"You're dead, High Lord," Miro said.
Miro lowered the bow and allowed the string to slacken, replacing the arrow in the quiver at his back. He reached out his hand and grinned.
Rorelan waited a moment, his chest rising and falling.
Finally, the High Lord gripped Miro's hand, and Miro pulled his friend up.
"That's an interesting way to prove a point," Rorelan said, his face still red. "You're insane, Lord Marshal, do you know that?"
"At least I'm on the right side. The enemy will fear me, High Lord; you have my word on that."
"What if I'd been killed?"
Miro shrugged. "Then I'd be tried for treason, and in a month Altura would fall. Without the rail-bows, Altura will fall inside a month anyway."
"Lord Marshal, never, ever, do anything like that again."
"Let's get a drink." Miro grinned. "You look like you could use one."
30
MIRO looked down at the tree-lined field, drinking in the sight. Only here, from the height of his last remaining dirigible, could his vision encompass them all: eight hundred archers armed with the new rail-bows; four bladesingers, not including Miro; ten thousand Alturan infantry; four thousand Halrana pikemen; a contingent of Dunfolk, perhaps a thousand strong; and a single Halrana colossus, the animator sitting patiently inside the controller cage atop the construct's monstrous head.
Miro had gambled all of their manpower, the last of their essence, and the hopes of two nations on what would happen this day. Three nations, he corrected himself, for the Dunfolk had proven themselves to be staunch allies in Altura's hour of need.
The time for the simulator was past. There would never be another opportunity like this. Adding the Dunfolk to Miro's own men, he had nearly two thousand archers. It was time to show the enemy what they could do.
Miro now looked out from the height of the dirigible at the ruins of the Bridge of Sutanesta.
It had changed, in the time since he had last been here. The river was still turbulent, the wide, deep, waters of the Sarsen raging like an ocean in a gale. Scattered here and there in the river, the tops of the mighty blocks of stone poked above the water. But across the waters, on the Halrana side, much had changed. The Black Army had built walls of black stone, interspersed with low forts. Behind the walls jutted the occasional tall lookout tower, silhouetted menacingly against the golden sky of early dawn.
It was a terrible place to attack, fraught with peril, but the risk was worth it. Behind the formidable defences were the Halrana constructs they had been forced to leave behind when they last fought the Black Army at the site of this ruined bridge. At the very rear of Miro's army were the Halrana animators, skilled masters of lore, equipped with the last essence the allies would see until the war was over. If Miro could break through the defences and reanimate the ironmen, bonemen and woodmen on the Halrana side, it could tip the scales, and give his small army the upper hand in the struggle to free Halaran.
He knew it was a desperate gamble, but this was war, and Miro was fighting for his homeland, and for the very cause of freedom itself. It was a risk he had to take.
"Take me down," Miro told the dirigible pilot.
Soon the dirigible was again hovering above the floor of the field where Miro had assembled his men. He placed a hand on the rail of the dirigible's basket and leapt down to the ground, spurning the ladder.
Marshal Beorn waited for him, wincing when Miro landed lightly on the ground beside him. "Well?" Beorn asked.
"It's as we feared. The walls are perhaps taller than we thought; they must have strengthened them since we last scouted. It's a bad day to cross the river, but then every day is a bad day for these parts. How are the landing craft?"
"They are ready," Beorn said, scratching at his beard, "as ready as they'll ever be. We won't know if they can hold up against the river until we go across. I'm still not sure about the colossus. It's a lot to pin our hopes on."
"We've been over this," Miro said, looking across the field at the gigantic construct. The colossus made a nightshade look puny by comparison.
"Let's hope the animator is skilled indeed," Beorn said.
"We don't have another option. A runebomb is out of the question," Miro said, "too much essence for a single explosion. A colossus will take time to burn through the same amount, and is much more versatile. Plus, there's the effect on morale."
"Let's hope you're right," Beorn said. "I still fear for the infantry. Not a man among them has enchanted armour. The enemy's orbs will tear them to shreds."
"Not if my archers do their part."
Beorn didn't reply; he simply tugged on the grey hair of his beard.
"Beorn?"
"Yes, Miro?"
"We've come a long way. Whatever happens, it's been an honour having you by my side."
Marshal Beorn grumbled something under his breath that may have been a similar sentiment.