The brown-covered book has a rune on the cover — the number six.
As Killian looked on, the rune lit up with power. The Lexicon began to glow, brighter and brighter, until it was too bright to look on.
Saryah screamed, dropping the book.
The beam hit her in the face. For an instant, her twisted, contorted face turned white. In a sudden flash, her head exploded in a burst of energy.
Killian didn’t wait. He released the cylinder and ducked under its beam. Scooping up the Halrana Lexicon, he tucked it under his arm, threw the cube at the jewel, and ran.
The archway beckoned. Killian fled the chamber, ducking into a narrow stairway, cut into the wall. He began to climb.
The refinery exploded.
Killian fell into darkness, terrible and absolute.
67
I sometimes wonder why the High Lord requires access to the Lexicon. The fewer people who know of its location, the safer we will be.
— Diary of High Enchantress Maya Pallandor, Page 868, 411 Y.E.
THE death of the Emperor gave the defenders new hope. The ragged line reformed, and a defiant group of Alturan infantry, supported by Halrana pikemen, even began to push back. Miro wondered who the heroic soldier had been. His sacrifice had given them the respite they needed. He was directly responsible for saving the lives of thousands of refugees.
Yet the respite was short-lived.
After an entire day’s fighting the defenders’ strength was beginning to give out. Miro could see their weariness in every aspect. Swords became impossibly heavy. Rather than protecting them, armour trapped the men in its heavy grip.
The soldiers of Altura and Halaran had fought beyond every call of duty. Nearly half of the refugees had been taken across the river. The defenders had lasted hour after hour, holding back the implacable tide.
"Sir," a man pointed.
Miro saw it then. The Veznan nightshades were coming. His heart lurched in his chest.
As tall as two men, with green limbs like clubs and skin of the toughest bark, the nightshades hardly paused as they smashed into the line. The soldiers — mostly Halrana — fled in terror. The nightshades were as opposite to Halrana constructs as night and day. A colossus or iron golem glowed fiercely and announced its presence with every footstep. Tangled vines covered the nightshades so that it seemed like nature itself had come to destroy all in its path.
Behind the Halrana were the wooden carts containing row after row of idle constructs. If only…
Two bladesingers fought a nightshade, vainly looking for an opening in the moss and vines. The creature picked one of the bladesingers up and, almost casually, tore the man into two pieces. The living tree then reached for the second bladesinger.
Suddenly a glowing colossus smashed into its side. Dwarfing the nightshade by an order of magnitude, the gigantic construct plucked it out of the ground and stamped down on its torso.
The animator in his controller cage then moved the colossus further into the battle. With great strides the colossus took the battle to the enemy, tossing the nightshades through the air.
Simultaneously the doors of a wooden cart crashed open, and row after row of woodmen poured out. Another wagon trembled under the weight of the bonemen marching out of its belly. Six iron golems hurled into four imperial avengers.
Somehow, unbelievably, the Halrana were back in the battle.
Miro looked back at the river. Over half of the refugees had crossed now.
The ground suddenly shook, a thunderous crash coming from the front. A colossus was down, the animator trapped in his controller cage. As Miro watched a tree warrior smashed down on the cage, and the man was no more.
With the added support of the constructs, the defenders reformed the line. But the endless horizon was filled with the enemy. Their numbers were simply too great. Even as the front line of the enemy died, those next in line were pushed ahead by the weight of their numbers.
The enemy’s relentless momentum was impossible to stop.
~
MIRO watched as another bladesinger went down, swamped by scores of legionnaires. He looked at Marshal Beorn. The scarred veteran nodded. He then looked at Lord Rorelan, who put his hand on Miro’s shoulder.
"You did well, Lord Marshal Torresante," said Lord Rorelan.
Miro shook his head. "Please, don’t call me that."
"Miro," said Rorelan. He drew his sword, the afternoon sunlight glinting from the sharpened steel.
Miro heard the whisper of metal as Beorn in turn stood with weapon in hand, a grim expression of determination on his face.
Miro reached over his shoulder and drew his zenblade. The rune inscribed surface shone like a mirror. The two other commanders activated their armour. Miro began to sing, the sequences coming smooth and unhurried.