The Black Army scout and Miro saw each other at the same time. Miro reached over his shoulder for the hilt of his zenblade, but seeing the green of his armoursilk, the scout turned and ran. The black-clad scout was nearly a hundred paces away, and Miro would never catch him.

Miro instead reached for the rail-bow he wore over his other shoulder.

He nocked an arrow to the string and pulled it back to his ear, once again picturing Master Goss telling him how to call forth the target, bringing it into focus. Miro released the arrow, and it sped through the air, to suddenly sprout from the middle of the scout's back. Without a word, the scout keeled over, his body close through the sight of the bow, yet incredibly distant when Miro put down the bow and looked on with unaided eyes.

Where there was a scout, an army would follow.

The Black Army's reinforcements were near.

Miro put his hand above his eyes, gazing at the distant hills. "Hurry," he muttered, thinking about the Halrana animators. He didn't even know if they'd found any salvageable constructs.

Miro was concentrating so hard on the far-off ridges that he almost didn't see it appear, rising up over the closest hill like a black tide.

Hordes of warriors came towards him: imperial legionnaires, screaming with bloodlust and waving their swords over their shaved heads; templars, their white tabards crusted with dirt and grime; and most numerous of all, a motley collection of swordsmen, axemen and pikemen gathered from the farthest reaches of the Tingaran Empire.

Miro turned and ran, oblivious to the danger as he once again dashed over the treacherous field littered with traps and trenches from the great battle once fought here. He kept his head down, his strides eating up the earth as he prayed he would be in time to warn the Halrana animators. The constructs would have to wait; Miro had brought these men here; he was responsible for getting them out alive.

Suddenly, Miro stopped short.

In front of him stood a glowing man of metal, symbols flickering red over the construct's black skin. Miro looked around and saw at least forty of them in a file, all activated.

The ironmen were alive.

"They're coming," Miro gasped. "The Black Army."

The ironmen advanced, and Miro realised there were more of them behind. Miro looked around for someone — anyone — finally spotting the figure of a man in green, seen in a flash between the marching rows of constructs.

The Alturan captain unclenched his fists, looking inordinately relieved when he saw Miro. "Lord Marshal, I was worried…"

"They're coming," Miro said. "The enemy are right behind me. How…?"

"They found a bunch in a cart that the enemy threw into a ditch and buried."

"How did they get them out?" Miro asked.

"The animators had them dig themselves out. Not much stops these things."