The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (17 page)

20

Bartolo took a deep breath, and forgetting about silence, he whirled around the tree and shot forward. He immediately took in the scene. Four men sat around a fire. Tapel lay trussed on the ground, bound and gagged. Bartolo called on the power of his zenblade, seeing the symbols inscribed in the metal spark along its length.

The bandits shot to their feet.

“Bladesinger!” a man with a sword cried.

Bartolo dashed in and easily dodged a clumsy blow from the swordsman to strike at the man’s chest. The zenblade barely paused as it carved through from the man’s armpit to the other side of his body. Bartolo then ducked a blow from an axe to thrust into a
second
, scrawny man’s throat. He saw a one-eyed man look at Tapel and then turn and run.

“Stop him!” Bartolo called.

The fourth bandit knelt at the fire and picked up a burning brand. He came at Bartolo with wild eyes, swinging as he sent sparks flying through the air. Bartolo tried to counter without killing his opponent, but the man’s clumsy attack brought him too close, and he went down with a cry as Bartolo’s blade sliced his side.

The one-eyed man ran with arms pumping, darting through the trees, and then Bartolo saw the ferryman, Fergus, rush to
intercept
him. Both went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Keep him alive!” Bartolo cried.

Fergus struggled with the bandit but was knocked back. The one-eyed man’s fist smashed into Fergus’s cheek, and Fergus lost him as he sped away once more.

Bartolo dashed after him and saw his two recruits ahead as they sped after the bandit, following the river. The boys were young, and at the peak of fitness. The one-eyed man looked over his shoulder and saw them gaining on him.

The bandit veered to the left, but Timo rushed in to meet him. He then tried dashing to the right, but Martin was coming in fast. Turning back to the left, he had his eyes on Timo and not on where his wild run was taking him.

With a cry the one-eyed man plunged over the cliff, fall
ing head
long into the river. His flailing body vanished from sight.

Bartolo groaned; even if the bandit survived, they would never find him. He rushed back to the camp and knelt beside Tapel’s bound form. “Lad, are you hurt?”

Tapel groaned and Bartolo scowled when he saw bruises on the boy’s face. He cut through the bonds and swiftly checked Tapel for wounds.

“The signaling tower,” Tapel gasped. “They switched the prism. They made me help.”

“Slow down,” Bartolo said.

Fergus, Martin, and Timo arrived at the fire. The two recruits began to search the camp.

“There are four pallets. That’s all of them,” Martin said.

Tapel rubbed at his wrists. “They said more would be coming, but none did.”

Bartolo thought about the four men who’d ambushed
Jehral
. The Hazaran had said he’d killed them all. “Tell me about the prism.”

“The crystal on the tower is made of glass. It’s a fake.”

Bartolo swore. Hearing movement behind him, he turned and saw Dorian approach with his three recruits.

“What happened?” Dorian said.

“We got them.” Bartolo indicated the bodies. “One jumped into the river.”

“Who were they?”

“Tapel?” Bartolo asked.

“They were Tingarans,” Tapel said, “from Seranthia. They didn’t say who they worked for, but they weren’t from the Legion. I think they might have had something to do with the streetclans. They didn’t want Altura getting aid from Tingara. They wanted to
prevent
a distress call from getting through.”

“But why do it here?” Dorian said. “Why not closer to
Tingara
?”

“I think I know why,” Bartolo said grimly. “There are two
critical
stations: this one at Samson’s Bridge and the tower at Wondhip Pass. The one here links Altura to all of the lands in the north and the east: Halaran, Vezna, Torakon, Loua Louna, Tingara, and Aynar—even the Akari via the station at Lake Vor. The station at Wondhip Pass links Altura to Petrya and the Hazara Desert. If a signal reached Torakon or even Halaran, word might still have reached Tingara by courier. That’s why here.”

“What do we do?” Dorian asked.

“They’ve no doubt hidden the real device someplace we’ll never find it. We’ll have to run back to Sarostar as quickly as we can. If Miro activates the device at the Crystal Palace, word needs to get out soon as possible. Scratch it! This is going to add days. We’re going to need an enchanter . . .”

“Actually,” Tapel said, “the real prism wasn’t hidden.”

Bartolo stared at Tapel. “What did you say?”

“It’s in the river, near the bridge.”

“Why there?” Dorian asked.

“They made me climb the tower and help them swap the fake prism for the real one. But I didn’t give them the real one. Instead, I threw it in the river.”

Bartolo looked at Tapel in surprise. “Well done, lad,” he said. “Come on! Leave the bodies for the crows. Quickly, to the bridge!”

The group of two bladesingers, five recruits, a ferryman, and Tapel hurried back they way they’d come, to stand near the support columns at Samson’s Bridge. The three-legged tower loomed over them.

The water surged below the stone arch of the bridge itself,
turbulent
and frothing.

“It’s hopeless,” Fergus said. “I know water, and you’ll never
find it.
”

At that moment, a fiery green light shone brightly from
somewhere
in the water below the bridge.

The chill that ran through Bartolo’s spine was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Miro had activated the reflector at the Crystal
Palace
. Looking back toward Sarostar in the west, Bartolo could see a distant green light, high in the sky. The device in the water had responded to this reflector.

But looking east, across the bridge to the land of Halaran, there was no onward signal. With the prism in the water, the chain was broken.

The fleet had been sighted. Sentar Scythran was here, and he was coming for Altura.

Bartolo took a deep breath and began to strip off his clothing.

“No,” Tapel said.

“You’ll never make it,” said Dorian.

“Do you know what our strategy is?” Bartolo asked as he
disrobed
. “All the high lord’s planning and effort has one objective, and one objective only. It’s to delay the enemy. Not to win; Miro doesn’t think we can. It’s to hold them until help arrives. Every moment counts, and even if I die here, I’m going to try.”

