Wengwai, the beating heart of Gokan, was no more.
During the final stages of the battle, Miro managed to free himself from the pile of corpses, finding his sword in the process. Checking himself for injury, he found his left shoulder was stiff and sore but he was surprisingly unscathed. Wiping his crusted-over eye, he managed to clear the blood away and could now open both eyes.
He found a place to hide, high on the wall in a mountain of rubble, where he could watch the happenings in the city as well as below on the plain. He saw men in silver robes enter the city, coordinating the revenants as they rounded up the living and the dead alike. He frowned as he saw the symbol of the withered tree on their robes; these were Akari necromancers. Miro now knew how Sentar had built his army so quickly.
The pile of corpses where Miro had been thrown was taken away, and soon every dead body was on its way out of the city.
"Let the living walk," a necromancer called. "It saves us carrying them down to the plain."
Miro watched as a long train of terrified Gokani was marched in single file out the open gates. He felt tears in his eyes, but couldn't tell if they were from rage or frustration. There were many who'd hidden in their homes until the very end: old men and their weeping wives, white-faced young women with babes, and small children carrying toddlers smaller still. Any one of those children could have been Tomas.
Outside the city Miro saw an auburn-haired woman, her face scratched and bleeding, help an elderly man stand back up after a stumble.
Amber!
Miro wanted to scream, and his fists clenched and unclenched. He thought about the Emir's beliefs, and discussions he'd had with Ella and High Lord Rorelan. He thought about the gentle words of the long-bearded healer.
Miro now knew the value of lore, and he knew the power of violence. He would have given anything for a zenblade and armoursilk, anything in the world, and he would have fought like a demon to free his wife and these other people from the terrible fate that awaited them.
As it was, he could only watch and wait.
The prisoners formed an interminably long line, and Miro turned his gaze to the plains below the city so he could see where Amber was being taken.
The sun would set in an hour, and as the clear day ended in a radiant sunset more beautiful than any painting, Miro reflected on the last time he'd seen the sun set, casting its rays on this wall. He couldn't believe so much had happened in such a short space of time.
The army still occupied the area below the city, spotted with siege towers that hadn't even been used, but there was also a new encampment in the hills. A dozen strange cylinders stood beside a series of tents.
"He's taking the vats with him as he goes," Miro muttered as he saw them. "He's going to start the killing tonight."
The long file of prisoners led to the cluster of tents. Miro assumed that even with so many vats it would take time to process so many. They would probably deal with the corpses first, simply because the living didn't have rot to contend with.
Miro thought with a sickening feeling that extracting the essence he needed and raising more revenants to add to his army would delay Sentar's march more than taking a strong city like Wengwai.
Miro took a bearing on the prisoners' location as the sun went down. He then went back into the deserted city to find the items he needed.
He would try to free Amber this very night.
~
MIRO crept towards the vats. His only blessing was that with so many men at his disposal, Sentar was confident, and his necromancers were more concerned with the grisly tasks he set them than with placing sentries and devising watch rotations.
It was a dark night, and though the moon was up black clouds passed across it so that the night alternated between darkness and light. Miro was forced to time his movements to the periods when the moon's glowing circle was obscured.
Screams and moans filled the air, covering the sounds he made. Scurrying behind a hill he saw it on the other side: a tall cylinder, high as a tree; a vat.
Miro checked the items he had with him. At his waist he carried the fine but plain sword the Emir had given him, and over his shoulder was a small satchel. It had taken time, but he'd eventually found a thin quill, an empty glass jar, and a set of gloves.
Lord of the Sky, he hoped this would work.
He popped his head over the hill and quickly ducked back. If he sped over the hill he would be covered by the vat itself on the downward slope.
His heart hammering, Miro launched himself forward, slipping and sliding on the far side of the hill as it fell away more than he'd expected. He rolled to the earth with a thump, his scabbard hitting the bottle in his satchel and shattering the night air with a loud clunk. Miro held his breath as he used the vat to hide himself, waiting to see if anyone had heard.