The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (46 page)

Killian stretched and moved closer to the fire, inadvertently shifting closer to Ella so that their legs were touching. Neither of them moved apart.

"I agree," he said.

The firelight danced and played across Killian's face. Ella's leg was pressed only slightly against his, yet she felt incredibly conscious of the warmth of his touch.

"I've always wanted to see what we could do together," Ella said. "I have some runes in mind."

Ella's chest heaved, her breasts rising and falling with her breathing. She realised she was wearing the same dress she'd worn when she was with Ilathor, and she suddenly felt heat come to her face.

"You're blushing," Killian said.

Ella wondered if she should tell Killian about Ilathor, but she pushed the thought away. After all the horror and bloodshed, the time with Ilathor had been a rush of emotion, as Ella craved the warmth she'd seen Shani and Bartolo share. Prince Ilathor had pushed Ella, and she'd succumbed. With Ilathor she'd felt none of the companionship she now felt with Killian.

"The fire's a bit warm," Ella said.

Killian looked over at the fire, which had died down to embers, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's a little cooler over here," he said, opening the crook of his arm.

Ella shuffled over until she was sitting beside him, leaning back into his arms. Killian moved to sit with his back to a tree, while Ella snuggled in to his body, feeling safe with Killian in a way she never had with another man.

Comfortable tiredness washed over her. "You still have me at a disadvantage," Ella murmured. "You've seen me naked."

She felt a hand stroking the side of her cheek, and then Killian's soft touch was on her neck. As Ella drifted off she realised it was the necklace at her throat that he'd found.

"You do care for me," Killian said.

Ella didn't hear him. She had already closed her eyes, sleep coming to her instantly.

51

"
T
HIS
enemy can be beaten," Jehral said.

Prince Ilathor nodded. "Their numbers are fewer, and even in battle some of the revenants are falling down without being struck at all. Whatever she has done, it is working. Yet still no word."

"I am sure she is safe, my prince," Jehral said.

"Salute!" a voice called from outside. "Your Highness, the Petryan and the Alturan are here."

"Send them in," Jehral called.

Shani and Bartolo entered the prince's command tent. Without preamble, Prince Ilathor spoke. "The new tactics are working. Elementalist Shani, Bladesinger Bartolo, I have you to thank."

"We need to move more slowly," Bartolo said. "I know your men value speed and surprise, Prince Ilathor, but we can't keep this pace up. Today's battle was lucky. Tomorrow's battle might not turn out as well."

"I hear you, bladesinger," Prince Ilathor said, "and I do not wish you to think your arguments fall on deaf ears, but the Tingaran winter is coming, and if we want to reach Seranthia before the advent of the cold, we must press on. My men are not equipped for winter."

Bartolo shrugged. "Then many more of your men will die than is necessary. The speed you want will mean sacrifice."

"It cannot be avoided."

Shani spoke. "The essence we captured today… If our elementalists can have some we can create more walls of fire."

"You shall have it," Prince Ilathor said. "As much as you like. Nothing is as successful as fire when it comes to destroying these revenants."

"We can see if our elders can create some illusionary fire as well," Jehral said. "That way the enemy won't know where the fire is real, and where not."

"Good, good." Ilathor smiled. "These are all excellent ideas. You've done well, all of you."

"What do you intend to do with the necromancers we captured?" Bartolo asked.

Prince Ilathor exchanged glances with Jehral. "They have been killed. Jehral and I have seen to it."

"That's not customary…" Bartolo began.

The prince looked up at Bartolo. "Not customary in these lands? Not customary practice in war? You have heard the same things I have, Alturan. Do not let your honour get in the way of ridding the world of this evil."

"We don't know if it's true," Shani said.

"Even the facts are bad enough. If it's true about how the enemy is obtaining their essence, then it isn't just my duty, but all of our duty, to see this thing through. It won't be over until our men are in the streets of Seranthia."

"Have you heard anything from Ella?" Shani asked.

"Nothing," the prince said.

"Her brother is my friend," Bartolo said, "and he will want to know that she is no longer under your protection."

