Miro had already started his song, feeling the armoursilk come alive around his body, hardening and settling tightly around his skin. A detached part of his mind noted that the enemy's volley was no greater than his own; Ella's theory was holding up; the Alturans weren't the only ones running short of essence. The rest of his mind recoiled in horror as the land erupted around him, gouts of flame and earth rising high above their heads, tearing men limb from limb. The scene was lit up, the darkness banished in lightning-like flashes. An Alturan soldier to Miro's right was flying down the bank to the river, screaming and snarling, when a small sphere hit the ground at his feet. The man wore enchanted armour, but it still wasn't enough, and the explosion tore him into two parts. The snarl was still on his face as he died.

Then Miro concentrated on the task at hand as he plunged into the river, his momentum slowed as the waist-deep water took hold. He heard the splashing sounds of his men behind him, and looking ahead he saw that he would be the first to meet the enemy — with his lighter armour and long legs he was more agile in the water than the other soldiers, an advantage he hoped to press against his opponents.

Miro added more of his song to his zenblade, and the blade lit up with blue fire. The chanting formed a regular rhythm, the rising and falling of his voice a soft melody as he activated more of the sequences that his weapon and armour had been enchanted with. He was the leader of his men, and the more heart he showed, the more courage they would have. Rather than using any of the cloaking effects, Miro made his armoursilk bright, as bright as the sun. The Black Army would know he was here. Lord of the Sky, they would know.

The first legionnaire thrust a spear at Miro's unprotected face. Miro swerved and feinted at the warrior's armoured chest, before smashing into him with his shoulder. With the spear overextended and the legionnaire off-balance, Miro swung from overhead, hitting his enemy's neck and continuing through his body as the sizzling zenblade felt little resistance.

Another Tingaran, a huge growling man with a two-handed sword, chopped down at Miro as he turned from the dead legionnaire. Miro blocked the sword with the zenblade, shearing it through, then thrust into the Tingaran's chest. Blood gushed out in a fountain as Miro withdrew his zenblade.

Three of them hit Miro at once, and all he could do was concentrate on his song, keeping his motions economical to conserve his strength. He despatched the middle warrior with a thrust to the neck, then the swordsman to the right with a feint and a slice that opened up the surprised man's chest, and then the legionnaire to the left with three quick cuts.