Miro wondered how long before the enemy reached this area and they were forced to pull back to Marshal Beorn's hastily-crafted defences. Miro had been counting on the support of the constructs they had left behind last winter, and now realised how precarious the situation was.
"I'm going to see how far away the enemy are, how much time we have," Miro told the captain.
"You can't go out there," the captain began, "let me send…"
Miro spoke some words, and his armoursilk blazed as he activated its core protection. "I'm the best-placed to find out," Miro said. "I'll be back."
He chanted as he ran, calling forth the multitude of sequences that would protect him in the event of a fall. Would the armoursilk be powerful enough to save his skin if he fell into a spiked trap? He hoped he wouldn't find out.
Miro opened his stride, running with long steps, barely touching the ground with his toes, expecting at any instant to plummet down into the earth. He thanked the Lord of the Sky as he reached higher ground where there would be no traps, climbing a hill where he had a vantage over the area.
The Black Army scout and Miro saw each other at the same time. Miro reached over his shoulder for the hilt of his zenblade, but seeing the green of his armoursilk, the scout turned and ran. The black-clad scout was nearly a hundred paces away, and Miro would never catch him.
Miro instead reached for the rail-bow he wore over his other shoulder.
He nocked an arrow to the string and pulled it back to his ear, once again picturing Master Goss telling him how to call forth the target, bringing it into focus. Miro released the arrow, and it sped through the air, to suddenly sprout from the middle of the scout's back. Without a word, the scout keeled over, his body close through the sight of the bow, yet incredibly distant when Miro put down the bow and looked on with unaided eyes.
Where there was a scout, an army would follow.
The Black Army's reinforcements were near.
Miro put his hand above his eyes, gazing at the distant hills. "Hurry," he muttered, thinking about the Halrana animators. He didn't even know if they'd found any salvageable constructs.
Miro was concentrating so hard on the far-off ridges that he almost didn't see it appear, rising up over the closest hill like a black tide.
Hordes of warriors came towards him: imperial legionnaires, screaming with bloodlust and waving their swords over their shaved heads; templars, their white tabards crusted with dirt and grime; and most numerous of all, a motley collection of swordsmen, axemen and pikemen gathered from the farthest reaches of the Tingaran Empire.
Miro turned and ran, oblivious to the danger as he once again dashed over the treacherous field littered with traps and trenches from the great battle once fought here. He kept his head down, his strides eating up the earth as he prayed he would be in time to warn the Halrana animators. The constructs would have to wait; Miro had brought these men here; he was responsible for getting them out alive.
Suddenly, Miro stopped short.
In front of him stood a glowing man of metal, symbols flickering red over the construct's black skin. Miro looked around and saw at least forty of them in a file, all activated.
The ironmen were alive.
"They're coming," Miro gasped. "The Black Army."
The ironmen advanced, and Miro realised there were more of them behind. Miro looked around for someone — anyone — finally spotting the figure of a man in green, seen in a flash between the marching rows of constructs.
The Alturan captain unclenched his fists, looking inordinately relieved when he saw Miro. "Lord Marshal, I was worried…"
"They're coming," Miro said. "The enemy are right behind me. How…?"
"They found a bunch in a cart that the enemy threw into a ditch and buried."
"How did they get them out?" Miro asked.
"The animators had them dig themselves out. Not much stops these things."
The moustached animator hurried up to Miro as the ironmen continued their advance, forming an unbroken line.
"I'm needed to help control the ironmen, Lord Marshal, but I thought you could use a briefing. The enemy destroyed the woodmen and the bonemen, but the ironmen proved too difficult, and so they were buried. Most are buried haphazardly, in a pile, but some like these were still filed up in their carts. We were able to renew them without too much difficulty."
"What about the others?"
"They'll take days to extract, reassemble, and renew."
"How many?"
"We now have two hundred ironmen, fully activated and combat-ready. But buried in the ground is perhaps three times that number."
Miro made a snap decision. "Captain? Send a message to Marshal Beorn. Tell him to send reinforcements, every man he can spare. Quickly!"
The captain despatched a messenger and then looked up at Miro. "Are we holding here?"
Miro nodded. "We're certainly going to try."
~