Layla stood at his side, arrow after arrow flying from her bow. A legionnaire crested the bank, coming at the Dunfolk healer with his sword raised, but Miro ran the warrior through, spinning on his heel and then blocking the cut of a second warrior attacking Layla from behind. As the enemy turned their attention to this new danger Miro scanned the bank, and seeing it was clear, leapt into the river.

He slashed in a sweeping arc at another melding, a black-clad Tingaran with a rune-covered arm of metal. Miro's stroke was blocked by the warrior's enchanted sword. As the melding countered, Miro raised his zenblade and blocked his opponent's sword. He realised too late that the melding held his sword one-handed, before his vision went black as the melding's metal fist smashed into his chin.

As Miro fell back the melding spoke some words and the runes on his arm blazed with colours of red and purple. Miro knew the next blow would kill him. He now had to watch both the man's arm and his sword.

Miro recoiled from the pain and his song fell short. His enemy chose that instant to launch a series of blows at Miro's head and body, alternating sword strokes with punches. A thrust caught Miro's chest, turned by his armoursilk, and was swiftly followed by a straight punch at Miro's head with all the melding's formidable strength behind it. Miro ducked and weaved, the water dragging at his movements, giving himself time to let his breathing return to normal.

Finally Miro blocked an overhead swing with his zenblade and then crouched and hacked at the melding's legs. The flashing enchanted blade encountered no resistance, slicing through one leg and continuing through the next.

The melding screamed and fell. Instantly Miro was fighting yet another warrior, this time a flaxen-haired swordsman in the orange tabard of Vezna, his house confirmed by the sprouting seed raj hada. Veznans were not known for their swordsmanship, and Miro took him with a classic feint and thrust.

Miro despatched his enemies one by one, taking the battle to where he was needed, fighting from one bank to the other until the river was a sea of bodies. He was distantly aware of arrows flying through the air, sinking into tree trunks with thunks or plunging into bodies with the screams of men signalling a strike.

The river was once again cleared of the enemy, and Miro returned to Layla, his chest heaving, feeling as if he'd run from one end of Altura to the other.

As Layla regarded Miro he prepared to brush away her thanks. "Don't waste your energy," she said instead. "Trust me, you will need it."

Miro opened his mouth to respond, but stilled as Layla pinched his arm. "Here they come," she said, pointing.