"I don't know if she ever was under our protection," Jehral said, smiling thinly.

"That doesn't change the fact that the Alturan Lord Marshal needs to know," Bartolo said. He turned to the prince. "Either you tell him, or I will."

52

T
HE LAND
of Torakon was the last to be freed from the Black Army before the allies advanced into Tingara itself.

Moragon and Dain Barden fled before the allied army, the Black Army inflicting heavy losses before falling back to the next strong position. Nevertheless, the men in green and brown were advancing. As winter drew near, and they pushed relentlessly eastwards, the Torak capital of Sakurai was declared an open city, and the Black Army fell back to the Tingaran border without a fight.

Miro was surprised, although he soon realised he shouldn't have been, when the allied army was hailed in Sakurai as liberators. Raj Torakon had been one of the first houses to ally themselves with Tingara, yet here they were cheering wildly and celebrating in the streets when the army marched through the city. Then Miro heard about the dark days of High Lord Koraku Rolan's rule while under the Primate's control, and began to understand. Koraku's body was discovered in his chambers, swinging from a rope. The Toraks raged that it was too-clean a death. Miro knew it was better for it to be over; they would move on all the quicker.

"Something's changed," Miro said to Rogan.

They were in Miro's tent at the allied army's encampment outside the walls of Sakurai. Both men preferred the austerity of the tents to the strange structures and giddy heights of the builders' city.

"They're running out of essence," Rogan said. "I've seen it before, back in the Rebellion."

"That's not the only thing though. You know what I'm talking about."

"The Hazarans," Rogan said.

Miro nodded. "The Hazarans. We've tried to communicate with this Prince Ilathor but his replies are guarded and ambiguous. He doesn't sound like a man accustomed to the bargaining table."

"You know their reputation," Rogan said. "Kill first, ask questions later."

"We need an alliance," Miro said. "Our information says they're ahead of us in the race to Seranthia."

"Your sister would be the natural go-between," Rogan said. "She travels with them."

"I don't know how I can get a message to her," Miro said. "Anything I send to her will be intercepted by the prince. I don't trust him, Rogan."

"If the Hazarans are the first in Seranthia, she'll be the only Alturan there," Rogan said.

"Miro," a new voice said. Marshal Beorn entered the tent. "There you are. There's a message." He held out a piece of paper. "It's from Prince Ilathor."

Miro exchanged glances with Rogan and then took the scroll, quickly breaking the seal: a desert rose in yellow wax. Miro quickly scanned the paper while the other two commanders looked on.

"Prince Ilathor says fire is the best weapon to use against the draugar. He also says to cut off the revenants' heads, something we've already learned. They are short on essence, but they drain faster in warmer weather, so once winter settles in we'll find it harder to wear them out. He mentions nothing about an alliance." Miro looked up. "And finally he says my sister is no longer with him. She's out there somewhere on her own, in the enemy-held lands near Seranthia."

Miro handed the note to Rogan, who scanned it swiftly.

"What does this mean?" Marshal Beorn asked.

"He's sending us a message," Rogan said. "He's telling us he intends to be in Seranthia before winter sets in properly. We need to press on. Some of the Toraks might join our cause, but they'll need to be trained as we march. We can't be the last to reach Seranthia. The future of the world depends on it."

"I've come to a decision," Miro said, standing.

Rogan and Beorn regarded him. "Tell us," Rogan said.

"Freeport is to the north. I'm going there, alone."

"Freeport?" Rogan frowned. "There's nothing there but fish and trader ships."

"It's a frequent port of call for the Buchalanti," Miro said, "and I can be in Seranthia in days on one of their storm riders."

"Alone? You're mad," Rogan said, "let me send some men with you."

"The Buchalanti are neutral," Miro said. "If I have soldiers with me they'll never give me passage."

"What will you do when you reach Seranthia?" Beorn asked.

"If the city is still in the Primate's hands, I'll keep my head down and do what I can until either the Hazarans or you two arrive. I'm counting on it being you two, but I'll be prepared if it's not. If my sister isn't there, there'll be at least one Alturan in Seranthia when the Primate is taken from power."

