Scherlic took his eyes away from the seeing device and now he could see the armada with his own unaided vision. It was beyond anything he could have imagined, an uncountable array of ships of all shapes and sizes. As the Infinity grew ever nearer, Scherlic’s experienced gaze saw that these vessels sat low in the water, as if carrying heavy cargo. He tried to count them, but he could only see the length of the line, not the depth; there was no purpose in trying to gauge their numbers from this limited perspective.
He kept his distance but drew close enough to see their direction of travel. He’d been warned about this enemy’s capabilities, and he and Commodore Deniz had experimented with the range and power of cannon. Scherlic knew his mission: the important thing was to escape the armada unscathed and bring warning.
He was now close enough to see that the enemy fleet traveled straight, lumbering forward slowly, but inevitably, heading directly for the free cities.
A puff of smoke came from one of the closest ships, and four or five vessels broke free to give chase. Scherlic’s lips curved in a smile; he’d like to see them try to catch the Infinity.
Then Scherlic could wait no more.
“Make all sail!” he roared. “Turn about. We’re getting away from them.”
Sailmaster Scherlic called power to his vessel, and the Infinity heeled over sharply as she came about. He focused all his energy on getting every bit of speed from the racing ship, and the Infinity shot forward as one of the fastest ships the world had ever seen sped across the waves.
The armada was coming, and they were coming for Altura.
Scherlic had to give warning to the high lord.
Miro had been right all along.
After a week’s frantic journey, Miro was nearly at Castlemere. He was on the road from Sarostar to the free cities, leading a long column of soldiers, when the courier found him.
“High Lord,” the man in green panted, “urgent message.”
Miro realized his hands were shaking as he waited impatiently for the courier to catch his breath. “Tell me,” he demanded, but he knew what was coming.
“The enemy fleet has been sighted. Here,” he said, handing over the dispatch.
Miro swiftly broke the seal and scanned the message from Scherlic. The sailmaster described the fleet as huge, an armada, more ships in one place than he’d ever thought possible.
He said they were undeniably heading for the free cities.
Miro’s homeland was under attack.
“What’s your name?” Miro said to the courier.
“Faron, High Lord.”
“Faron, I am going to entrust you with a vital mission. Can you handle it?”
“Yes, High Lord.” The young man trembled.
“Get to Sarostar as quickly as you can. Do not rest.” Miro bit the words off. “If you see Beorn, tell him the news, but more than anything, get to the Crystal Palace. Find Amelia. Give her the message, and tell her I’m instructing her to light the green signal. Do you understand?”
“Yes, High Lord.”
“Here,” Miro said. He tugged the signet ring off the fourth finger of his right hand. “You now have my seal. Let nothing stop you.”
“You can count on me, High Lord.”
“Good man. Now go.”
Miro was about to face the most important battle of his lifetime. He remembered the devastation of Wengwai, the ravaging of Veldria, the swarming might of the revenant horde.
Miro’s heart pounded in his chest. He began to run.
The free cities beckoned as Miro raced to defend his homeland against the Lord of the Night.
19
Bartolo strode briskly from the Pens to the Crystal Palace, walking along streets of cobblestones and following the river for a time, taking in the scene of organized chaos that was Sarostar entering its final stage of readiness. He knew about Jehral’s discovery of the wrecked ship, but as far as Bartolo was aware, they still knew nothing about their enemy’s present location. Sarostar was busy now, but if and when they sighted the fleet, the city would enter a new state of readiness. At the moment, Bartolo had something else on his mind.
The guards made way for the tall, dark-haired bladesinger at the main gates and then stood aside at the marble steps to let him inside the palace itself, welcoming him with a nod. Bartolo tried to wipe the scowl from his face, but it kept returning, and he soon gave up.
Bartolo found Amelia sitting at a table with some of the overseers of the granaries. She glanced up as he approached, and her expression immediately grew worried when she caught sight of his face.
“What is it?” Amelia said.
“It’s Tapel,” Bartolo said. “Your son needs training. I thought we’d all agreed to it.” He tried to keep the anger from his voice. “I know the training’s hard, but I want to talk to him. Tell him to come out.”
“He’s not at the barracks?” Amelia said.
Bartolo snorted. “He certainly isn’t. You know he hasn’t shown up in days. This isn’t the first time he’s disappeared, and this time we’re going to talk.”
“Please leave us,” Amelia said to the men at the table. They swiftly touched fingers to lips and foreheads and departed. “Now, just wait a moment, Bartolo. Start at the beginning. I thought he was with you.”