Ella forced herself to concentrate; to use her mind and ability to reason. Nothing was impossible. Everyone had a weakness.
"Supposedly the Akari were banished to the north by the first Tingaran Emperor. It's cold there, so the dead would decompose more slowly. Bringing them to life must use a very large amount of essence, I can guarantee that," Ella said. "Shani's flame worked well on them, and I would guess they don't like heat much."
"Good, good," the prince said. "Go on."
"The men in silver robes could be similar to Halrana animators. Try taking them out." Ella paused. "The fact is, I need to learn more about them."
"What do you need?" the prince asked. "Essence? You shall have it. Anything else?"
Ella suddenly knew what it was she needed to do. Her people needed her just as much as the Hazarans. Even if she found a weakness, and told it to the prince, the Alturans would still be in the same position they were now. Ella needed to help Miro, and Altura, in any way she could.
"I need to leave," Ella said, "to travel ahead of this army, into Tingara, where I can learn about them. I can promise you that I will find a way to defeat them. I know it will be risky, and so I will go alone."
"Ella, no," Shani said.
"No," Prince Ilathor said, "I forbid it."
"Your brother asked me to keep you alive," Bartolo said.
Ella knew she it was what she had to do, but it wouldn't be right to risk her friend's lives as well as her own.
She reached back and pulled the hood of her green silk dress over her head.
"I command that you stay!" Prince Ilathor said.
"You can't command me," Ella said. "You never could."
Ella spoke the words, and vanished.
46
MORAGON was too busy to see Amber, and for that she was grateful. Not knowing what to do with her, some legionnaires manacled her legs and gave her a small tent, their treatment somewhere between solicitous and hostile. After weeks of hard travel Amber was once again under lock and key with warriors in black surrounding her. This was no prison, however; this was the main enemy host, with Amber deep within the Black Army's encampment where no one would ever find her.
The soldiers who had abducted her from Ralanast had rejoined their comrades and she was once more alone. Their plan had been a success, and rather than being named deserters an officer had sent them back to their commander with a grunt. Any reward for bringing her in was laughed at, but the warrior who had first found Amber tried anyway, persistently harassing the officer who said he was the closest he'd get to High Lord Moragon. A dagger in the chest silenced the soldier's demands, and his companions decided not to argue the case further.
Amber tried not to think about where she was and what it was they would do with her, but her mind wouldn't let go. She wondered what death would feel like when it came; most likely the swift and painful death of a sharp sword thrust. Perhaps they would slice her throat or put a blade into her chest. She doubted it would be the rope; these men weren't squeamish when it came to shedding blood, even the blood of a woman.
From what she'd seen on the journey and heard from the soldiers Amber knew she was in Torakon, somewhere in the Azure Plains. The blue haze on the horizon was never obscured by hills or forests; it could be seen in all directions. The land was flat and covered with wiry grass, and the men of the Black Army spread across it like flies, so numerous that Amber wondered how Miro's army could ever hope to defeat them.
After several days in the tent Amber's legs were causing her pain, and she shifted them, wincing at the hard iron digging into the tender flesh of her ankles. She knew Miro wouldn't have any idea why she had been abducted, or where she had been taken.
There was one night though, when there was a great commotion she thought might have been him. It sounded like an animal was running wild, causing cries of confusion and shouts of anger. Amber waited that night, hoping it would be Miro, but she waited in vain.
Amber heard the sound of approaching footsteps and her heart started to race. She looked around desperately for a weapon, but the only furniture in the space was a sleeping pallet and the post Amber was chained to, hammered into the ground.
Fingers untied the knots on the flap of the canvas tent and Amber was surprised when she saw the face of a woman. She was young — younger even than Amber — and wore the simple tunic of a farmer's daughter. Her curly dark hair made Amber think she might be Halrana.
Then Amber noticed the small bundle held in the girl's arms, the realisation hitting her like a hand squeezing her heart. She knew it was him; of course it was him. Amber would know that beautiful baby from among a thousand others.
"Oh." Amber made a sound and held out her arms. "Please. Please. Can I hold him?"