Rogan walked over and grinned at Bartolo. "Looks like you beat me inside the city."
Bartolo opened an eye, the other so encrusted with blood it stayed shut. "Looks like we did, Blademaster."
The Hazaran warrior coughed, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. "I would say we all came in together. Thank you, Marshal. You saved the lives of many of my people."
"You got the gates open," Rogan said. "I would think that makes us equal."
"I thought you were dead, you know," Bartolo said.
"I keep hearing that," said Rogan. "Have you heard from Miro?"
"No," Bartolo said. "He's not with you? Wait, I'm coming with you."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Rogan said. "Take care of your friends, and we'll speak later. I'm sure Miro's fine."
Rogan knew the battle was far from won.
He headed for the Imperial Palace.
62
MORAGON cursed the Akari as he stormed into the Imperial Palace. Cowards! He had ordered them to stand their ground, but when the time came, they had run like the skulking curs they were.
Guards and servants got out of his way, most of Moragon's fellow Tingarans fleeing in panic, as with his mind fixed on one thing and one thing only, Moragon searched the palace for his son.
He climbed the wide marble stairs and then ran up a second stairwell. The living chambers inside the palace were all clustered on the fourth and fifth levels, and, still clouded by battle-lust, he momentarily couldn't remember which chamber he'd left the Alturan woman in. Finally it came to him, and he climbed yet another set of stairs and turned down a corridor, his boots leaving bloody footprints on the spotless white floor. He hit the wall with his metal arm as he walked, so filled with rage that he could hardly think.
He had held victory in his grasp! The Hazarans should have been crushed beneath his boot-heel, and Moragon could have again closed the gates before the newcomers arrived.
Scratch it all! The scouts had said the Alturans were far away. How could such a thing have happened? Even so, if those craven Akari hadn't fled he could still have held. He hoped the four meldings he'd sent after Dain Barden had made a bloody mess of the Akari leader.
Moragon came to the door and kicked it open. The heavy wood fell back on its hinges, bouncing off the wall behind it.
The Alturan woman, Amber, stood by the window, looking out at the commotion below. Even she would realise the city was lost. All Moragon wanted was his son. He drew the long sword from the scabbard at his side. He planned to disappear into the wild lands of northern Tingara, or perhaps head for one of the free cities. The woman wouldn't be coming with him.
Amber turned and fixed a sad smile on Moragon. In her arms she held a bundle, and Moragon had a sudden premonition she was going to do something rash.
"I'm not letting you take my son," she said.
"He's my son, woman, and you'll give him to me or I'll run you through."
Amber inched closer to the open window.
"What are you doing?" Moragon demanded. He could see through the window how far below the streets of Seranthia were.
"I said I'm not going to let you have my son," Amber repeated. She held the bundle out through the window and turned back to Moragon, her eyes threatening. "Do you understand me?"
Moragon continued moving towards Amber, the light from the window glinting from the steel of his sword. "I don't believe you. You wouldn't do it."
"Don't come a single step closer," Amber said. Her eyes were wild, and there was a hysterical note to her voice.
"Give him to me," Moragon said. He laid down the sword on the floor and held out his hands in supplication.
He wanted his son more than anything; with the end of the Primate's vision for the world the child was now the only thing he had left. The Tingaran loremasters who had given Moragon his arm of metal, making him into a melding, rather than a cripple, had told Moragon he would never father a child as a result of the magic. The child was a miracle. They had been proven wrong.
As Moragon took one step closer, Amber leaned out the window as far as she could, and let the bundle go.
"No!" Moragon shoved her to the side and leaned out the window. He could see that the bundle had slid a short way down the sloping wall and then stopped when it hit a gutter. Below the gutter there was nothing more to stop it from tumbling down to the ground far below, where the babe would certainly be killed.
Moragon leaned out as far as he could, but his son was too far out of his reach. He pushed himself through the window, heedless of the danger, with only one foot now on the floor and his body precariously positioned half-out the window.
He heard a voice behind him. Where Amber's voice had been meek, it was now strong and confident.
"Let's see you regenerate your way out of this," Amber said.