"Start talking," he said. "The people of this continent have no lore, which is why I came here to raise my revenant army. I don't understand your bladesingers and golems, avengers and nightshades. You've seen my army. Do we have anything to fear from the lore of the houses?"
Miro opened his mouth, the words initially coming haltingly, and then faster as he spoke. "Yes. Your army has everything to fear. A bladesinger of Altura is worth a thousand men in combat. A golem of Halaran is more powerful, more indestructible than any revenant. Tingaran avengers fight like demons, and if you think of the strength of trees than you can imagine what it is like to fight a nightshade of Vezna. You have everything to fear, Sentar Scythran." Miro finally allowed himself to grin. "She's not here, is she?"
This time Sentar's rage was unrestrained. With his back against the iron table, there was no space for Miro to duck his head. The iron fist smashed into his cheek, and a second blow under his other eye rocked his vision.
Even as he wondered how Amber had managed to escape, Miro felt a sensation of intense pleasure overwhelm the terrible pain he was in. He knew he could hold out now, no matter if Sentar flayed him alive, or burned his eyes with pokers. The secrets of the Empire were safe.
A third blow struck Miro, crushing his nose against his skull. The pain drove like nails into his head as he heard the bones crunch together.
Sentar struck Miro again and again, but Miro didn't feel a thing as his vision narrowed to a tunnel, and unconsciousness enclosed him in its embrace.
~
MIRO hovered in and out of consciousness for days. Sentar's fit of rage was a mixed blessing, for his wounds saved him from torture for a time, yet his enemy's wild fury took Miro close to death.
At some point he was loaded aboard a cart and for some time he travelled with the army as it headed south towards Veldria and the great harbour city of Emirald.
Miro knew the Lord of the Night's plan now. Gathering numbers as he went, Sentar Scythran would reach Emirald with an indomitable army. After sacking the Emir's beautiful city, he would take possession of the Emir's ships. Miro had seen for himself how many ships were in the massive harbour. Revenants didn't need food or water. Sentar would cram them on every vessel and set sail for the Empire. The closest nation was Altura.
Miro moaned when he woke, unable to prevent the agony bringing sound from his throat. He sometimes stayed awake long enough to call out questions, which sometimes were answered, but most times were not.
Someone tended to him on the journey south, although he wasn't sure if the healer did so out of tenderness. More than likely the healer had orders to rebuild Miro's strength to the point where he could be tortured further.
The healer did his work well, and Miro began to feel consciousness return for more than a few moments at a time. He tried to fake a comatose state, but with dread he heard someone send word to Sentar Scythran.
An indeterminate time later he felt his body being moved. Another indistinct amount of time passed, and then Miro opened his eyes.
He realised he was once again splayed on a cold iron table, staring at the ceiling of a tent.
This time Miro was naked.
There was a rustle, and the sound of heavy breathing, as someone entered.
Miro tried to lift his head but still couldn't see who it was. He felt his heart-rate increase and sweat broke out on his brow. The pain in his broken nose throbbed as if in expectation of further pain.
Miro wished he could simply die.
He heard further movement, and closed his eyes as he waited for the pain to begin. Would Sentar question him first, or would he simply start to slice and burn?
Miro tensed, unable to prevent the involuntary response of his body. With his eyes closed his hearing was amplified, and he heard a snicker and a snap. With surprise he felt a loosening of the tension on his right wrist. Another snap a heartbeat later and Miro's other wrist was freed.
He opened his eyes, flexing each hand as he did. A man in a black robe moved to the bindings around his ankles and swiftly cut each in turn.
Miro recognised the black robe of an alchemist, although this time the triangle was bound by a double circle. When the alchemist turned Miro saw a pair of shaggy eyebrows and kind eyes.
"Get up," the alchemist's voice was thin but curt. "I know you are weak, but we do not have much time. You need to be strong now."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Tungawa. I freed your wife, and now I am freeing you."
"Why are you helping us?"
"Those words are better saved for a more appropriate time. Here." Tungawa threw Miro a bundle of black clothing.
Miro slid off the iron table and wobbled as he tried to hold himself on two feet. For a moment he thought he would faint. Pain throbbed in his head, blood rushing to the wounds on his face and sending waves of agony to his battered flesh. With a supreme effort of will he fought the pain, battling it like an adversary, clenching his jaw and holding himself still.
He realised he held a black alchemist's robe akin to the one Tungawa wore. He pulled the robe on over his head and raised the cowl to cover his face.