"It's a brave move," Rogan said. "I promise you, we'll do what we can to get there first."

"I also plan to look for Amber," Miro said, "and for Ella."

Miro walked to the corner of the room where his zenblade was hanging on a rack. Next to it was his rail-bow and a quiver of arrows, fletched with green feathers. He started to pack.

"You've leaving right now?" Beorn asked.

"Why wait?" Miro said. "I trust both of you. Let's see this thing through."

"Take care," Rogan said, "and don't do anything rash. I'll see you in Seranthia."

53

S
ERANTHIA
, capital of the broken Tingaran Empire, was the largest city in the world. It stretched over hills and valleys, from horizon to horizon, from the wide open mouth of its massive harbour to the unbroken grey line of the Wall.

Seranthia was a city with a unique mix of lawlessness, vice, and brutal punishment. Newcomers and strangers thought there were no laws at all, but the truth was the laws that existed were few, but rigidly enforced.

The old Emperor, Xenovere V, like all of the Tingaran Emperors before him, took great offence at anyone making light of his position, and so anyone overheard disparaging his name was thrown over the Wall.

Recognising the importance of respect for the Assembly of Templars, those caught denigrating the Evermen, the Primate, or the Assembly itself were thrown over the Wall.

The laws were all simple, and those remaining no less so. Essence was the most valuable substance in the realm, and even small amounts on the grey market could cause the destruction of the powerful merchant families and result in chaos. Anyone caught possessing essence without a licence had his or her lands and possessions confiscated and was thrown out of the city. Distributing essence resulted in torture and the execution of one's family.

The final law was the simplest of all, but was the one broken the most. Vagrants were not tolerated, so anyone without the price of a loaf of bread on his person was thrown outside the city. If the vagrant struggled or protested, the legionnaires were authorised to throw him over the Wall.

Those vagrants that didn't end up as mangled corpses at the bottom of the Wall, generally headed to Aynar, where they became burdens on the Assembly of Templars.

Now there was a new place where the legionnaires could send the poor of Seranthia: a facility managed and run by Templar Zavros.

True to his word, the Primate had given Zavros whatever he needed to conduct his experiments, provided the essence kept flowing. The price of a loaf of bread in Seranthia was now a silver deen, so there was no shortage of prisoners for the facility that Zavros had named Angelmar, from an Akari word that meant discovery. Zavros thought it a fitting name for what he was doing here.

Zavros didn't care about the Primate's constant demand for essence, or even about the elixir. For Zavros, Anglemar was the opportunity of a lifetime. He had learned more about the mind and the way it controlled the body, than he had ever read in any books — and Zavros had read everything that had been written on the subject. He had as many subjects for his experiments as he could wish for, and as isolated as Angelmar was, there was no one to bother him with details, ask him for reports, or query his methods.

Today he was excited. His next subject was ahead of him, being dragged along the corridor by two templar guards. The youth was a troublemaker, a wild one from Seranthia, who had fought like a demon when his mother and sister were taken from him. Zavros intended to find out if such aggressive tendencies could be curbed. Could he turn this useless creature into something of worth to the world? Perhaps the boy's muscles could haul stone, or build fences, or dig holes. The things Zavros learned here had the potential to change the world for the better.

The chamber where he did most of his work was built of brick, twice-thick and painted white. Zavros didn't want any noise to escape the chamber, but more importantly, he didn't want to be distracted while he was working. If the prisoners were rioting over their rations or trying to escape he didn't want to know about it. He was no soldier; he preferred to let the guards sort such matters out.

"Sit him down in that chair," Zavros said, looking down his nose through his oculars and gesturing to the guards.

The youth still writhed and struggled as they set him down, but his efforts were useless against the burly templar guards; even if they hadn't had the taint, the guards could easily control one such as this. Zavros thought it interesting that the boy likely knew his struggles were useless, yet the aggressive streak in his mind caused him to fight nonetheless. He couldn't wait to see if he could restrain such instincts with the judicious use of his scalpel, and then test the results of his efforts to see what it took to once again bring out the boy's aggression afterwards.