The trees fell slowly, but they were big.
Miro dived out of the way, but he was too late. Branches came down on top of him, smashing onto his back, pinning him face down to the ground. Miro took a knock on the back of his head, sending stars sparkling in his vision. But he could breathe, and as he shook his head to clear it, he realized he was unharmed.
Soldiers called out and rushed to help. Many hands reached forward to pull the branches away from Miro, and a Halrana held out a hand to pull him free from the tangle.
“High Lord!” the Halrana cried.
Miro ignored him and rushed back to the place he’d last seen Beorn, climbing over the entanglement. Thick tree trunks lay piled one on top of the other, a mess of green foliage and branches as thick as a big man’s leg.
“Can you hear me? Beorn! Anyone!” Miro yelled. “Quick—bring axes!” he turned and shouted.
Miro saw the body of a man in a green uniform, crushed beneath the debris, white bone poking out of his legs and his torso squashed into a nearly unrecognizable shape.
“Beorn!” Miro called again.
“Down here,” a hoarse voice came from below the tangle. Miro recognized Beorn’s voice, which meant the dead man was the soldier who’d been assisting.
Soldiers arrived with axes. “High Lord, how do we cut him out?”
The pile shifted. A cry of pain came from below.
“We need to do something,” Miro said. He turned and ran back to the blockade, dashing past wide-eyed soldiers who took in Miro’s scratched and bleeding face.
Miro finally found what he was looking for. His zenblade lay in its scabbard, and he pulled the hilt in one swift motion, throwing the scabbard to the side.
He ran back to the site of the fall and called out again. “Beorn!”
“Still here,” the weak voice came back.
Miro ran his eyes along the runes of the blade his sister had made for him. It had taken Ella a month to make this new zenblade since his return from across the sea. Controlling the activations was more complex than ever before, but this zenblade could cut through anything. Ella had demonstrated it to Miro herself. She wasn’t a physically strong woman, but she’d shown it could cut through solid stone. At its limits, the blade’s heat even melted the stone, leaving a wide triangular gouge when withdrawn.
Miro started his chant, his voice rising as fire traveled along the sword’s length. He moved directly to the most powerful lore Ella had built into it, and suddenly the zenblade lit up with blue fire.
Miro didn’t swing at the trees; he simply pressed down at the debris.
He grimaced and hoped Beorn would yell out if he came too close.
The zenblade burned so brightly that Miro struggled to look at it, squinting against the glare. It would drain at a prodigious rate, but Beorn was under there. His friend needed him.
Even without heavy pushing from Miro’s sword arm, the blue fire cut through the green wood like butter. Taking their cue, the soldiers pulled the branches away as Miro cut through them. When he reached the trunks, Miro finally saw him. Beorn stared up at him with eyes filled with fear, his face white.
Miro couldn’t say anything. He could barely hold his song together.
He pushed harder, and the zenblade cut into the topmost trunk with barely a sound. Beorn was pinned under both of the trunks—it was a wonder he was still alive—and Miro cut through the first and waited for a dozen soldiers to haul the log away before moving to the next.
Beorn had his eyes shut to the glare. Miro couldn’t turn away from the blinding fire; he had to watch carefully, or he would strike his friend with the fierce heat.
Then he was through. Miro let his song fall from his lips, but he waited for the arcane symbols on the zenblade to completely fade before he cast the sword aside. Together with the men, Miro hauled the log away. Two more soldiers pulled the man out from under the tangled mass, and then Beorn was free.
Miro looked at Beorn in astonishment as his lord marshal climbed to his feet.
There was barely a cut on him.
“Lord of the Sky, you’re a lucky man,” Miro said.
“I thought it was my time for sure,” Beorn said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen power like that, not even from a zenblade.”
“You can thank my sister yourself,” Miro said. He clapped Beorn on the back. “It isn’t your time, my friend. Not yet.”
34
“Here they come!” Beorn roared. “Hold fast!”
The enemy finished clearing the road and immediately attacked. Miro felt his whole body tense as they rushed forward, filling the road, the attackers packed so densely that they were like a torrent pouring down a canyon.
The two cannon Jehral had brought back from the beaches boomed, and as tightly crowded as the revenants were, the blasts tore scores of warriors to pieces with every shot. The enemy ranks closed as swiftly as gaps opened, and now the gunners fired at will. Every shot told, but still they came on.