"The Hazarans," Rogan said.
Miro nodded. "The Hazarans. We've tried to communicate with this Prince Ilathor but his replies are guarded and ambiguous. He doesn't sound like a man accustomed to the bargaining table."
"You know their reputation," Rogan said. "Kill first, ask questions later."
"We need an alliance," Miro said. "Our information says they're ahead of us in the race to Seranthia."
"Your sister would be the natural go-between," Rogan said. "She travels with them."
"I don't know how I can get a message to her," Miro said. "Anything I send to her will be intercepted by the prince. I don't trust him, Rogan."
"If the Hazarans are the first in Seranthia, she'll be the only Alturan there," Rogan said.
"Miro," a new voice said. Marshal Beorn entered the tent. "There you are. There's a message." He held out a piece of paper. "It's from Prince Ilathor."
Miro exchanged glances with Rogan and then took the scroll, quickly breaking the seal: a desert rose in yellow wax. Miro quickly scanned the paper while the other two commanders looked on.
"Prince Ilathor says fire is the best weapon to use against the draugar. He also says to cut off the revenants' heads, something we've already learned. They are short on essence, but they drain faster in warmer weather, so once winter settles in we'll find it harder to wear them out. He mentions nothing about an alliance." Miro looked up. "And finally he says my sister is no longer with him. She's out there somewhere on her own, in the enemy-held lands near Seranthia."
Miro handed the note to Rogan, who scanned it swiftly.
"What does this mean?" Marshal Beorn asked.
"He's sending us a message," Rogan said. "He's telling us he intends to be in Seranthia before winter sets in properly. We need to press on. Some of the Toraks might join our cause, but they'll need to be trained as we march. We can't be the last to reach Seranthia. The future of the world depends on it."
"I've come to a decision," Miro said, standing.
Rogan and Beorn regarded him. "Tell us," Rogan said.
"Freeport is to the north. I'm going there, alone."
"Freeport?" Rogan frowned. "There's nothing there but fish and trader ships."
"It's a frequent port of call for the Buchalanti," Miro said, "and I can be in Seranthia in days on one of their storm riders."
"Alone? You're mad," Rogan said, "let me send some men with you."
"The Buchalanti are neutral," Miro said. "If I have soldiers with me they'll never give me passage."
"What will you do when you reach Seranthia?" Beorn asked.
"If the city is still in the Primate's hands, I'll keep my head down and do what I can until either the Hazarans or you two arrive. I'm counting on it being you two, but I'll be prepared if it's not. If my sister isn't there, there'll be at least one Alturan in Seranthia when the Primate is taken from power."
"It's a brave move," Rogan said. "I promise you, we'll do what we can to get there first."
"I also plan to look for Amber," Miro said, "and for Ella."
Miro walked to the corner of the room where his zenblade was hanging on a rack. Next to it was his rail-bow and a quiver of arrows, fletched with green feathers. He started to pack.
"You've leaving right now?" Beorn asked.
"Why wait?" Miro said. "I trust both of you. Let's see this thing through."
"Take care," Rogan said, "and don't do anything rash. I'll see you in Seranthia."
53
SERANTHIA, capital of the broken Tingaran Empire, was the largest city in the world. It stretched over hills and valleys, from horizon to horizon, from the wide open mouth of its massive harbour to the unbroken grey line of the Wall.
Seranthia was a city with a unique mix of lawlessness, vice, and brutal punishment. Newcomers and strangers thought there were no laws at all, but the truth was the laws that existed were few, but rigidly enforced.
The old Emperor, Xenovere V, like all of the Tingaran Emperors before him, took great offence at anyone making light of his position, and so anyone overheard disparaging his name was thrown over the Wall.
Recognising the importance of respect for the Assembly of Templars, those caught denigrating the Evermen, the Primate, or the Assembly itself were thrown over the Wall.
The laws were all simple, and those remaining no less so. Essence was the most valuable substance in the realm, and even small amounts on the grey market could cause the destruction of the powerful merchant families and result in chaos. Anyone caught possessing essence without a licence had his or her lands and possessions confiscated and was thrown out of the city. Distributing essence resulted in torture and the execution of one's family.