Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  In a completely unexpected move, the Emperor had driven an army of the imperial legion deep into Louan territory and straight into the capital of Mara Maya. They’d stayed there only long enough to re-supply before driving further.

  The legion had then taken the towns of Carnathion and Norcia. They never stood a chance.

  And now the Black Army was encamped outside Ralanast, capital of Halaran.

  It came as a complete shock. Raj Loua Louna, who were neutral in every conflict and existed only for wealth, had been overrun. No one attacked the artificers, for without the tools of war no war could be won.

  The commanders of the Alturan army could see only three options: either the Emperor was so confident of victory he was willing to marginalise every neutral house, or he was executing some brilliant tactic that could not yet be understood, or he was mad. For the Ring Forts still lay unconquered, the armies of Altura and Halaran undefeated.

  Then came the worst news of all. It appeared Loua Louna had taken on the white and black standard; the Louans had joined forces with the Emperor.

  Indecisive, uncertain, the army of Altura lay encamped, waiting for some sign of what to do next.

  Should they try to link with the armies at the Ring Forts? Or should they head for Ralanast, to try to rescue their ally’s capital from certain destruction.

  The commanders spent their days arguing. The men spent their nights shivering. They felt defeated, and they had yet to face their enemy.

  21

  Every time history repeats itself, the price goes up.

  — Memoirs of Emperor Xenovere I, 286-2, 381 Y.E.

  THE small pleasure skiff made its way ponderously down the Sarsen, requiring only the gentlest of paddling to stay on its course. Ella leaned against the rail and watched the world sliding past, like some grand play following the theme of nature’s beauty.

  Ice had built up along the riverbanks where the water was more sluggish, and Ella wore a heavy shawl against winter’s chill. People generally spent their time indoors now — there was certainly enough to do. Ella’s hands were growing calloused from holding a scrill and her satchel containing the tools of her trade was always by her side now.

  It was the first occasion she’d had to see Killian since the night out in the Woltenplats, but somehow she knew their time was coming to an end. He’d had been waiting outside the Crystal Palace. He always seemed so fascinated by it; it had become the one place she knew she might find him and she always included it on her walks.

  Ella didn’t ask him where he’d been and made no mention of their time together, their kiss. She had made the suggestion to take out a boat on the river. Killian had seemed a little hesitant, given the frigid weather, but he’d agreed readily enough.

  He’d had one more thoughtful look at the palace before moving away with her, smiling, the way he always was.

  However it hadn’t been the way Ella had expected. Killian seemed pensive and distracted. They hadn’t been close — in fact they’d barely touched. He’d helped her into the boat, always polite, but that was it.

  Killian sat a few paces from her, the paddle in his hand. His blue eyes seemed a pale grey in the low winter light and he wore a thin shirt and trousers, seemingly unaware of the cold.

  Ella could see the Long Bridge approaching, with the Runebridge behind it, signalling the end. The Crystal Palace sparkled, glowing softly. The High Lord had decided to leave the palace lights permanently activated to improve morale. All it served was to remind Ella of the war, that her brother was out there somewhere. She worried about Miro constantly.

  Ella heard the sound of Killian putting down his paddle. She could see him playing with something out of the corner of her eye, but she wasn’t sure what.

  Ella turned. He’d been idly looking through her satchel, curious. Ella’s breath caught. She was sure she had sealed her satchel, locking it with an enchantment only she could break. How could he have opened it?

  "What’s this?" he said.

  Killian held a small crystal bottle in one hand. The bottle was intricately designed, like a small jewel.

  Ella’s heart skipped a beat. The bottle was filled with an oily, black liquid.

  It was Ella’s bottle of essence, the gift she’d received at graduation.

  Killian held the stopper in his other hand. He’d removed it, peering down at the liquid in the bottle.

  Ella turned white. "Killian. Listen to me. Listen to me very, very carefully."

  "What? What is it?"

  "Do not move. Don’t move one little bit. I’m going to come over to you."