Soon Bartolo stood in just undershorts, the muscles in his
abdomen
rippling as he drew deep breaths to flood his lungs with air.

Without thinking too hard about what he was about to do, Bartolo fixed his gaze on the shining green light welling from the deep water below. He ran to the edge of the bridge and stared down into the depths.

Bartolo drew in a breath as he climbed up onto the rail.

He dived, head first, into the surging water.

It was the middle of spring, but the water from the north was cold, so cold it sent icy needles stabbing into Bartolo’s flesh. The current immediately fought to drag him downriver as his arms and legs clawed against it, his vision firmly set on the green light. He fought the water like an enemy, feeling the muscles he’d hardened over years of training and countless battles come to his aid.

He knew he had to keep his eyes open, but the force of the river made it nearly impossible. He concentrated on the color green, focusing on the glimmers that came through his eyelids. The
current
tried to pry open his mouth, and with each stroke of his arms and kick of his legs he felt the breath in his lungs grow short.

Bartolo was running out of air.

Summoning reserves of strength, he opened his eyes wide, and there it was in front of him, a shining green prism, too bright to look at.

A dozen more strokes should take him close enough to touch it.

Bartolo screamed underwater and kicked harder, fighting his own buoyancy as his body desperately tried to return him to the surface where he could breathe again, and live. Instead, he pulled hard, clawing at the water as if gouging out the eyes of a vicious enemy.

Bartolo reached out with his hands, and he touched the prism.

The surge of victory was short lived as the river pushed him half a dozen paces again.

He couldn’t breathe anymore; his brain was starved for air, and he felt his vision closing in.

Bartolo knew that if he couldn’t succeed, he wouldn’t be able to try again. Dorian was young, and he would try, but he would drown. This was his one chance. Only he could do this.

Bartolo channeled the last of his energy into one final surge. His body dipped deeper into the water as an unpredictable current twisted him over. Turning back around, he felt a rock under his arms and hooked a wrist underneath. Bartolo used the leverage to gain the last distance, and he took hold of the shining prism.

The rock moved, rolling, and suddenly Bartolo’s arm was stuck under the boulder.

Bartolo clutched the prism to his chest with one arm and tried to move the rock, to free his trapped arm and return to the surface. His chest heaved and his mouth opened. Water flooded into his chest as his body fought his mind and won, gasping in whatever substance it could find in the space around it.

There was movement. Someone was in the water with him.

Strong arms moved the rock and freed Bartolo’s arm. He felt himself taken under the armpits and heaved forcefully upward.
Bartolo
felt himself pop to the surface, but he was dazed, his vision dark, his lungs filled with water. Drifting down the river now, the newcomer rolled Bartolo onto his side and heaved at his
stomach
. Water gushed out of Bartolo’s mouth and he felt his body squ
eezed again
.

Bartolo twisted and rolled his way down the river until the
current
slowed near a bend. Bartolo heard voices and felt many hands on him, hauling him out of the river to land, his body
flopping
onto the bank like a hard-won fish.

Bartolo opened his eyes and felt hands prying at his own,
struggling
to release his grip.

“Let go,” he heard Dorian’s voice. “I’ve got it.”

Bartolo felt a surge of relief when he realized he still held th
e pr
ism.

Another figure leaned over him. Scraggly wet hair revealed a bald pate and a round, sturdy face. “You’re lucky I’m a good
swimmer
, bladesinger,” Fergus said.

Bartolo grinned, and then coughed again, ejecting another stream of water.

Bartolo lay on his back, recovering from his swim as Tapel
disappeared
with the prism. He sat up as Tapel returned.

“It’s done. I returned the prism to the top of the tower,” Ta
pel sai
d.

“Well done, lad,” Bartolo said, coughing and shaking water from his dark locks.

“I saw an answering light in the east,” said the boy.

“Here, help me up,” Bartolo said. Tapel took hold of his wrist and hauled the bigger man to his feet. “Listen, Tapel. You did well. If you hadn’t found these men, we wouldn’t have known about the deception. Your mother would be proud, as would Rogan Jarvish.”

Tapel’s eyes misted. “I thought I’d betrayed us all.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth. Now where’s my armorsilk?” Bartolo glanced about. One of the recruits came
forward
, and Bartolo stood, weaving slightly, but eventually
gathering
himself
and taking several deep breaths.

Bartolo smiled at Fergus. “I owe you my life,” the bladesinger said simply. “It’s a debt I won’t take lightly.”

Fergus grinned and shrugged.

“Gather round!” Bartolo called. Soon the group stood ringed around him. Gazing back at Samson’s Bridge, Bartolo saw the
reflector
at the apex of the tower, shining bright green, lending urgency to every action.

“As you can see, Altura is in need. Our task at this point should be to head to the defenses at the free cities, where our high lord has built a series of fortifications on the ridge behind Castlemere.”

The recruits nodded.

“However, we now have a more important task. Our high lord needs these signals to get through. We can see the light from the next link in the chain in the east, but Derrick and Roscoe, I need you to head over the bridge and confirm that the chain is whole. You’ll be working on your own initiative, and you know what your mission is. We’ve planned for many things, but treachery wasn’t one of them.”

“We understand,” Derrick said. The two recruits nodded to each other.

“The rest of you will be coming with me to Wondhip Pass. I know it’s a long journey, but we know how critical the station there is. We don’t need to travel all the way to the pass, just close enough to see the light, which should be visible from below. We simply need to confirm that the station in the pass is functioning. We’ll be traveling fast, and we’ll be traveling with little food, just whatever we can take from the bandits’ camp. Everything depends on us.”