The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (42 page)

58

Sentar Scythran climbed up the stairs and emerged from the
glowing
stairway at the Sentinel’s base to stand once more in the open air.

Rage coursed through him.

After the wretched enchantress’s destruction of his essence, he’d entered the chamber inside the Sentinel and once more examined the portal, desperate to find some way to open the gateway and bring his brothers home.

But to open the portal he would need essence.

Sentar calmed his rage, feeling clarity return to his thoughts.

Fortunately, he knew just where he could find some.

He’d left necromancers in Aynar, their task to build vats and raise more revenants, to gather essence in quantity for just such an eventuality.

Sentar had cunning. If one strategy failed, he always had another prepared.

Huge blocks of stone clustered around the base of the
pedestal
, remains of the wall that had enclosed the statue. Freed of its
encumbrance
the Sentinel now stood proud and tall.

Sentar looked up at the statue and smiled.

The portal wasn’t the greatest relic the Evermen ever devised. It was the Sentinel in its entirety that took the combined powers of the Evermen to create. The portal was just one part.

Sentar walked away from the legs until he could stare up at the torso, and leaning his head back, he could see the great head, the noble cast of its features, and the regal aspect to its eyes, nose, and mouth.

The Sentinel had one arm raised to point somewhere in the distance, as if giving homage to the bright sun, or trying to touch the stars.

Sentar felt his seething emotions replaced with satisfaction. He could hear great crashes and explosions from across the harbor, the sounds rolling out from the city, but he didn’t care about the fate of Renrik, or Gorain, or his revenant army.

They were just a distraction. The power was his.

Sentar lifted his arms at his sides and chanted under his breath. He rose into the air. It was time to show the humans how much power he had.

Sentar ran his eyes over the statue as he climbed the sky. He saw the huge, powerful legs, and the thick torso. He passed the broad shoulders and gazed up at the gigantic head.

Sentar rose until he was level with the statue’s head. He floated forward until he was looking at the flowing hair, held back by a crown.

A single rune decorated the crown.

Sentar ceased his chant but continued to float. He began a new chant. Even for the Lord of the Night, this chant was complex.

He first spoke a single activation sequence. The rune on the crown lit up with a soft emerald glow. Sentar remembered the
Sentinel’s
genesis, feeling the power he and his brothers had given this, their greatest creation.

Sentar’s voice rose in a steady stream of words and inflections. He opened his mouth to call the sequences loud and clear, feeling a surge of triumph as the millions of tiny symbols inscribed and hidden all over the statue came to life. Rainbows of color flickered and danced in his vision. A steady hum filled the air, a low sizzle of energy.

Sentar’s arms dropped to his sides.

The Sentinel’s eyes opened.

Sentar felt savage joy course through him. He had woken the giant. Only one of the Evermen, a god, could commune with this, their most powerful creation.

Looking into the huge eyes, Sentar spoke. “Sentinel. Remove yourself from the pedestal.”

Glancing down, Sentar smiled as he saw a line of green fire spark around each foot. With a groan, first one knee lifted, and the foot below came away from the pedestal before setting itself back down. The second foot followed suit.

The Sentinel thrummed with power. The raised arm lowered, and the statue regarded Sentar with a look that could have been called inquisitive.

“Sentinel, take yourself from here. Go to Stonewater.”

The arm came up again, the statue slowly turned, and this time the statue pointed south, toward Stonewater. In the direction of Sentar’s place of power.

“Yes. To Stonewater.” Sentar had a sudden thought. “But first, Sentinel,” he said, “I have another task for you.” Sentar pointed at Seranthia. “Destroy that city.”

The arm swept around once more as the Sentinel turned and pointed at Seranthia.

Sentar tilted his head back and laughed as the Sentinel turned to face the city. With heavy, ground-shaking steps, it moved forward, its size belying its agility as it stepped off the pedestal and reached the water’s edge.

The Sentinel kicked its legs and launched itself forward, over the clutter of the stones, landing in the water and plunging below the surface. Sentar rose higher into the air, feeling pleasure when he saw the vibrant colors shining up from below the harbor’s depths. The glow moved forward, and Sentar floated in line to follow it from above.

As it grew closer to the docks, first the crown crested the water, and then the head. The Sentinel’s shoulders were now above the surface, with Sentar following from behind.

