Miro had far fewer men manning a much weaker defense. He wondered how they could ever hold.
The attackers reached the deep ditch in front of the blockade, each warrior pushing those in front, sending their fellows to certain impalement. As they fell into the ditch, blood gushed from their mouths as the revenant warriors from across the sea fell onto the spikes. Bodies piled one on top of the other, and then they were over the ditch and climbing up the embankment. The first wave threw themselves against the sharp points of Miro’s steadfast pikemen, and the second wave followed suit.
The rest kept coming, and then they were over. It couldn’t be called a breach: the enemy broke the defenders in the first charge.
Suddenly revenants were everywhere, and Miro was in the thick of the fighting. Beside him Jehral swung a glowing scimitar, lopping off heads and limbs, while closer to the forest iron golems tore through revenant flesh. The pikemen dropped their weapons and drew swords. Miro’s reserve smashed into the revenants, but even they struggled to hold the line.
There was chaotic fighting everywhere.
Miro called on the protective strength of his armorsilk, stiffening the shimmering material, and he sent power to his zenblade, turning it blue with fire. He danced among the attackers, slashing through bodies and sending splashes of crimson blood through the air in his wake. He fought with tired muscles and constant concentration as he chanted, feeling his breath come short, but pushing down the fatigue.
Miro saw a rotting head explode in front of him, and Ella was there, her dress as bright as his armorsilk as it turned enemy steel. She gasped activation sequences in her own deadly song, sending beams of yellow light through one revenant after another.
He sensed the Alturan palace guard—the best of his soldiers—fighting beside him, and knew the battle hung in the balance. One of the soldiers in green fell, and then another. Finally, Miro’s fierce swordsmen slowly began to push back the revenants, but one of the enemy warriors held firm. Single-handedly, this warrior was turning back every attempt to reform the line.
An enchanter with a wand fell down, his hands clutched to his gushing chest. Another Alturan swordsman fell down with a cry of pain. Miro knew he needed to destroy this warrior.
Miro cut through a tall barbarian and in a single flashing image, his gaze took in the threat.
The warrior wore a blue shirt with a white trident sewn into the material. Holding a falchion in each hand—heavy single-edged swords with wide, powerful blades—he killed yet another swordsman with a crushing blow to the skull and then turned to face Miro.
Miro saw the three-cornered hat and the white eyes filled with blood. As Diemos, the pirate king of Rendar, fixed his stare on the high lord of Altura, he whirled, the twin blades casually cutting an Alturan in two, opening a space between Miro and himself. Miro felt chills along his spine as he knew he’d met his match.
Miro’s song called more searing fire into his zenblade as he leapt forward. The twin blades flashed, slicing the air, and Miro ducked and then dodged to the side. The pirate king came to meet him, and their weapons clashed, sending blinding sparks into Miro’s eyes, making him blink.
A falchion smashed into Miro’s chest, and he grunted in pain. He met the next strike with the zenblade, forced to move quicker than he ever had before, and still the pirate king was faster.
Miro managed to get a thrust into the pirate king’s chest, and his opponent roared as the sizzling steel penetrated his torso. Miro smelled burning flesh, but the blow that should have torn his opponent in half had little effect: the runes on this warrior glittered like stars in the night sky, beyond anything he’d seen on any revenant before. Sentar himself had made this one.
The two warriors ducked and sidestepped, blades cutting the air where heads had been moments before. Miro’s song came strong, but he simply couldn’t find a gap in his enemy’s defenses. The falchions met the zenblade time and again, and Miro felt fire in his side as a falchion struck his armorsilk and tore the material. Heat washed from both the zenblade and the falchions. One solid strike, and Miro would be dead.
He sensed the battle around him even as he fought. The revenants began to surge forward, but with Miro occupying the indomitable pirate king’s attention, the defenders took heart and rallied, pushing the enemy back once more. Bodies formed obstacles on the ground, making it difficult for Miro to dance out of the way of the pirate king’s twin blades.