The huge blocks that had formed the wide span of the Sutanesta Bridge lay in the chaotic current of the river, with only a few tops poking above the surface. They were scattered about, impossibly heavy. One of the blocks was within reach, barely a pace from the bank.
Across the river the battle raged. The defenders were being overrun, and soon the massacre would begin.
Ella stepped out onto the block, so that she was part-way into the river. She felt the power and the knowledge swell within her.
Her trials flashed before her eyes. She remembered her pride at the Academy. The day she had shown Master Goss she understood the runes better than he did. The night she had broken into Master Samson’s laboratory, her pride so strong that nothing could defeat her. Talwin’s death, his body ruined by the essence. The wracking. Being awarded the Academy’s highest honours. Her part in the theft of her people’s Lexicon. Climbing, falling, and nearly drowning in pursuit of Killian. Layla. Learning from Evrin. The eldritch. The bandits in Wondhip Pass. The beast, chasing them in Petrya. The knowledge from the Alturan Lexicon. The lore of illusion.
It was all in preparation for this moment.
Ella looked down at the block she was standing on. She knew what she needed to do.
She cleared her mind and let her intuition guide her.
Putting on her gloves, Ella let her mind free to find the runes that she needed. Animator’s runes. Enchanter’s runes. Illusionist’s runes. She looked at the Halrana bank. The refugees were watching her, an expression of awe on their faces.
The river surged through the wide channel.
Ella started to draw on the block’s surface. Her hand worked deftly, the matrices soon covering a great portion of its surface.
She could see the opposite bank, where the fighting was raging on. In the distance, a man tried to protect his family from the rampaging legionnaires. He was butchered mercilessly.
Her hand moving almost of its own accord, she inscribed rune after rune in quick succession. This was nothing like she had ever seen before. She was combining the symbols into completely new arrangements.
As she worked she activated the runes, but she never stopped working. Her lips moved constantly — this made a bladesingers song look simple in comparison. She didn’t look up to see the effect her activations were having — if she stopped she would falter.
Ella was enchanting the very air.
Her mind cast back to a simpler time, when she had been walking with Killian, showing him the nine bridges of Sarostar. She remembered when she had shown him the bridge that led to the Crystal Palace. He’d trusted her that day, taking his hesitant steps into nothingness. Ella felt her spirit soar as she drew on the memory.
Ella was building a runebridge.
Finally she looked up. It soared above her, connecting the solid block of stone to the Halrana side of the riverbank. She took a step into nothingness, and then another. Her heart surged with joy. She took three more steps, and then more, until she was at the apex of the glowing bridge of light. Ella looked back behind her.
A tiny man stood with complete composure on the shimmering bridge. He had the light hair and ruddy features of one of the Dunfolk.
"You are Ella," he said.
Ella felt she was in a dream. "Yes," she said.
He nodded. "I am the Tartana."
Behind him, countless Dunfolk were lined up. The Tartana waved his arm forward, and their small forms ran past Ella, down the far side of the bridge. In moments they had reached the scene of the battle. Instantly, their numbers started to tell.
Ella followed them across the formless bridge to the Halrana side. For a moment there was silence, then a great cheer came from the refugees. Ella caught the eyes of the enchanter. "Cross them over," she said. "It will hold."
"What about you?"
"There’s still more to be done."
She activated the runes on her dress as she walked towards the battle. It shimmered with each stride. Coloured lights flickered from her body. Men fell back around her. The fighting continued, but none were prepared to fight her, it was as if she wasn’t there.
Ella saw a man with the raj hada of a commander. Several scales of his armour had been torn away. His face was scarred and his hair was grey, with bushy eyebrows and a ragged beard.
"Marshal," she said.
He dispatched an enemy and turned. An expression of complete surprise crossed his face. "Who are you? You’re not Evora Guinestor."
"Marshal, a way has been found across the river. A bridge has been created."
"How?"
"It doesn’t matter. The refugees have almost all crossed. I need you to tell your men to fall back."
He turned — confronting the terrible spectre of the Black Army’s countless numbers. "If we turn now we’ll be slaughtered."
"Leave that to me, Marshal…" Ella said. "What is your name?"
"Beorn."
"Well, Marshal Beorn. We can still save your men."
He nodded decisively. "I will call the men back."
69
You have only one life, therefore it is a perfect life.
— The Evermen Cycles, 4-14
MIRO cut down another legionnaire, only to face one more. He could still see no sign of Amber.