“We need it . . .”
“High Enchanter, it doesn’t matter anymore. It is the only essence in quantity we have left. There isn’t another drop, not anywhere in Altura. I’ve seen your work, and I know you deserve your position. For my idea to work, I need help, but I believe you have the skill to help me. Altura needs us.”
“I will only fetch the essence if you tell me what you intend to do with it.”
“Fine,” Ella said. “But you’re not going to like it.”
When she finished telling him, High Enchanter Merlon looked at Ella as if he thought she were mad. But he agreed to make the attempt.
And Ella went to find some spades.
Jehral nimbly picked his way among the bodies to climb up to the ramparts in the southernmost section of the wall—one of the few places where the structure still stood. He found Ilathor staring out at the broken bodies below.
“The city is lost,” the kalif said without turning around. “Sarostar will fall.”
Jehral opened his mouth to disagree, but then closed it. The fighting over the last days had been bitter, with the last attack a furious assault that had culminated with the collapse of the majority of the wall. The revenants had felled trees and used the logs as rams, pounding at the stone rather than fighting the defenders.
The tactic had been successful.
The iron gate fell, flattened into the dirt, and the attackers had poured through the gap. Ilathor lost half his men in the countercharge, the riders swallowed by the enemy’s greater numbers. The Hazarans fought side by side with boys and old men. Most other Alturan and Halrana soldiers had fallen in the field.
Rain continued to fall in a relentless stream, but neither man acknowledged it. Thunder rumbled overhead.
“Where is Ella?” Ilathor asked.
“No one knows,” Jehral said. “She hasn’t been seen in days. I still can’t believe you brought Zohra to this place.”
Ilathor grimaced. “She wouldn’t stay at home. An obstinate woman, your sister. She’ll be safe at the palace. When the city falls, a fast horse will take her to safety.”
“You think there is no chance of success?”
“None,” Ilathor said. “Miro is a determined one, but Sarostar will fall. We must plan what our next step will be.”
“You may go, Kalif, but I will not abandon them,” Jehral said. “I have fought with these men for weeks. I will not say it was all for nothing.”
The kalif turned to Jehral, and his lips curved in a smile. “I was worried you would say that. Never fear, Jehral. My honor will not let our allies be abandoned in their time of need. Only when the city is truly fallen will I take our warriors—those of us who survive—to safety. We must find the emperor and prepare a plan for throwing these creatures back into the sea.”
“Yet Ella’s homeland will be gone,” Jehral said sadly, turning and gazing back at the pale stone of the city.
“Yes,” Ilathor nodded, “I am afraid it will be.”
“There you are.”
Jehral heard a new voice and saw Miro climb up to the wall to join them. He seemed unaware of the blood splattered on his face, hands, and neck.
“Well? Tell it to me plain,” Miro said as he surveyed the battlefield with them.
“One more charge,” said the kalif, “and these defenses will be overrun.”
“I know,” Miro said.
Jehral’s heart went out to the proud warrior. He’d planned and prepared, tried to gather support at the Chorum, and in the end it all came to nothing. They’d destroyed untold numbers of the enemy, no mean feat given the unholy strength of those they faced, but it hadn’t been enough.
“So what do you intend, then, High Lord?” Ilathor asked.
“Your men don’t like fighting on walls, do they?” Miro said.
“It is not our way.”
“Then let’s face them on the battlefield. One final charge. Kalif, if they make it past these walls and into the city, I release you from any obligation. You will need to tend to your own people and help fight to save the rest of the Empire.”
Ilathor reached out and he and Miro clasped hands. Miro then turned to Jehral. “It’s been an honor fighting by your side, Jehral of Tarn Teharan. I thank you for what you’ve done for my people.”
“Miro,” Jehral said, shaking his head, “even here, at the end, you face defeat with more honor than any warrior among my people. We pride ourselves on honor, yet no Hazaran faces his fate with more courage. You have my eternal respect.”
A haunted look came to Miro’s eyes, but vanished as quickly as it came. The wry smile returned. “We tried,” Miro said. “They’ll never say we didn’t.”
The kalif looked out at the forest. “They are readying for another assault. Let us form up in the open field, High Lord.”
“The open field.” Miro nodded. “I will gather the last of my men.”