  The river was so placid before. Now Ella was acutely aware of every tiny jolt the skiff made, the smallest rocking. Lord of the Sky, they would have to be in a boat!

  Ella started to move in the skiff, and then stopped when her movements caused the boat to rock too much. Killian had a strange expression on his face.

  "What are you doing?" he said.

  "Killian, I need you to very, very carefully put the stopper back in the bottle."

  "I don’t understand?"

  "Please!" she cried, her voice quivering with suppressed emotion. "Just put the stopper back in the bottle."

  Ella looked up and saw the shore coming at them. Fast.

  It happened all at once. Ella screamed as the boat bumped hard against the river bank.

  The bottle was at an angle, Killian midway through replacing the stopper. Ella watched in horror as the black liquid spilled out, running, dripping down Killian’s hand.

  He dropped the bottle. Time slowed to a snail’s pace. Ella stared in horror at the essence splattered on Killian’s arm.

  An expression of shock and surprise on his face, Killian staggered with the rocking of the skiff. He stumbled and lurched backward.

  Ella watched as he fell into the frigid waters of the Sarsen. Killian’s body landed in the water with a splash, and began to sink out of sight.

  "Killian!" Ella screamed.

  Ella leapt out of the boat and onto the bank, peering into the dark water, looking for any trace, any flash of skin or clothing.

  Gathering herself, Ella threw off her shawl. She took a breath, and dove into the icy water, head first.

  It was like being pierced again and again with tiny sharp knives. Pure pain was driven through Ella’s body and inside her head. Her teeth clacked together, nearly biting her tongue in two. The wind was driven from her lungs and she took a deep involuntary breath, choking and spluttering on the chill water of the Sarsen.

  Fortunately, Ella found him almost immediately, her arm brushing against some part of his body. She grabbed at Killian and missed, then rose to the surface. Quickly taking a breath, Ella ducked under again, feeling ahead with her arms.

  Ella touched something soft and grabbed Killian by the hair, pulling, and as he rose she reached forward again and took hold of his arm. Kicking with her legs, and with heavy strokes of her free arm, Ella finally breached the surface, taking a painful, gasping breath.

  Some townsfolk were on the bank, attracted by the commotion.

  "Take him under the arms!" Ella yelled.

  A burly man took hold of first one of Killian’s arms, then the other, until finally he had a grip under Killian’s armpits. He heaved; Killian wasn’t a small man. The burly man’s face grew red and with a great effort he pulled, then fell backward. Killian rolled with him to lie motionless on the bank.

  Ella coughed in the water and felt another man reach for her arm. She linked arms with him and he helped her climb out of the river.

  Shuddering and wheezing Ella immediately lurched over to Killian’s prone figure. He lay on his back, his lips blue. He was deathly still.

  "What happened?" someone said.

  "Essence poisoning," Ella gasped.

  Immediately they all drew back, fearfully checking their skin and clothing.

  "What do we do?" the burly man said, sitting up. He had the courage, at least, not to back away.

  "I don�
��t know," Ella cried. "I don’t know!"

  They were close enough to the Crystal Palace that one of the soldiers approached. "What’s happening here?"

  "She says he was poisoned by essence." The burly man pointed at Ella.

  The soldier frowned. "Shouldn’t he be dead then?"

  The burly man shrugged. "Maybe the water? The cold? Do you know?"

  All attention was on the soldier. He backed away, his hands spread. "How would I know?"

  Ella felt time running swiftly. She shivered, rocking back and forth. Someone offered her a coat but she ignored them.

  Then she had an idea. "The High Enchantress."

  Looking around her, she realised the crowd had grown larger. There was general assent, relief at being able to pass on the burden.

  "Of course," said the soldier. "She’s at the palace."

  "Can we move him?" said the burly man.

  "I don’t know," said the soldier.

  "I studied at the Academy," Ella said briskly. "I’m sure it will be fine."

