“Here . . . that’s right; we’ve got him, Enchantress. We’ll take him from here.”
Ella followed Fergus the ferryman with her eyes as they carried him away. She returned to her work, searching for more bodies, but at last there were no more. All were in the hole, burning to ash.
“I don’t think we can last much longer,” Shani said.
“I know,” said Ella.
They both looked at the huddled defenders, not even trying to fight the rain, some sleeping even as droplets stung their cheeks. There were so few of them now. Miro had called up all the men from the defenses at Sarostar, and these were all that were left. How many revenants had they destroyed? Surely the attack couldn’t keep going?
The scouts said they’d started discovering piles of revenants left back along the road. The defenders sometimes fought an enemy who simply dropped, becoming still as the light left the runes, sometimes crumpling as rot sunk in too much for the lore to function. It was their only sign of hope, yet they all held onto it.
“Where is Sentar, do you think?” Shani asked.
“It would be too much to hope he’s dead. I don’t know whether to be thankful or afraid that we haven’t seen him.”
“Their tactics have lost their edge since the death of the warrior your brother and Bartolo killed. Have you noticed?”
There were supposed to be three kings from across the sea, and they’d only defeated two, but nonetheless, Ella thought the necromancers must be in control now. Their strategy seemed to consist of hurtling forward, then regrouping, then throwing their revenants forward again.
“They’ll wear us down anyway,” Ella said.
“Ella, have heart,” Shani said. “We’ll get through. All it takes is one heroic act and we may still be saved.”
“They’re all heroes already,” Ella said, casting her eyes over the defenders.
“Every last one of them,” Shani murmured.
Ella suddenly looked up. “I have an idea.”
Shani broke out in a smile, the first Ella had seen in weeks. “Good. That’s the Ella I know.”
“Keep Miro safe,” Ella said. “I have to go. I might not be back for a while. Be safe!”
“I’ll do my best,” Shani said wryly.
Ella grinned and felt her friend’s eyes on her back as she broke into a run.
Back toward Sarostar.
Miro waited with Beorn, who flicked water from his beard. Nearby Jehral’s eyes were closed; he was either resting or praying, perhaps both. Tiesto’s shoulders slumped with exhaustion. A few paces away Bartolo stood with a bladesinger, Dorian, the youngest of their number.
Together they formed a core at the very front of the blockade. Behind them the men’s eyes were lined with desolation and weariness, but Miro fought to stand tall and be a rock his men could count on.
They stood firm as once more the enemy charged.
“For freedom!” Miro cried as he held his zenblade over his head. His men gave a ragged cheer, and then the enemy poured into the ditch.
Once more scores of revenants fell willingly onto the spikes lining the base of the ditch, and their fellows climbed over their fallen. Once more Miro held the line as he sang with a voice hoarse from shouting, seeing fire light up his zenblade as he threw himself into the fray.
The defenders held, but the enemy kept piling up behind their own number, pushing those in front forward into the whirling blades. The rain fell in a continuous stream, mingling with the blood that cascaded down Miro’s armorsilk.
The defenders held while the enemy charged, and charged again.
Miro saw Dorian go down as a revenant thrust a wicked spiked club into the young man’s face. An enchanter in a green robe took his place, but then he went down too.
Men were falling everywhere.
“We must fall back,” Beorn gasped.
“Guard my back,” Miro said. He swiftly turned and waved an arm at the Petryan elementalists.
A wall of fire sprang up, but this was weaker than ever before. Miro looked on in horror as the revenants continued to run forward, even through the flames.
Their skin blackened and sizzled, but still the attackers pushed on. Miro knew the final blockade was lost.
“Back!” Miro cried. “Back to Sarostar!”
Unable to launch a coordinated retreat, the defenders simply turned and ran. This time there were no powder kegs or runebombs to slow the enemy. Men were cut down as they ran, and slowness meant death.
The running defenders cleared the forest, and now Miro saw the broad wall ahead. Behind it the tops of the highest buildings poked up.
This was Miro’s city, his home.