"I'm going to look over the harbour," Amber said. "There's a good view from up here, and there must be someone ready to flee the city on a ship."
"Good idea," Miro said.
She squeezed his arm. "Good luck."
As he watched Amber head to the seaward side of the palace, Miro wondered where the Emir would be. He decided to look for a place that afforded a view of the landward side of the city. He saw a marble-columned structure at the rear of the palace and sure enough, a lone figure stood with his white-knuckled hands on a rail, looking upon the unfolding battle at the walls below.
"Emir Volkan!" Miro called.
The figure turned.
The Emir's flowing robe was deep blue this time, the colour of the ocean, and belted with silver. His sharp nose and dark eyes were as penetrating as ever, but Miro could see the lines of care around his eyes. Together with the grey in his beard his worried eyes made him look old.
Emir Volkan was afraid.
"Ah, look who it is, the man I sent north to gather information on the enemy. Tell me, Miro of Altura, what can you tell me about the enemy's numbers?" the Emir asked with heavy irony.
Miro joined the Emir at the rail. The Veldrin soldiers were fighting valiantly, and for now their numbers were holding back the dark tide.
"We now meet under very different circumstances," Miro said.
"What are those creatures?"
"They're called revenants. The dead are given a semblance of life and made to serve in the army they died fighting against. One of the Evermen leads them. He calls himself the Lord of the Night."
"So," Emir Volkan said, "it seems we were both right. Your ancient enemy is here, and lore has destroyed my land."
"We can fight them," Miro said.
The Emir barked a laugh. "How do you fight a multitude of warriors who will not die? They say this ruler is a man no blade or ball can harm. We're doomed."
"There's something I can offer you that may help."
Emir Volkan turned and looked at Miro. "Look at you. You've got nothing. You've been beaten, I see it in your eyes. I don't need to see the bruises on your face to tell me. What can you offer me, Lord Marshal Miro? Can you make this Lord of the Night pass us by?"
"No." Miro shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Veldria was the target all along. Here in Emirald you have the ships he needs to take this army across the ocean. He won't stop until your harbour is in his hands, and your people have been butchered or enslaved just as those in the north have."
"My people will never be slaves," the Emir bit the words off.
"You won't have a choice. You will serve in death."
"No. I will destroy my corpse before it serves my enemy. I will destroy my body, my city, and as many of my people as I can before I allow us to become slaves. I will not allow us to serve the army that comes to destroy your homeland, as it has mine. You have my word on that."
"There's another way for your people," Miro said, "some of them at least. I have something I can offer you."
"What can you offer me?"
"Safe haven... Refuge…. In my land. For as many of your people as we can get out of here aboard your ships."
The Emir turned to Miro, looking deep into Miro's eyes. "You would do that? You would welcome my people, feed them, and shelter them? You have the power to offer me this?"
"We can load your women and children into some of your ships and take them to my land. Once there, I will ensure they are fed and clothed and given a place. I am second only to the High Lord, and I can speak for him," said Miro. "Later, when we have defeated this enemy, we can help your people come back to these lands to rebuild. Veldria can live again. As long as the memory of your civilisation exists, it can live again."
"I need your word," Emir Volkan said.
"I give you my word. But there's something I'll need in return."
"What do you want?"
"I want your help, and that of your men. Those of your ships that don't make it out of here, we need to destroy. Destroying your ships, all of them, will give us the time we need to escape, and to prepare my homeland's defence."
"And I have your word that you will treat my people well?"
"You do. You can come yourself to make sure of it."
"No." The Emir turned his gaze back to the surging battle at the walls. A boy raced a bucket of pitch up to some soldiers, who instantly poured it onto the revenants below. The viscous oil was proving to be the main reason the walls had not yet been overrun. "Do you see the men with their buckets of pitch?" Emir Volkan suddenly asked.
"Yes." Miro's heart went out to the courageous soldiers, who surely knew to a man that to lose the walls was to doom everyone and everything they held dear.
"It comes from the catacombs that worm the hillside this city was built on. The oil seeps from the ground underneath and we collect it and store it in the tunnels higher up. I have had our reserves of black powder also taken to the catacombs, to be stored alongside the oil. Do you understand what I'm saying?"