  The soldier and the burly man lifted Killian’s prone figure, standing him up, one on either side. They started the walk to the palace, moving with great difficulty, Killian’s feet dragging on the ground.

  More soldiers came to join them and eventually a stretcher was found. Ella couldn’t bear the sight of Killian’s dead white skin, his blue lips and limp form.

  Ella never took her eyes off Killian, hovering behind the stretcher, wringing her hands. She didn’t even notice them enter the main palace gates. She was barely aware when the floor changed to polished marble. Ella only looked up when she felt a strong grip on her arm, pinching her flesh tightly.

  "What have you done, you foolish girl?"

  High Enchantress Evora Guinestor stood in front of her. She was furious. Ella had never felt so terrified in her life. The woman’s eyes blazed, and Ella realised how tall the woman was; the High Enchantress loomed over her.

  "She said he was poisoned..." a soldier began.

  The High Enchantress raised her hand. The soldier trailed off.

  "I asked you what happened," Evora said. She never released the pressure on Ella’s arm. Ella felt her hand begin to go numb.

  Ella still couldn’t take her eyes of Killian’s still body. "He… I… He found… Oh, Lord of the Sky, no… No!"

  "Tell me!" The High Enchantress shook her.

  "Essence. He found it. In my satchel. It was guarded, I swear. Oh, Lord of the Sky!"

  Ella felt her world crashing down around her.

  "Don’t you dare give out on me!" Evora said in a frigid voice. "What happened? How much went onto his skin? Where did it touch him?"

  "His hand. He opened the bottle; he didn’t realise what it was. The boat, it hit the bank. Some went onto his hand. His arm as well. But he fell in the water straight away."

  "Which hand? Which arm?"

  "His right."

  "How long was it on his skin, how soon did he fall in the water?"

  "Right away, maybe the time it takes to take a breath."

  The High Enchantress nodded, turning back to Killian. The prone figure lay cold and still on the stretcher in the palace corridor. She began to examine the skin of his hand and his arm, piece by piece. She suddenly ripped his shirt open, removing it to expose the muscles of his chest and the curls of his body hair. Aside from a small pendant on a chain, Killian now wore only his trousers. He looked strangely frail, cold. Ella would have thought he was dead, but for the rise and fall of his chest. The High Enchantress grunted inconclusively.

  "High Enchantress?" Ella said. "Will he be all right? Did it wash off his skin? Did the cold do something?"

  The High Enchantress looked up at Ella and her expression grew puzzled. "To be honest? I don’t know. I need to spend more time with him, to consult some books." Evora frowned down at Killian. "Do you see these marks?" She lifted his arm, displaying an ugly blue stain on Killian’s skin. "This is where the essence touched him. It always leaves these marks. But I do not know how he comes to still be alive, and what will happen next. It could be that the cold or the water did something to impede the poison’s progress."

  "So he might recover?"

  "He could return to full health with no further problems, or he could die as we speak."

  "Dear Skylord," Ella whispered. The implications of had happened were finally starting to sink in.

  "Wash him thoroughly, and take him to my sanctum," the High Enchantress instructed the palace guards. "You may leave now, young lady. I expect we’ll be speaking again soon enough."

  "No, please, let me stay with him," Ella pleaded.

  "Leave, at once. Guards!"

  "No, let me stay with him!" Ella cried. "High Enchantress!"

  The High Enchantress merely cast a scornful look over her shoulder as she walked away.

  The soldiers forcibly carried Ella out of the palace, embarrassed for her. She kicked and fought with all of her strength, but her spirit finally left her as she stood at the Crystal Palace’s great doors. The guards watched her warily.

  "Miss," one of the soldiers spoke.

  "It’s all right. I’m leaving," Ella said.

  22

  Show humility to your neighbours and make friends of your enemies. People fight when they feel threatened. Show you are no threat and they will open their arms.

