fought like a demon, but they kept coming. His hands became covered in gore. The zenblade turned blue with the force of Miro’s song. Each thrust, each swing, was death to one of the enemy.
It was never enough. Amber could no longer be seen.
The enemy pushed at him, their numbers too great to withstand. He looked to the left and saw the line beginning to crumble. This time there was nothing to stop the enemy’s advance. The Alturan soldiers to Miro’s right were simply swallowed by the Black Army, their bodies trampled into the dust.
It was over.
Miro’s arms raised and fell. He was going to take as many of the enemy with him as possible.
There was a buzzing in his ears, but he ignored it in his bloodlust. He let the enemy come at him, one after another in an unending wave. The sound grew louder.
Suddenly Miro could no longer ignore the tone, the single crystal note at the edge of his hearing. It grew louder, until it was clearly audible. It was a note of the sweetest silver, a clarion of hope. The sound increased in volume. It became so loud that soldiers stopped fighting, putting their hands to their ears. Still it grew.
Miro turned, looking frantically from side to side. Where was Amber? The defenders around him were, to a man, looking behind them, towards the Sarsen. The hordes of the Black Army all looked above Miro’s head in the same direction. An intense light shone from somewhere near the river.
There was a tall pointed rock nearby, barely wide enough for a man to stand on. Miro pushed aside the men in his way and leapt atop the rock with the agility that only a bladesinger possessed. Balancing on his toes, he looked into the distance.
He gasped. The men began to whisper. It came from the Alturans first. Their eyes were wide with the first signs of hope that Miro had seen all day.
Miro had to believe the whispers. He could see it with his own eyes. There was no mistaking the shimmering green and silver hooded robe. It shone like the sun, the runes colouring and rippling as it put forth the call. She was at the river crossing. Something was happening.
"It’s the High Enchantress," the voices said. "She’s opening the way home."
Then the note stopped. Men shook their heads. With renewed vigour, the battle resumed.
68
One person, can make a difference.
— The Evermen Cycles, 5-25
ELLA leapt down from Sundhip’s back and slapped the horse on the rump to send it away. People everywhere milled about in confusion. She could see a crossing raft swamp at the far side of the river as too many of the refugees jumped on at once. A baby screamed as a woman tried to hand it to the enchanter guiding the raft. He shook his head in despair, barely able to keep control as it was.
"Stop it!" Ella called, to no effect.
She rummaged through her bag, quickly finding what she was looking for. Holding the scrill in one hand and the flask of essence in the other, she called again.
"Stop it! Get back!" Once again there was no response.
She looked down at the High Enchantress’s robe, realising what she needed to do. She chanted the runes in quick succession, her voice coming strong as the sequences built one on the other. The robe began to glow silver, growing brighter as she continued. She added further complexity, projecting the light like a beacon. People around her quailed in confusion. The enchanter held his raft at the bank, his eyes tightly closed.
The robe began to hum as Ella continued to name the runes. It quivered like a drum, the hum growing louder, becoming a single pure note that grew in intensity. All activity on both sides of the river stopped.
Ella had their attention.
She let the runes subside and the sound died away.
"Stand back!" she shouted at the waiting refugees. "Everyone stand back and form a line. You," she pointed at the enchanter. "Get back onto the bank and line everybody up."
To Ella’s sudden surprise they started to move. As the vista opened up, she quickly assessed the situation.