"How many lives will be lost if we're attacked here? We're like a hunter who has moved so close to his prey that he can no longer guard his back."
"We wait for the signal," Miro said.
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
Beorn took Miro roughly by the arm. "You trust your old teacher, I respect that. But Rogan Jarvish is just a man like any of us; he is no miracle worker. If the uprising has been crushed, then the best thing we can do is attack now, while the enemy is distracted. If the Halrana come through and open the gate while our attack is underway, even better."
"Beorn, you've seen how well-defended that gate is. Even our colossi can't touch it. Without siege weapons, we'd be dashed against the gate like a wave on the rocks. The wave breaks, but at the end of it all the rocks are still there. I won't be responsible for losing that many of our men. This war doesn't stop in Ralanast. You know as well as I do that it won't be over until our army marches into Seranthia."
Marshal Beorn opened his mouth to reply when a soldier spoke.
"Lord Marshal, look!"
From the four spires of the Terra Cathedral, four plumes of green smoke rose into the air. The city may appear peaceful, but inside those walls Miro knew people were dying.
"Launch the counter-signal!" Miro called.
The command was passed down the line, and a signalling flag unfurled, where it could be seen high, high above. The dirigible far above the city released its massive banners, and both the sword and flower on green and the open hand on brown were flown high above the city of Ralanast.
Miro heard it then, a sound, carried on the air, rolling up from the occupied city below.
The sound of hundreds of thousands of voices all raised in unison.
"It's not so quiet now," Miro said to Beorn. He grinned. "You can buy me a drink in Ralanast tonight."
"With pleasure." Beorn smiled back.
"Lord Marshal!" an Alturan soldier called. "The dirigible has raised a new signal flag. Red and gold on a blue field."
Miro could never remember the signalling system. "Don't tell me what it looks like! What does it mean?"
"Some of the enemy are fleeing the city through the northern gate!"
Miro and Beorn exchanged glances.
Another soldier called out. "The southern gate is open, Lord Marshal!"
Miro drew his zenblade and raised it high for all to see. He spoke the words that made his armoursilk blaze like the sun, the zenblade red with deadly intent.
The time for speeches was past. Miro opened his mouth and shouted one word with all of the strength he could muster.
"Ralanast!"
The army of Halrana, Alturans, Dunfolk, colossi, and ironmen flew down the hillside, gathering momentum as they ran. A contingent of Tingaran legionnaires awaited them, vainly attempting to close the southern gate.
On one flank, hundreds of massed ironmen strode forward, lacking in grace, but more than making up for it in indomitable strength. The other flank was led by the three colossi, with Luca Angelo, the animator who broke the enemy's defences at the Sarsen, in the lead.
Never one to hang back, Miro led the charge, the foremost of a wedge of bladesingers, with two of them running on his left and two on his right. The lightness of their armoursilk, their peak fitness, and their agility, meant the bladesingers swiftly outdistanced the heavily armoured infantry and the columns of pikemen.
Miro and the four other bladesingers crashed into the massed defenders, penetrating deep into their ranks. Ahead and above him, Miro saw arrows flying through the air to come raining down on the legionnaires' unprotected heads, wiping out hundreds of men at a time.
He was slowed by the sheer number of his opponents, but he was desperate to be first through the gate; he had to know what waited for him on the other side. As his sword rose and fell, blood spraying and splattering over his armoursilk, Miro knew he was fighting the same men who had launched constant sorties against his homeland. These soldiers in black had attacked the massed Halrana refugees at the Sarsen, intentionally cutting down men, women, and children. They had imprisoned the survivors, and occupied their lands, raping and pillaging at will. The Black Army had taken Amber away from him.
Even the other bladesingers couldn't keep up with their Lord Marshal. He spun and in a mighty arc he cut through two men with one blow. A pike was thrust at his unprotected face, but he cut the pole in half and slashed the throat of the warrior who held it. Miro sang in a clear, crisp voice and the words were part of who he was. The song came unthinking from his lips as he caused his armoursilk to become transparent and his zenblade to grow blue and ethereal. He caused waves of heat to pour from the runes, burning through his enemy's clothing and searing their limbs, causing them to drop their weapons from the pain.