Finally Miro blocked an overhead swing with his zenblade and then crouched and hacked at the melding's legs. The flashing enchanted blade encountered no resistance, slicing through one leg and continuing through the next.
The melding screamed and fell. Instantly Miro was fighting yet another warrior, this time a flaxen-haired swordsman in the orange tabard of Vezna, his house confirmed by the sprouting seed raj hada. Veznans were not known for their swordsmanship, and Miro took him with a classic feint and thrust.
Miro despatched his enemies one by one, taking the battle to where he was needed, fighting from one bank to the other until the river was a sea of bodies. He was distantly aware of arrows flying through the air, sinking into tree trunks with thunks or plunging into bodies with the screams of men signalling a strike.
The river was once again cleared of the enemy, and Miro returned to Layla, his chest heaving, feeling as if he'd run from one end of Altura to the other.
As Layla regarded Miro he prepared to brush away her thanks. "Don't waste your energy," she said instead. "Trust me, you will need it."
Miro opened his mouth to respond, but stilled as Layla pinched his arm. "Here they come," she said, pointing.
At first all Miro noticed was the sound, like the breaking of tree trunks as they were snapped off at the stem — which was probably exactly what it was. He exchanged glances with Layla as she pinched him harder, and for the first time he saw fear cross her inscrutable exterior.
Miro turned back to the trees on the opposite bank, his jaw clenched and body taut like a bowstring. Across the river tree after tree began to topple, falling into the river along with the vines and bushes tangled up with them. Soon the river was a jumbled mess of tree trunks and branches. Fighting here would be treacherous.
Then one of the creatures that had knocked the trees over appeared, and Miro looked up at the nightshade in awe. Gnarled and knotted, vines covered its limbs so that it was hard to see the nightshade's body through the rope-like entanglement. Its torso stood tall and thick, as round as a large table and covered in grey-brown bark. High on the trunk two sunken pits enclosed malevolent brown orbs, the nightshade's equivalent to eyes. It moved across the ground with a sliding motion as the roots in front took hold of new earth and those in back withdrew. Across the nightshade's trunk and on the limbs Miro could see runes that had been carved into the bark with essence. They glowed with colours of orange and soft green, barely visible against the creature's skin.
The nightshade paused as it reached the river bank. Miro felt his heart race, and for the first time in an age he rehearsed the song in his mind before commencing his chant, suddenly fearful and unsure of himself. The second nightshade appeared, and if anything this one was larger than the first, a different breed of tree, an oak beside a cedar.
Miro wondered how he had ever thought he could defeat them.
"How did you defeat them the last time?" Miro asked Layla. He was shocked to hear his voice was shaking.
"We didn't," Layla said. "The land across there," she pointed, "used to be part of Loralayalana."
"Oh."
Miro took a deep breath as the two nightshades paused, just fifty paces away, directly across the river. He rehearsed his strategy. He only hoped it would work.
"Go, Layla," Miro said. "Tell your people to concentrate on the smaller nightshade. Keep it engaged, but draw away from it; make it chase you. If you can, your best plan is to tangle it with ropes and vines. Try bringing down bigger trees in front of it. Who knows, you might even pin it down with a heavier tree. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Layla said. "What about you?"
Miro took a second deep breath, slowly releasing it. "I'll take the big one."
Layla nodded and vanished. Miro stood, looking at the zenblade in his hands, realising that only if he gave it as much power as possible could he hope to damage the nightshade.
The smaller nightshade lumbered forward, making slow progress as it hit the tangle of logs and branches strewn across the river. Arrows began to fly through the air, sinking into the grey-brown skin of the creature's torso. A limb appeared out of the vines and creepers to the left of the nightshade's body, a bushy branch that swiped across its trunk, and the arrows were all knocked away as if they'd never been there. The glaring eyes shifted, and the nightshade turned, moving across the river in the direction from whence the arrows had come.