He hated having to use the people close to him, but whom else could he trust?
And with his arrival in Ralanast, he was now about to give Amber an impossible task, when all she wanted was to go home to their son, Tomas, currently being looked after by Rogan’s wife, Amelia. With Amber gone, Miro knew he would feel like he was missing a limb.
Miro’s pacing took him back to the window, and once more he looked through the glass, seeing Ralanast, capital of Halaran, spread out before his eyes, stretching in all directions. His eye was drawn to the magnificent Terra Cathedral, and he remembered spending his first night with Amber near the great dome, after the liberation of Ralanast.
Lord of the Sky, that felt like an eon ago.
Miro glanced at Tiesto. He would once have described the Halrana high lord as fresh faced, though his frequent worried expression made him look older than he was. Yet Tiesto had grown into his position and looked every inch a high lord. Perhaps it was that Tiesto’s worried face had grown tighter still.
“I fear it won’t be long now,” Miro said to Tiesto. “It will have taken Sentar Scythran time to gather the essence he needs, and the ships, but he’s in a hurry. Are your constructs ready? And your men?”
“I’d like another week . . .”
“We might not have another week.”
“I realize that, Miro, but . . .”
“We need you now!” Miro glared.
Tiesto flinched as if Miro had punched him.
Miro dropped his gaze. “My apologies, High Lord. My plea at the Chorum was an utter failure. We still have many cities to connect to the signaling system, including Sarostar itself. No one will pledge assistance. I wonder if the essence cost to build the system is worth it at all.”
“We voted for you,” Tiesto said. “But they think it’s more fair . . .”
“Fair?” Miro’s tone was bitter. “What’s not fair is that Loua Louna is protected on all sides. Vezna is protected by us. Yet if we fall, so will they.”
“I’m sorry,” Tiesto said.
Miro sighed. “No, Tiesto. I should apologize. You’ve supported us every step of the way. I’ve heard the rumors; some of them say I’ve invented all this. It doesn’t matter what we did in the war against the primate.”
“A few stupid people . . .”
“Yes, but some of those people have power.” Miro tried to force himself to relax. “How soon can your forces be ready? Please give me some good news.”
“Is anyone ever ready? You know better than anyone that war takes time and is as much about logistics as brave hearts. The best I can give you is two days.”
Miro breathed with relief. “Two days?”
“In two days we’ll take the bulk of our constructs and fighting men to Altura. I’ll give the order tonight.”
Miro turned to Tiesto and spoke with sincerity. “High Lord, thank you. With the other houses worrying only about themselves, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support.”
“My people owe you an eternal debt. We’ll fight with you to the end.”
“I just hope that isn’t what happens,” Miro muttered.
He wiped a hand over his face, feeling a level of tiredness he’d never felt before, not even in the last war—and the real struggle hadn’t even started yet.
“The Veznans will appreciate you sending your wife. It’s a strong statement,” Tiesto said.
“Yes, but will they promise aid?”
“We can only hope.”
Miro pondered. Amber would soon leave to connect Rosarva, the Veznan capital, to the signaling system, with her most important objective being to convince the isolationist Veznans to support whoever called.
Whoever called.
Miro was the only man in the Empire who’d spoken to Sentar Scythran at length. While in the lands across the sea, he’d been captured and beaten, and he’d heard the Lord of the Night’s plans.
He knew it was going to be Altura.
Back in Seranthia, Ella’s friend Shani had promised to do her best to convince Petrya to help, but Miro had heard the apprehension in the elementalist’s voice. The war was over, wasn’t it? No one wanted to think about a new one.
“He’s coming,” Miro whispered.
“What did you say, High Lord?” Tiesto asked.
“I said he’s coming,” Miro said. “It won’t be long now.”
“High Lord, can I give you some advice, much as you won’t appreciate hearing it?”
Miro smiled wryly. “Go on.”
“Get some rest. We’ve gone through the plans a dozen times. You’re desperate to get back to Altura, I can see, but unless you have a few horses from the desert tucked away, you can’t run all that way. We’re in constant communication, and we’d have heard if a fleet had been sighted. Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow.”
Miro grinned, realizing he was getting advice about worrying from Tiesto Telmarran. “Thank you, High Lord. I’ll take your advice in the spirit it was given. What time is it?”