True to its name, the Parklands was a district of sprawling manses and public gardens. Amber ran past a brightly lit park, and then two large manors, each at least four stories high. There was another park on her right, this time large and dark enough to hide in.
Amber put on an extra burst of speed as she dug her left toe into the ground and made a hard right turn. She ran past large clumps of bushes and groves of trees. When she sensed the trees were between her and the soldiers she made a left turn, and when she jumped over a small canal, she turned right again.
Finally she passed a series of flowerbeds and then a long hedge. She threw herself into the hedge and held still.
Her breath came in heaves, and she fought to slow the rise and fall of her chest. Sweat dripped down from her brow and her heart galloped in fits and starts.
Amber listened intently. She heard the voices of men calling out to each other. One of the soldiers came close at one point; she could see his form silhouetted against the light of the distant avenue. He turned and walked away.
Amber stayed hidden in the bushes until exhaustion overtook her.
Sleep overcame her senses, and she didn't stir until dawn.
32
MIRO woke with the dawn, hearing groans and moans around him as the male citizens of Wengwai, young and old, also woke and realised this was likely their final morning.
The deep horn blasted in one long note, the deafening sound emanating from the tall tower called the Eye, making Miro's stomach tremble in strange ways. No one would be sleeping now.
Miro looked out from the walls. The dust cloud had settled, and now for the first time he could encompass the incredible multitude below. The enemy commander had brought his siege weapons forward, he saw. Any moment, they would attack.
Miro looked along the line of the wall. The battlements were perhaps twenty paces deep, and the wall was long, encircling the entire city. Miro had experience at holding a long line; there weren't enough Gokani soldiers to man these walls.
He looked back at the city. The next inner wall was perhaps five paces deep. If the Elector of Gokan, or whoever was leading the defenders, was wise, he would pull the men back to the next wall at the first sign of trouble. The attackers would be forced to leave their siege towers outside the main wall, and the line of defenders would be stronger with a smaller area to cover.
Miro snorted. What was the point of tactics, facing so many, so disciplined, and so prepared for a siege? The city was doomed.
Wengwai's round towers were situated at regular intervals along the walls, and Miro glanced at the closest. He wondered what effect the huge cannon placed atop each of the towers would have.
How could he discover who led the horde?
The ground began to tremble, and gazing from the height of the wall, Miro saw the great army, miniscule as ants, start to march.
He looked at the Gokani soldier beside him, a young lad, barely more than a boy. He was terrified. Wetness appeared on his legs, but he didn't seem to have noticed.
Miro allowed his own fear to feed his rage. Why did people wage war? Weeks ago the Gokani had been trading and farming, falling in love and raising families. In the north, three nations had been destroyed by the horde. Two nations remained: Gokan and Veldria.
This continent was as large as his own, and it was about to be overrun.
The enemy marched forward with strange, jerky movements. Miro couldn't see their faces, but he could see that some held swords, while others held axes. A few held muskets, the stick-like devices he'd encountered when they'd fallen prey to Commodore Deniz and his men. There were also men with clubs and staves, and strangely, there were women in the ranks.
Many in the horde were dressed in furs and skins, with horned helmets and ragged beards; these must be the barbarians from Oltara and Muttara. Others were clad in fine clothes. It made no sense; the different peoples were mixed up together; usually people of the same nation would fight together. Few wore armour.
The cannon on the tower near Miro boomed, and a puff of smoke rose into the air. The shot was like the first drop of rain in a storm, and the cannon all around opened fire. The noise was deafening. Miro held his hands clapped to his ears and watched the devastation below.
Every strike was a hit; the gunners couldn't miss. With incredible force the huge balls of lead struck the plains below, flurries of dirt and pieces of men flying into the air in their wake. Each ball tore a gouge in the sea of men like a scratch on a painting.
Miro expected some of the enemy to break, but not a man did. They simply closed ranks and continued to move forward in tight formation.