-FROM THE FINAL JOURNAL ENTRY OF GAIUS SEXTUS, FIRST LORD OF ALERA
The air around the former capital was too hot and too laden with fumes to overfly, Amara thought numbly. She would have to lead their party of rescued Knights and Citizens around it.
She turned course to circle the flaming wasteland, following its eastern edge as they proceeded north. Alera Imperia, the shining white city upon a hill, was only a gaping hole in the ground. Smoke and flame seethed in that cauldron, far below them. The river Gaul poured into it, and steam obscured the land below from time to time in its own layer of thick white mist that lay over the ground like a filmy funerary shroud.
Amara glided in close to the lead wind coach, opened the door, and slipped inside. She sat quietly for a moment, her head bowed.
"Bloody crows," Gram breathed, looking down. "Did the Vord do that?"
"No," Bernard said. Amara felt him take her hand in his and squeeze gently. "No. I've seen something like this before. At Kalare."
"Gaius," Gram whispered. He shook his head, then bowed it. "That arrogant old..." His voice cracked, and he broke off his sentence.
"Do you think the horde was there?" Amara asked her husband.
"Absolutely. They weren't shy about leaving a trail. You could see it from up here."
"Then Gaius defeated them," Gram said.
Amara shook her head. "No. I don't think so." She lifted her head and looked out the window at the destruction. "He would never do... this, unless the city was all but taken in any case."
"The Vord won," Bernard rumbled nodding. "But he made them pay for it."
"Where would survivors of the battle go, Bernard?" she asked.
"Survive? That?" Gram asked.
Amara gave him a steady look and turned back to Bernard.
Her husband took a deep breath, thinking. "They'd take the causeway north, into the Redhill Heights, until they reached the crossroads. From there, they could turn east toward Aquitaine or northeast to Riva."
The crossroads, then, would be the natural rendezvous point for anyone in the region who was fleeing the Vord-ridden south.
She nodded to her husband and stepped out of the coach, once again willing Cirrus to bear up her weight. Then she signaled to the other fliers in their group to follow her, and took the point position again, to lead her own band of survivors north.
Within half an hour, a hundred Knights Aeris plunged down upon them in a swirling mass of cold air, from such an altitude that their armor was coated with frost. The lead Knight-no, Amara corrected herself, the Placidan Lord who was obviously in command of the unit, flashed her an angry signal, to which she knew no countersign. Shouting at one another amidst so many roaring windstreams would have been an exercise in futility, so instead she simply lifted her head to bare her uncollared throat and lifted her hands into the air. The Placidan scowled at her, but flashed a standard signal at her to land, then signaled a hover, and spun his finger to encompass the rest of her group. She nodded, signaling her own folk to remain in place, and descended toward the ground with the Placidan Lord.
They landed on the causeway, and the lord never took his eyes off her the whole way down. He stopped ten feet from her and faced her silently, one hand on his sword.
"No," Amara told him tiredly. "I haven't been taken."
The man seemed to relax, at least by a fraction. "You understand, of course, that security is a priority."
"Of course," Amara said. "I'm sorry, sir. I recognize that you are of the Placidan Citizenry, but I can't remember your name."
The lord, who looked about Amara's age, but who could have been twenty years older, if he had watercrafting enough, gave her a tired smile. He needed a shave. "Crows, lady. I can barely remember it myself. Marius Quintias, at your service."
"Quintias," Amara said, bowing slightly. "I am Countess Calderonus Amara. The people with me are the Knights and Citizens my husband and I rescued from the Vord. They're tired, cold, and hungry. Is there a haven for them nearby?"
"Aye," he said, nodding as he swept his gaze around. There was a faint, but undeniable note of pride in his voice. "For the moment, at least."
For the first time, Amara looked at her surroundings.
A battle had been fought there, on the causeway beneath the Redhill Heights. The earth was torn with furycraft and the tread of thousands of feet. Black patches marked where firecrafting had scorched the ground. Broken weapons lay strewn about the ground, here and there, along with spent arrows, broken shields, and cloven helms.
And there were dead Vord.
There were thousands upon thousands of dead Vord. They carpeted the earth for hundreds of yards behind her.
"I wouldn't go walking this countryside alone for the time being, Countess," Quintias said. "But if you'll come to the camp, you can sleep safe, at least, once your people have cleared inspection."
"Inspection?" Amara asked.
"No one comes into the camp unless we're sure that they aren't taken or working with the Vord, lady," Quintias said without rancor. "We've had taken trying to slip in and cause trouble since about an hour after the battle."
"I see," she said quietly. "It's imperative, sir, that I speak to the First Lord at once. I have information he will need."
Quintias nodded sharply. "Then let's get moving."
They took to the air again, and Quintias and a dozen of his Knights escorted them ahead, flying low and slow, the effort laborious. They would be exhausted when they landed-which was, she suspected, the point. If they had been intent on causing mischief, their fliers, at least would be in no condition to do so.
It took them little time to reach the camp-a camp set up behind the interlocked palisades of no fewer than nine Aleran Legions. Half a dozen of them were flying the blue-and-white banners of Antillus, which was, Amara would have sworn, an obvious impossibility.
Beyond the neat white tents of the Legion camps was a small sea of humanity numbering in the tens of thousands if not the hundreds. Armored legionares of one of the Placidan Legions were waiting, and Legion healers were coming forward to help (and presumably to verify the humanity of) the most recent arrivals.
Quintias beckoned Amara, and she followed him through the Placidan camp, to a single Legion camp standing behind the front line. The red-and-blue banners of the First Lord flew over it, and she found herself hurrying her steps as she passed through the Crown Legion's camp, toward its commander's tent. It was awash in activity, with couriers and officers alike coming and going.