"Maybe we should just go home."
Rogan turned away from the balcony and moved inside, holding Amelia by the arm and bringing her with him. "Will you go? Please, Amelia. Tapel will be safer, and I will feel better knowing you're far from here."
"You stubborn man. What good can you do by staying?"
"If I leave now, the Empire is doomed. I can't let that happen. Someone like Bastian will take charge in the void, and Tingara will do what it thinks it needs to do, what Tingara has done in the past when in need of resources."
"And what's that?"
"I've kept the Tingaran army whole. The last thing the city needs is more men without jobs. What would you do, if you had a strong army and little else? They'll go to war, Amelia. With Aynar, or Torakon, it doesn't matter who. When there are too many people competing for too few resources, men fight. The battles whittle down the numbers, and to the victors go the spoils. The rest die." Rogan said the last word with finality.
"Does it matter, if we're safe in Halaran, or Altura?" Amelia asked.
"Yes, it matters! I won't have all that blood on my hands."
"But you said it yourself. There are too many people competing for not enough food, and too little work. How are you going to solve that problem? If you don't know how, then you should at least save yourself."
"Evrin Evenstar…" Rogan began.
"…is working on the machines as we speak. I know that, Rogan. You've said it more times than I can count. In the meantime, the people of Seranthia need something to believe in, and now they don't have the Evermen, they no longer have any faith. The people of Seranthia need a sign. Give them something."
"What do I give them? An enemy to fight? How do you fight hunger? A higher power to pray to? I don't know what to believe myself!"
"Give them hope," Amelia said softly.
Rogan suddenly punched the wall, heedless of the hard stone bruising his knuckles. "I don't know how!" he roared. "I'm a soldier, not even a noble. But no one else is willing to take this burden from my shoulders. If you have an idea for me woman, than tell it to me!"
Amelia's eyes filled with sorrow as she reached forward and squeezed Rogan's shoulder. "You'll think of something," she said. "You always do."
She turned and left Rogan alone, knowing his moods. He sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands, while the roaring crowd outside drove home his sense of impotence.
He had to think of something.
"Damn you, Miro," Rogan said. "You wanted to tell them, so why aren't you here now?"
They were angry now, but soon they would turn violent.
44
THE LARGEST harbour in the world was filled with ships. The Emir had recalled his warships and merchantmen, galleons and caravels, so that vessels crammed the port of Emirald, and a person could walk from one end of the docks to the other by clambering from one deck to the next.
The ships had emptied their crews — the coming battle would be fought on land, not on the sea. Sailors were hastily formed into military units and many of the mighty cannon were taken from the warships and put up on the walls, facing north.
The enemy would soon be here.
Built on a hillside overlooking the water, the city of Emirald had only two faces: the harbour, where twin arms of wood and stone enclosed the Emir's floating pride in their protective embrace; and the walls. The city faced the harbour, the palace faced the harbour, and the houses of the city's residents faced the harbour. Only the poor lived in small houses on the rear of the hillside, where they couldn't see the water.
The walls had been added to the landward side of the city nearly as an afterthought.
But they were strong walls, thick rather than tall, and soon they would be the only defence against the horde.
Unlike Wengwai, Emirald wasn't built in concentric circles, with a series of inner walls to fall back to. Crowning the city with ivory towers and glorious domes, the Emir's palace had been designed with beauty in mind, rather than safety. The Emir's navy had always been all the protection Emirald's citizens needed, and the nations of Gokan and Narea in the north had always been an effective buffer against the barbarian horde. The landward walls had been built because… well… a city should have walls.
Now these walls were lined with soldiers, all staring grimly north.
Like ants swarming at an object of desire, the horde could now be seen from the heights of the palace. Those gazing out initially didn't believe their eyes. Surely no army could be this big. Where were the supply trains? How were they feeding so many men?
A new order was circulated throughout the city. Without exception, every male between the age of fourteen and sixty was commanded to join those at the walls.