Miro needed to hold. He needed to hold for reinforcements from the other houses. There were too many revenants. He knew he could never win unaided.
He missed Amber. He hadn’t heard from her in an age. In a way, he was relieved that she was far from the battle, but he’d been expecting a message from her, and still none came.
Miro ate something and then he tried to sleep. He remembered Evrin Evenstar’s sacrifice and felt the ache of sadness. Evrin had done something incredible: he’d hurt Sentar, and he’d removed the greatest threat of all, even if it was only for a time.
Miro hoped Sentar was mortally wounded. He hoped the Lord of the Night was in terrible pain.
As he tried to sleep, he remembered the last time he’d seen Amber, at Rialan Palace in Ralanast. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, but he thanked the stars every day. He thanked the Lord of the Sky.
He caught a few hours of snatched sleep, and then a low voice outside his tent woke him just before dawn.
“Miro.” It was Beorn. “They’re here.”
Miro stood at the middle of the long wall, with Beorn by his side. In front of them another glorious day revealed the killing ground: a gentle slope of cleared earth heading down to the ruins of Castlemere.
“Tiesto is in place?” Miro said.
“On the far right.” Beorn nodded. “Any last orders before I take the left?”
“Yes,” Miro said. He met his lord marshal’s gaze. “Stay alive.”
Miro and Beorn clasped arms, and then Beorn left Miro standing with defenders on all sides, but alone. Miro thought about the times he’d made rousing speeches to his men. This time, no words came to his mind; they were fighting for their lives, for their families, and for their homes. They knew it as well as he did.
He followed the wall with his eyes, first to the left until it disappeared toward the distant shore, then to the right where he could just make out the barricade of fallen trees keeping the wall’s flank firmly guarded by the forest. Each tower along the wall’s length had a cannon sighted at the beach. There were eighty-six towers.
The killing ground stretched ahead. The red warning flags had been removed, and to walk into that area meant death.
Behind the wall, the majority of Miro’s army lay in wait, formed three deep along the entire line. Dunfolk archers crouched behind their taller allies, and every two hundred paces a flying brigade of elite Alturan heavy infantry prepared to rally the defenders and close any breaches. Close to Miro’s right was one of the gaps in the wall they’d left to enable the defenders to make sorties.
Then Miro heard it: calls and shouts, the sound of marching feet. A scout rushed forward to make his report.
“High Lord, they’re forming up out of range.”
Miro nodded but kept his eyes on the open expanse in front of him. “Thank you.”
Miro gazed out at the white boulders, evenly spaced to aid his ability to make decisions. The farthest marked the extent of the range of his cannon. At the extreme limits of vision, he could now see the massed ranks of the enemy.
He wore his armorsilk, and his zenblade was in its scabbard, strapped to his back. The time for planning was now well and truly over. He would fight with the men.
A soldier coughed, and another turned his head and was violently sick. As the sun climbed the sky, the tension affected them all.
And then they attacked.
With a roar the horde came rushing forward, their numbers so great that even in massed ranks their line covered the entire length of Miro’s long wall.
“Runebombs!” Miro cried.
The enchanters at the gaps rolled the glowing iron balls forward and then to the left, avoiding the murderous trenches hidden directly in front of the inviting spaces. As the slope began to take effect, the enchanters released.
At first the balls rolled so slowly that Miro tensed, thinking they would stop, but then they gathered momentum and soon hurtled along, heading inexorably for the enemy.
The horde was far enough away that men couldn’t be distinguished one from the other; it was just a long line of attackers. Then the runebombs vanished into the enemy, swallowed by the multitude, and in unison they exploded.
The detonation was deafening, and all around Miro defenders put their hands to their ears. Great explosions of flame and sand shot into the air, and the destruction tossed bodies higher still. Miro wished he had more height; the wall was low and he couldn’t see what effect the devices had. But after frequent use and with little essence, his one and only dirigible was no longer functional. From now on he would need to rely on his individual commanders.
The revenants filled the gaps left by the runebombs, and the horde kept rushing on. This was unlike any foe Miro had faced before; these weren’t men whose spirits could break at the inevitable devastation coming their way. Only total annihilation would win or lose the day.
The rush of warriors reached the most distant of the white markers.