Sentar frowned.

A figure stood at the docks, as if waiting the Sentinel’s arrival. Sentar took in the fiery red hair and black clothing, the nine-pointed star on the man’s chest. His eyes narrowed as he sped forward.

59

“Sentinel,” Killian said. He didn’t know how he knew the relic would understand him, but he could see awareness in the glowing eyes. “Go back. Go from this place.”

The eyes shifted, fixating on Killian as he felt a tremor of
apprehension
run though his body. Would the Sentinel
acknowledge
him as one of the Evermen?

“Go east,” Killian said, pointing out to where the harbor opened up onto the Tingaran Sea. “Do not stop until you reach land.”

Standing on the edge of the dock, feeling the wooden planks firm beneath his feet, Killian held his breath.

The shoulders shifted; the head turned back around. Once more the Sentinel sank beneath the water, leaving a surging
whirlpool
as it subsided.

Killian heard a roar of rage an instant before he saw him. There was a blur of motion, and then Sentar was suddenly beside him on the docks, barely a dozen paces away.

Killian felt his own anger rise. All of the destruction could be laid squarely at the feet of the self-proclaimed Lord of the Night. This man had killed Evrin Evenstar. He’d destroyed the lands across the sea and ravaged Ella’s homeland. Sentar was responsible for untold deaths across the Empire, people Killian was supposed to protect.

Even as he seethed, Killian took in Sentar’s appearance in
macabre
fascination. His hair was dark red, the color of fresh
arterial
blood, and slicked back to his head. Streaks of black hair at his temples, and black clothing to match. But more than anything, it was his eyes that drew Killian’s gaze. They were dead,
expressionless
, with an icy stare that filled Killian with dread.

Killian drew on his anger even as his heart thundered in his chest, using the rage to banish his fear.

Evrin had described Sentar Scythran as the most dangerous opponent Killian would ever face. The Lord of the Night was at the height of his power. Killian’s own runes were faded, drained from the struggle at the Wall.

The two men locked gazes, eye to eye, neither of them breaking contact.

“Leave my city alone,” Killian said.

“
Your
city?” Sentar sneered. “You are a god. You don’t have a city—or an empire; you have a world! Why fight me? Together we can easily defeat them all.”

“I once followed another’s dreams of glory,” Killian said. “Never again.”

Killian began to chant, allowing his body to rise in the air as he spoke. The farther they were from the city, the more chance his people had of avoiding further destruction.

Sentar climbed the sky with him, the two red-haired men
circling
each other, only a stone’s throw apart.

“We will let you join us,” Sentar said. “We will give you a kingdom, and you will rule your humans however you see fit. The wolf does not huddle with the sheep. You have no idea of your true potential.”

“I know enough,” Killian said. “I survived Shar.”

Sentar raised an eyebrow. “You were there? Impressive. Tell me, Killian—Emperor—how did you enter the portal?”

Killian realized his error. He’d just revealed to Sentar that they’d found a way to open the portal.

“Or did someone open it for you?” Sentar continued. “Perhaps the young enchantress? Tell me, Emperor, how is she? As much as I enjoyed holding her life in my hands, I enjoyed taking it more.”

With a cry, Killian opened his hands and shouted a quick series of activations. Four twisting lines of black lightning poured from his palms and stabbed at Sentar Scythran.

The Lord of the Night held up his palm and a hazy field of energy appeared in front of him, deflecting the attack, sending the lightning scattering off to the sides like rain off a shield.

Killian bit the words off as he muttered sequence after sequence and changed the nature of his attack, sending a solid spout of fire from his hands to strike Sentar’s defensive barrier.

Sentar’s lips moved soundlessly, calmly, as he fended off the onslaught. Then, without warning, he dropped.

Sentar’s body plummeted through the air, and then he flew back up to launch balls of flame one after the other at Killian, from underneath. Killian projected his body out of the way, tumbling through the sky out of control. Sentar tracked him with his hands, sending fiery spheres one after the other until first one and then another splashed against Killian’s body.

Killian’s runes lit up as they fended off the attack, and he wheeled to once more draw level with his enemy.

High in the skies above Seranthia, the battle between the two Evermen began.

