His eyes were shut before his head hit the pillow. There was something he needed to do. It came to him as he drifted off. Ella could tell him about these strange desert-folk; she might even know this Jehral personally. He would… He would…
A heavy knock sounded at Miro's door, and he was instantly awake. He leapt out of bed, his zenblade activated and fiery in his hand, before whoever it was even had a chance to make a second knock.
As the fog of sleep gave way to awareness, Miro realised that whatever the cause of the commotion was, it didn't herald immediate danger. He looked to the window, where oblique rays of sunshine poured in. Early afternoon, he guessed.
Miro deactivated the zenblade and returned it to the scabbard by his bedside, then reached forward and opened the door.
High Lord Rorelan stood outside the door with Bartolo; the High Lord's hand was raised to knock again.
"What is it? Just come in next time," Miro said.
Rorelan smiled and looked pointedly at the zenblade. "With a twitchy bladesinger inside? I think I'll knock every time."
"Miro, I'm sorry," Bartolo said.
Miro had fought by Bartolo's side countless times; they had suffered through the same pains, and Miro had never seen the man so distraught.
"What is it?"
"It's about the Hazarans," Rorelan said, at the same time as Bartolo spoke.
"It's about Ella."
Miro looked from one face to the next. "What about her?"
"She's gone, Miro," Bartolo said. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I know I was supposed to be looking after her."
"Jehral and Hermen Tosch are also gone," Rorelan said. "The courier I sent to issue a summons discovered they left their lodgings not long after speaking with us this morning."
"There are signs of a struggle, near where your sister and the elementalist were working," Bartolo said.
"Is it just Ella or is the Petryan gone too?"
"Shani's gone too," said Bartolo. "I'm such a fool!" he suddenly cried and punched the wall. Bartolo winced and looked at his scratched fist.
~
MIRO was furious with himself. He paced the length of the simulator, one hand formed into a fist that he smashed into his palm with every second step, while Bartolo and the High Lord looked on.
After the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta Ella had attracted a lot of attention, and he should have done more to look out for her safety. The survivors called it the Deliverance, and Miro knew the news had travelled further afield than Altura. Miro's head throbbed and he rubbed at his temples, and then he shook his head, grinning without humour. Protect Ella? Control her? He'd like to meet the man who could do that.
He cursed himself for not seeing the truth behind Jehral's questions. He hadn't been interested in an alliance at all. Ella was the one the desert warrior was interested in all along; how could he not have seen it?
What would the men of Raj Hazara want with his sister? Was it something to do with the lore she had helped them to rediscover? Did they simply want someone with her skill to help them further? How worried should he be?
Miro tried to tell himself the Hazarans just wanted more of Ella's help, but he knew so little about them. Jehral and his friend Hermen Tosch had managed to capture an elementalist and a skilled enchantress. Whatever else, they were dangerous men.
Miro paced as he wondered what to do. He had vowed to never again let those close to him fall into the hands of his enemies.
Like a dog scratching at a wound, Miro's mind returned to the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta, and the last time he had seen Amber. He had nightmares about it, dreams where he was cutting through the press of the enemy, slashing through warrior after warrior, seeing her auburn hair and green dress vanishing into the endless ranks of the Black Army. No matter what he did, he couldn't get closer to her. He screamed her name, but she never turned around. And she was always going in the wrong direction, away from safety.
Away from him.
He had lost so many friends in the war. Blademaster Rogan, the man who taught Miro to fight. Tuok, the soldier who taught Miro the ways of the world. Ronell Kendra, the bladesinger who finally conquered his fears, fighting to his last breath. Varana, the gentle Halrana woman who only wanted to be loved, and who Miro had left behind in the doomed town of Sallat.
Miro had promised himself that the next time he saw Primate Melovar Aspen, it would be at his enemy's demise. He had promised himself that never again would he leave someone he loved to face his enemies without his protection.
He stopped his pacing. "I'm going after them."
"Miro, let me go," Bartolo said.
"You are not going," Rorelan said. "Miro, you know you have responsibilities here, and," he continued, "we have, what, four bladesingers left besides the two of you? Bladesinger Bartolo, I forbid you to go also. You will be needed for the war effort."
"High Lord, it was my fault!" Bartolo bristled. Bladesingers were considered free agents, generally able to make their own decisions about how best to serve Altura.