Miro's ranks swelled, so that he soon sent word back to High Lord Rorelan in Altura for more weapons and armour. Soon Miro's new recruits were armed with sharp swords and leather armour, unenchanted but durable. Rorelan even sent two hundred more rail-bows; it seemed he'd found a little more essence tucked away.

The most emotional time for Miro was when they reached the small town of Sallat.

Once, not long ago, but far back in the events of the war, Miro had been a bladesinger recruit billeted in Sallat while Prince Leopold awaited orders. Miro had met a woman there — in fact, she was still the last woman he'd been with — but when the orders came, the Alturan army had left Sallat behind. Less than a day later, the army received word that the Black Army had hit the town. They hadn't turned back.

Now, nearly a year later, Miro walked alone through the streets, his mind recalling Varana, the sweet Halrana woman who had taken him to her bed. Half of the town had been destroyed, and Miro was sad to realise he didn't recognise any of it. He took a bearing at the remains of the town hall, confirming in his mind only that Varana's house was one of those blackened hulks. The survivors — who still eked an existence, taking each day one at a time — told him she was almost certainly dead, killed when the legion came through. Miro felt a small sadness; he'd always known she was gone. He had been another person back then.

"What orders, Lord Marshal?" Beorn asked, bringing Miro back to the present.

"Marshal Scola will need to take his three divisions towards Mornhaven, to head off any attack at our rear from the Ring Forts. He won't have enough men to attack; we just need him to secure our rear from the enemy."

"What about us?"

"Have the scouts returned?" Miro asked.

"Yes. There's a place between here and Ralanast. It's high, and well-protected. The enemy know we're here, so there's little risk in being so visible."

"Good," Miro said.

"Lord Marshal?" a courier said, coming up the hill with a piece of paper in his hand. "A message from Ralanast."

Miro swiftly broke the seal and read the note. "It's from Rogan," he said. "The signal is a plume of green smoke."

Miro looked at Beorn, who nodded his understanding. Miro then turned his attention back to the distant spires of the Terra Cathedral, and the one hope he had never dared to mention, not even to himself.

The thoughts came to him then, however, now that he was so close. He tried to quell the stirring in his breast, but her face was there in his mind. He'd known her since she was a girl, and deep inside he'd always known she loved him, but she was his sister's friend, and he'd thought it the puppy-love of a child.