60

At the forefront of a wedge of the strongest fighters, Tiesto threw himself at his opponents, sending limbs and heads in all
directions
as he whirled into the fray. He was dimly aware of fighting all around: Tingaran legionnaires launching disciplined charges into the ranks of the enemy; avengers tossing revenants high in the air; soldiers from across the Empire marching forward in unison,
pushing
their opponents back before stepping forward once more.

Tiesto was too embroiled to issue orders to the high lords and marshals, but he could see each column working together to guard the flanks of the other, neither surging too far ahead nor holding back in cowardice.

Yet neither army gave ground easily, and Tiesto sensed the allied forces meeting heavy resistance, and then the revenants began to push back. The two long lines faced each other, but the enemy’s ranks were deeper, and this gave them the strength to hold. The revenant line was longer, and began to stretch to the left and right, beginning to envelop Tiesto’s army in its longer arms.

Even as he cut down snarling foes, Tiesto could see the great cloud of dust; this cloud was now the only barrier between the horde and the streets of Seranthia. The Wall had fallen moments before, stunning them all. Spotting a huge block of stone, Tiesto pushed down his fear and leapt forward, dispatching a barbarian warrior with two successive blows before climbing up on top of the block to gain a vantage.

He had only the briefest instant to gauge the flow of the battle, but he could see this last disciplined force was simply too strong. Not only was Tiesto losing his men faster than they were taking down the revenants, when they were finished with Tiesto’s army, Seranthia would be next.

“Renrik!”
Tiesto heard a bellow, and he saw the huge Dain of the Akari charge a square of revenants protecting a necromancer in their center.

Even weakened, Dain Barden was an indomitable force. Each swing of his hammer smashed heads and bodies into pulp, and he fought alone, unaware or uncaring of the fact that he was
surrounded
by enemies on all sides. He stood as high as the tallest of the
barbarians
, and his muscled arms wielded his weapon with savage strength. His armor of bleached leather was torn and covered in blood, but the Dain had only eyes for his traitorous necromancer, the man it had all started with, when Sentar visited the Akari, long ago.

Tiesto tore his eyes from the Dain’s struggle as a group of
revenants
came close, but his men pushed them back, and he once more scanned the battlefield.

Dain Barden was now two men from the gray-robed
necromancer
, and then one. He killed the last revenant with a crushing blow to the skull, and then Renrik turned and fled.

The Dain snarled as revenants came between him and the
fleeing
necromancer, and then there were so many flashing blades that Tiesto could no longer make sense of the struggle.

Looking farther out, Tiesto saw Hazarans trickle out of the cloud of dust, the desert warriors choking and gasping, and then the trickle became a steady stream of riders. Directly in front of Tiesto, a cluster of three Tingaran avengers broke through the enemy ranks, flails whirling, giving Tiesto a moment’s respite.

As Alturan heavy infantry with glowing armor and swords surged to follow the spearhead into the enemy’s heart, Tiesto heard a man calling his name.

“Tiesto!”

Tiesto turned and saw Bartolo pushing forward, blood splattered on the man’s face and hands.

“Where’s Miro?”

“I lost him. Look! Back at the hills!”

Tiesto turned back to the hills and saw a long line of red. A huge flag flapped in the breeze, and Tiesto recognized the teardrop and flame.

“It’s the Petryan advance guard!” Bartolo cried. “The Petryans have come!”

“They’re too far away.” Tiesto grimaced. “We’ll lose the battle before they get here.”

Sweeping his gaze across the clouds of dust and engaged men at every point of the line, Tiesto had an idea.

“Bartolo, go and find the kalif. The Hazarans are coming out of the dust on our right. If you can’t find Ilathor, find Jehral. Tell him to gather his horsemen and ride up to the hills. Fetch the Petryans and bring them down to the battle.”

“What if Ilathor refuses?”

“Make him!” Tiesto growled.

Bartolo grinned. “All right.”

As Bartolo sped away, Tiesto once more saw the danger at his flanks. The three avengers had all fallen, revenants hacking down at them as they writhed.

Tiesto saw the enemy preparing a countercharge at the gap left by the avengers and, realizing the danger, saw it was time to make his own attack.

“To me!” Tiesto cried.

He waved his single-activation sword high above his head and leapt back into the fray with renewed vigor, signaling his intent with the fiery line of his sword. Soldiers of all nations gathered to his call, roaring and shouting in defiance.