Near the front of the sea of men were eight tall siege towers, their frameworks built from strong logs lashed together. The towers rolled on huge wooden wheels and consisted of wooden boxes placed one on top of another, with the topmost box having a hinged door at the height of the walls. Miro could see each tower was filled to bursting with men.
The towers lumbered forward, each about five hundred paces from the next. Behind them Miro could see clusters of trebuchets, scores of them, rolling forward with the soldiers. At this range they would devastate the walls. The attackers carried thousands of ladders, incredibly long to reach the top of the wall. The cannon boomed again and again, but there were too many targets.
"Concentrate on the siege towers!" a voice called, relayed from one guard post to the next. The cannon opened up on the siege towers, one scoring a lucky hit, when Miro heard a sound that stopped the entire battle.
"Halt!" the voice boomed in the air like a thunderclap, impossibly loud.
The surging force below stopped in its tracks, only a hundred paces from the walls. Cannon rumbled but then petered out. The siege towers stopped rolling. The defenders on the walls held their breath.
Miro saw a single figure walk forward through the horde. Though they pressed together shoulder-to-shoulder he walked alone, with a clear space around him. He drew inline with the towers and walked past them, until he was in front of the mass of men.
As distant as he was Miro only saw a tall figure, in a black shirt and trousers, with hair the colour of blood.
Miro watched in awe as the man looked up to the top of the wall. The man spread his arms at his side, and rose into the air.
The defenders gasped, the sound audible to all, as every one of them watched the figure in black rise until he was level with the wall, and then higher, his body high over the horde below. The defenders' heads tilted back until he stopped, and then he was looking down at them, floating easily.
He was clad in soft black material, perhaps velvet, rich and tailored to his slim form. His long sleeves opened at the wrists; silver sparkled at his cuffs and from a stone around his neck. He gazed down at the defenders with evil, ice-like eyes, a sneer of condescension on his face. The hair was pulled severely back from his brow and blood-red, with strange lines of black at his temples.
"Lord of the Sky, protect us," Miro breathed.
The man's lips parted, and when he spoke his voice was somehow amplified, so that it carried to every last defender, every last woman and child. His first words sent a chill down Miro's spine.
"My name is Sentar Scythran," he said, in a tone as dead as the grave. "I am the Lord of the Night."
Miro closed his eyes. His worst nightmare had come true.
"I am your new ruler, and I will conquer your land, as I have conquered the north. Stronger men have failed. Braver men have failed. You will fail."
The young recruit near Miro moaned with fear.
"Surrender your city now. You have no chance. Surrender your city and I will give you your reward."
"We'll never surrender!" a voice cried, and an arrow shot into the air. Perfectly aimed, its razor point flew faster than a bird.
The arrow bounced harmfully off the Lord of the Night, splintering into fragments as it hit his body.
He carried on without interruption. "When I take this city you will all be killed. Every last man, woman, and child will die, as I visit the same fate on you I have visited on realms much more powerful than yours. Your strong men and women will join my army, while the old, the young, and the weak will become fuel for my endless hunger. Fight and I will kill you all, and laugh as I do."
The floating man in black clothing paused, allowing his words to sink in.
"Surrender," Sentar continued, "and I will spare your precious Guild, your Elector, and your council. I will still kill the rest of you, including your disgusting babes and your snivelling children, but you may take comfort knowing that your leaders will continue the memory of your civilisation. When the blood drips from your veins and your mate screams your name as the flesh melts, it is comfort you will sorely need."
Even through his horror at the man's words, Miro recognised the tactics. Knowing the city of Wengwai would never surrender, Sentar was attempting to divide the city, creating resentment between the common people and the leaders.
It was a strategy designed to weaken the defenders, and from the expressions Miro saw on the men around him, it was working. Yet it told him something.
It told Miro that for all his power, the one who called himself the Lord of the Night did not find taking the city a simple undertaking. The thought gave Miro the determination to fight, even as another part of him argued.
Perhaps he was simply in a hurry.
A crack signified a musket shot but like the arrow, the ball bounced harmlessly off the man in black's floating form. A second musket fired, and then a third. A volley of the weapons fired simultaneously, the shots bouncing off the Lord of the Night like hail.
These people had no lore. They were facing an army led by one of the Evermen. They didn't have a chance.