As he and Beorn reached the wall of dirt, Miro’s stomach rumbled. How could he eat at a time like this? Even so, the demands of his body grew in intensity. As if on cue, an outthrust hand shoved a bowl of something hot in front of his face.
Miro looked for a spoon, and with a grin and a shake of his head, Beorn handed him one.
“Thanks,” Miro said.
“They’ll clear it, slowly but steadily,” Beorn said.
“How long, do you think?” Miro asked, talking through a mouthful of hot stewed meat.
“It’s hard to say. Our scouts report they’re building platforms to cross the fissure we left behind. Our archers harass them while they clear the trees.”
The road was narrower than usual here—the reason they’d picked the place—which meant it was a small enough front for a third of Miro’s army to wait here while another third under Tiesto waited at the blockade behind. The final third, along with the wounded, had been sent back to Sarostar.
“How are the golems and bladesingers?” Miro asked.
“They’re keeping the forest clear. We were right—they’ll come this way. The plan was a success. You did well.”
“We all did well,” Miro said. “We’ve bought time, with little loss of life. Time is what we need.”
“Do you think help will come?”
“I have to believe it will. How goes the renewal?”
“Your sister and the other enchanters are back with Tiesto. We’ve already renewed the swords, and now they’re working on the armor.”
“But we’ve no more orbs. And few constructs—only the iron golems are left. No more tricks, eh, Beorn?”
“We’ll hold them. We also have another helping hand.”
Miro burned his mouth on the stew and waved his hand in front of his face. “What’s that?”
“Winter is their element, but they came in spring. It’s growing warmer every day. The necromancers will have their work cut out for them keeping the revenants going.”
“Sentar is in a hurry. Wherever he is, he won’t be happy at these delays.”
Beorn swallowed a mouthful and then met Miro’s eyes. “The Lord of the Sky came through. We owe Evrin Evenstar a lot.”
“We do,” Miro said. There was silence for a time, both of them remembering the old man, before Miro spoke again.
“Keep the scouts busy; we need to know when they’re going to break through. Come on, let’s get back to work.”
Three days passed and still the enemy worked at clearing the road. Miro lined the pikemen four deep along the blockade—little more than a dirt wall with a trench in front—while his best swordsman waited behind. The scouts now reported movement in between the fallen trees ahead. It wouldn’t be long now.
Even so, every fallen tree would add to the delay. Miro and Beorn continued working side by side with the men, working so furiously now that mistakes were inevitable. They’d sent one man back to Sarostar with a crushed foot. Another soldier narrowly escaped being crushed, dashing to the side when the barrier resettled.
As Miro pulled back to allow Beorn to make a stroke at the biggest tree they’d worked on yet, he saw a familiar figure wave an arm to get his attention.
Miro withdrew to let another man take his place. He panted and walked back to meet the lean Hazaran warrior.
“Jehral.” Miro nodded.
“High Lord,” Jehral said. It was strange seeing the Hazaran on foot, without a horse. “I have an idea.”
“Let’s hear it,” Miro said. “I’m all out.”
“Do you still have black powder?”
“Yes, some.”
“Do you have many of the iron balls?”
“Yes, but we destroyed the cannon.”
“What about the cannon we had at the beaches when the landing first began?”
Miro met Jehral’s gaze and then smiled. “Don’t be coy, Jehral. You’ve scouted them?”
Jehral nodded. “It is difficult and the trees are extremely thick, but I forged a path through the forest to reach the beaches between Castlemere and Schalberg. I counted five brass tubes before I turned back. They are about half a day’s journey.”
Miro was pensive for a moment. The enemy would break through soon, but it would be worth the risk.
“You’ll need four men to carry each cannon. Another twenty skirmishers.”
“No, High Lord. Too much noise. No more than ten men.”
Miro knew Jehral was right. With ten men Jehral would only be able to bring back two cannon, but even two would make a difference. “All right, Jehral of House Hazara, ten men. Leave right away.”
Jehral sped away and Miro turned back to the huge tree. “Beorn!” Miro called. “Jehral’s going to—look out!”
As Beorn turned at Miro’s call, a falling tree nearby twisted and plummeted the wrong way, its tumbling path taking it into the mighty tree Beorn stood at the base of. Beorn’s work was nearly done, and as one tree crashed into the other, the huge tree also fell.
Two trees came down, directly on top of Beorn, the second axeman, and Miro.