In an instant Miro could see as clearly as daylight.
A man in black clothing stood before them. He held his hand upturned in front of him, runes glowing on his palm, and high above, an orb of pure light rose higher into the air. When he closed his palm, the ball of light stopped moving, and now was still.
Sentar Scythran regarded Miro with amusement.
He looked at the glowing sword in Miro's hand. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Amber shrunk behind Miro as he moved to stand in front of her.
"I'd like to find out what you're doing here, so far from home," Sentar Scythran said.
A necromancer in a silver robe walked up to stand beside his master.
"Renrik," Sentar said. "Instruct our minions to round up those who've fled."
"Yes, Master," said Renrik, bowing and moving away.
"Drop your weapon and come forward," Sentar said to Miro.
"No," said Miro.
Sentar raised an eyebrow. He pointed his finger and words came from his lips.
Miro pushed Amber away, diving to the side as lightning filled the space where they'd stood. He rolled on the ground and a blast hit the earth behind him, tearing a steaming chunk out of the sodden dirt. He twisted and weaved, rolling and ducking, each movement bringing him closer to the Lord of the Night.
Miro screamed as his sword came up and he prepared to lunge, his every being burning with the desire to end this man's life.
Sentar leaped away and pointed again with both hands, this time away from Miro.
Bolts of twisting lightning poured from his fingertips.
Miro's eyes followed the stream of blue energy as it bathed Amber in its destructive power.
She screamed, the most terrible sound Miro had ever heard. Writhing in pain, still on her feet, she twitched and shook and her clothes began to smoke. As Amber's hair caught fire Miro cried out and held his arms out, lowering his sword.
Sentar dropped his hands. The lightning vanished.
"Enough?" he said, looking at Miro.
Miro watched as Amber crumpled to the ground. Her legs trembled, quivering, the only sign she was still alive, and the blessed rain soon ended the flames in her hair.
Miro threw down his sword and fell to his knees. He looked again at Amber. "No more," he said, though his mind was filled with hate. "Don't hurt her."
The Lord of the Night walked towards him. Miro looked up into the ice-blue eyes, and then without warning the man's clenched fist came forward, snapping Miro's head back. Indescribable pain rocked him to his core; the blow was inhuman in its strength. Blood poured from Miro's nose and mouth as he spat out a tooth.
"Yes," said Sentar Scythran. "I thought so. You're as weak as all your kind."
Miro fell down to the ground, his face landing in a pool of water and the blood from his face mingling with the mud. Looking up, he saw men in grey robes come forward.
"Take him, bind him. Destroy the sword. And also… ensure the woman is the next one raised. Choose one of the more painful ways for her to die, and when she is brought back, send her to me. I'd like to see the expression on this man's face when his mate is made to kill him."
"Please…" Miro gasped.
Sentar bent down until his face was close to Miro's. "What are you doing so far from home, little human? We'll soon find out, won't we?"
36
THE ISLE of Ana was a long strip of rock in the Tingaran Sea, five days sailing from the coast. It lacked a deep harbour, and the only means of approach was a tiny cove with a crumbling jetty, providing meagre protection from the buffeting waves. With few resources and little importance the island was rarely visited.
The late Emperor Xenovere found a purpose for the Isle of Ana, deciding to send convicts from Tingara. The men and women who were taken to the island never saw home again.
A deep chasm divided the Isle of Ana roughly into northern and southern halves. The southern half was the larger section and possessed the pier, as well as several clusters of rude huts. The convicts lived here, entirely unsupervised, making the best of their situation. Vegetable gardens scattered the landscape and a few goats rollicked on the craggy hills, seemingly unaware of the precipitous drop to the ocean below. Most of the convicts were old men, their crimes long forgotten by the society they'd left behind. Escape was impossible.