“Emperor.” Miro coughed.
“All right, Emperor,” the Dain of the Akari muttered.
The ground-eating pace continued as the army of soldiers from across the Empire put their heads down and marched. The long column wound over the dusty plain, flies buzzing at the corners of eyes and vermin-ridden food eaten while walking. Those in front were lucky, but the men behind choked on the dust raised by the boot heels of their fellows. Soldiers remarked that they’d never seen so much dust in Tingara. It was proving to be one of the hottest summers in memory.
Against all admonishment, Dain Barden Mensk marched with them, grumbling and fending off men with bandages and needles even as Killian instructed the best of their healers to give him care. Miro didn’t know whether to be surprised to see the Dain actually manage to keep up.
True to Killian’s words, they didn’t sacrifice the speed of their march. The men were down to four hours’ sleep, walking in a long column from before dawn until the middle of the night.
It was morning, and Miro was at the head of the column, walking by the emperor’s side, when the first scouts returned from Seranthia.
“What news?” Killian demanded.
“Emperor, the city is surrounded and under siege.”
“The enemy—how many are there?” Miro asked.
Dain Barden had said their numbers were almost beyond counting, but Miro prayed some might have fallen to the heat.
“It’s hard to say,” the scout reported. “There are two forces: one larger force assaulting the Wall with ladders, and a second infantry square formed up in ranks outside the gates. Those assaulting the Wall are impossible to count. We’ve estimated the numbers of the infantry square at the gates . . . perhaps ten thousand.”
Miro muttered to Killian. “Even that’s too many.”
“We’ve sent men to check on the harbor, but we can assume the fleet is defeated, with Seranthia under attack on all sides. They’re smashing the gates with battering rams, and they’re scaling the Wall. The defenders are barely holding on.”
“Will we make it in time?” a new voice spoke. Turning, Miro saw Dain Barden come up to meet them, a two-headed war hammer at his belt. The huge leader of the Akari’s face was pale, but he stood tall.
Killian nodded to the scout.
The scout hesitated. “There’s no way to tell. If it weren’t for the mortars and dirigibles, the city would have already fallen. I saw several breaches along the Wall only barely reformed. There are Petryan elementalists on the ramparts supporting the Legion, but the defenders won’t hold out long.”
“We need to push on,” Killian said. He looked back at the long column of soldiers, stretching behind to the distant hills. “Double time!” he called.
A horn blared, two sharp successive notes, and the army picked up pace, the sound of clomping boots filling the air.
“Dain,” Miro said, “are you sure you can still keep up with us?”
“I’ll crawl if I have to,” Barden said. “There’s one among the enemy. I saw him across the battlefield, and I mean to see him dead. Renrik, his name is, and he was once one of my inner council, the most senior of my necromancers. He’s to blame for the death of my eldest daughter.”
Killian fixed his gaze firmly ahead, and even he began to pant at the wearying pace. He spoke to the Dain without turning. “You didn’t mention this before. What happened?”
Dain Barden wiped sweat from his forehead. “Not much to tell. There was a betrayal, and I lost my daughter as well as nearly all my necromancers. Your sister uncovered it, High Lord. The enchantress said our essence was tainted.”
“Ella?” Killian’s eyebrows went up.
“Yes. At any rate, short of necromancers, we were forced to make our stand. I sent the Hazarans ahead, and Ella went with them.”
Miro glanced at Killian and could almost see the thoughts crossing his face. Ella’s path had once more crossed Ilathor’s.
“Did any of your people make it out?” Miro asked.
“I sent our living home, but I stayed. A few of my necromancers stayed with me. They’re all dead.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Killian said.
“I fought one of them, a strange one. This warrior was unlike any draug I’ve seen. He had his own set of followers, all wearing checkered black and white, and on his head was a bizarre hat with three corners and a black feather. I’ve never faced an opponent of his caliber, and I never wish to again.”
“Miro?” Killian said.
Miro was pensive for a moment before answering. “He is the last of three kings, renegade rulers from across the sea. Sentar himself brought them back to the world of the living.”
Killian’s eyebrows went up. “How do you know this?”
“We captured one of the enemy necromancers off Castlemere. I lost a friend, Deniz, as well as one of my best bladesingers to the first of them, but they killed him. The second bested me on the retreat to Sarostar.”