For a time there was silence except for the twanging of bowstrings and the cursing of the soldiers.
"There is a problem, however," Master Goss said.
"Somehow I knew you were going to say that."
"I will need to convince the High Enchanter that the project is worth undertaking. It will require a certain amount of essence just to test the idea."
"I see." Miro grinned. "You need to convince High Enchanter Merlon, just as I need to convince High Lord Rorelan."
"That is correct."
"I'll get it done," Miro said. "You have my word."
"Don't give me your word," Master Goss said. "Just get me the approval."
~
MIRO stood by the simulator, again redistributing his strength, moving his men, changing their equipment, assessing the potential outcomes of his actions.
Several weeks had passed since they'd received word that the desert warriors of Raj Hazara had taken the trade town of Torlac, from where they now controlled most of Petrya. This man, Prince Ilathor, had laid siege to Tlaxor, Petrya's capital, and rumours said he controlled even more fighting men than the Tingarans.
Miro already disliked this Ilathor Shanti. This was the man who had sent his warriors to Miro's city — to his home — and taken his sister from him under the guise of friendship. Those weren't the actions of a friend. This new power in the south did not bode well for the broken lands of the Tingaran Empire.
It was now the end of summer. Miro had spent the season fighting countless battles, holding Altura with nothing but hope and unflagging strength. With Petrya having her own problems, Miro had pulled his men from the south and added them to his forces in the east, but then something must have happened to resolve whatever problems the Black Army were having with their essence.
Rather then breaking out, Miro was bottled up, with nowhere to go.
High Lord Rorelan stormed into the room, his face black with fury. "What's this?" he demanded, waving a piece of paper in Miro's face.
Miro looked up. "What is it?"
"Here," Rorelan thrust the paper at him.
Miro read the hastily scrawled words on the paper. It was a message, addressed to Master Goss at the Academy of Enchanters. It said that Rorelan approved the use of essence for the development of a rail-bow. The signature at the bottom was Miro's.
"Oh," Miro said. "That."
"This is too much," Rorelan said. "I said nothing of the sort."
"I can explain," Miro said.
"No, Miro," Rorelan said, "I don't think you can. I've had enough."
"Let me show…"
"Miro Torresante, I'm promoting Marshal Beorn to your position."
Miro gaped as Rorelan spoke. Surely he didn't mean it?
"Get out of my sight, Miro. You've gone too far. Consider yourself dismissed."
~
IN A CITY with nine bridges and a river that flowed through its centre, it was inevitable that Miro would eventually be able to corner High Lord Rorelan on one of the arched pathways that spanned the waters of the Sarsen.
Rorelan reached the foot of the Lord's Bridge, the wide, wooden span constructed long ago by one of the first High Lords of Altura, and stopped in his tracks when he saw the sword lying naked and shining on the bridge's bottom step. For once his guards weren't with him — just as Miro had planned.
Rorelan looked at the sword with obvious surprise and consternation, finally bending down and picking it up. Its blade was covered with symbols, and the grip felt familiar in his hand. It was Rorelan's own sword.
He took a few steps forward, his boots thudding hollowly against the long, wide span rising up in front of him, but it was four more steps before he saw Miro, waiting expectantly for him on the bridge.
Tall and lean, Miro stood in the leather armour and green tabard of Altura's light infantry, having forgone the shiny suppleness of his armoursilk. Rather than a zenblade, he carried a bow in his hands, and on his back was a quiver of arrows. On his tabard was a new raj hada — the sword and flower of Altura decorated with a golden feather on either side.
Miro watched as Rorelan halted.
"You've picked up the sword, High Lord, which means you've accepted my challenge," Miro called across the gulf that separated them.
"Are you mad?" Rorelan demanded.
"Yours is the best single-activation sword our enchanters know how to make, would you agree?"
"I suppose so. What is the meaning of this?"
"I'm holding a bow, as you can see. Watching us are some people I've invited to observe this demonstration."
Rorelan looked out from the height of the Lord's Bridge, and saw hundreds of men in Alturan green step forward. There were even many wearing the brown of Halaran in their number.
"Don't worry, High Lord," Miro said. "They have orders that at the first sign of blood, they'll halt the duel. Battlefield surgeons are standing by, and Layla is a skilled Dunfolk healer."