  — The Evermen Cycles, 16-2

  IN the end, the Alturan army’s decision was made for them. A Halrana messenger gave them the news, his face streaked with tears that carved a path through the grime on his skin.

  Ralanast, the Halrana capital, had been conquered by the Black Army. The great city that had lasted through the Rebellion, where the spirit of Halaran could never be broken, was taken in a day.

  The commanders were now faced with no choice but to try to link with the Ring Forts, to create a unified front in Halaran’s south and push forward, and try to retake the territory that had been lost so quickly.

  Continuing eastward now, the army began to encounter small groups of Halrana soldiers and even partisan groups, locals who had been forced into hiding by the legion. Refugees brought horrific stories of butchery and pillage. The Alturan army passed them in their thousands, those who had lost everything and now had nothing.

  The fleeing soldiers brought useful information on enemy numbers and capabilities. They said the black flag could now be seen across most of northern Halaran. It was now definite — the artificers had joined with the Emperor. The Black Army had now swallowed two houses.

  Nothing had been heard from Vezna or Petrya. Perhaps they were still uncommitted. And still nothing had been heard from the Primate. None said it aloud, but all wondered why. The Primate and his templars in Aynar controlled the essence. He was the only one who could bring a swift end to the war.

  No word had been received from the Halrana High Lord in some time. Their messages to Mornhaven, where High Lord Legasa waited in supposed strength, received no reply.

  It was impossible to hide the fundamentals from the soldiers. The men felt terribly alone.

  There had been some brief engagements, but nothing that could be called a battle. Some explosions in the night as their defences were tested. A quick skirmish with some of the legion, quickly decided in the Alturans’ favour.

  Fortunately they hadn’t been surprised by the dirigibles again — they’d learned their lesson well. It was about the best thing that could be said, the only positive so far. Morale was low.

  It was raining, a steady cold drizzle that seemed it would never stop. Miro, Ronell and Bartolo shared a cold meal under the branches of an alpin. It did little to ward off the rain, and Miro shivered.

  "I can’t believe it took them that long to tell us," Ronell grunted.

  "At least they did eventually," said Bartolo.

  "Four days. Four days I’ve been walking around completely sodden."

  "It could have been a week," said Bartolo.

  It didn’t matter what they were
talking about, Ronell and Bartolo always disagreed. Miro often had to act as mediator otherwise he was sure a fight would have broken out by now.

  "What are you saying? You’d rather they didn’t tell us?" Ronell said.

  Miro tried not to think about what he was eating. He just focussed on the action of bringing the spoon to his mouth and swallowing.

  "No, of course not. I just think they’re not used to having people like us in the field, that’s all," Bartolo said.

  "People like us?"

  "You know what I mean,” Bartolo said, “recruits. We’re supposed to be in the Dunwood learning these things. Not here."

  "If you can’t handle it, I’m sure they’ll let you go home," said Ronell.

  "Hey! You were the one complaining just now!"

  "Quit it, you two," said Miro. "They just forgot. That’s all."

  One of the bladesingers, Huron Gower, probably the friendliest of the aloof bunch, had chuckled when he saw the sodden recruits one day.

  "Try this," he had laughed, naming a sequence of runes. "Have some dignity and never fear, you’ll be bladesingers one day."

  Since then they’d all glowed softly, the rain sliding off their armoursilk rather than wetting it through. It was a great improvement, to say the least. The rain still got under their clothing, still wet their hair and ran down their necks, but their enchanted garments stayed dry.

  "Think of those poor guys," said Bartolo, indicating with his head.

  They could hear it at all times, the pinging sound of the rain bouncing off the steel of the soldiers’ armour.

  "What we need is action," said Miro. "We need to take the initiative instead of moving slowly through the forest, like a lumbering beast bashing its way through the undergrowth."

  "What would you do?" said Ronell.

  Bartolo interjected, "I’d get the Primate to cut off the Emperor’s essence, sit the High Lords down in a small room, and not let them come out until they’ve agreed we need a new Emperor."