Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  Finally Prince Leopold came to stand on a podium facing the soldiers and townsfolk. Rogan and Sloan murmured behind him, deep in conversation.

  "I have now received word from High Lord Tessolar. He sends his deepest respect and honour for the soldiers of Halaran and Altura who now stand together in this great army." There was a ragged cheer from the soldiers. "People of Raj Halaran, soldiers and citizens alike, your High Lord needs you. He is beset by enemies on all sides. He has with him the greatest part of your armies as well as many of Altura’s best men. He is cut off from all supply and communication. He needs our help."

  Prince Leopold paused, gazing around him, sensing the mood. They had been good to the men, these Halrana of Sallat. They had housed and fed them. Many of the soldiers had met women among the townsfolk, women whose men had been gone for month upon month, with not a word or message to keep hope alive.

  Miro realised what was going through the Prince’s mind. He thought he knew what was coming next.

  "And so it is our duty that calls us forth, to do battle against a remorseless and unyielding foe. People of Sallat, we thank you, from the bottom of our hearts. Your kindness and your generosity will not be forgotten. As we leave on the morrow, we leave with the memory of your spirit in our hearts, for you are what we are fighting for." His head bowed for a moment. Miro had to admit, he was quite an orator. "May the Lord of the Sky raise you up." He touched his lips and forehead in the Alturan manner. "And may the Lord of the Earth bless you always." He pressed his palms together.

  Without another word, Prince Leopold left the stage.

  Miro met Bartolo’s eyes. Bartolo shook his head, a sad gesture. The soldiers around them tried to avoid the eyes of the townsfolk, but it was impossible. There wasn’t a soldier that didn’t feel a terrible guilt. They had brought their strength and protection to this town. In return Sallat had given everything. Without them the town would be a tempting target for the enemy.

  That night Miro made love to Varana remorselessly, as if to blot out the guilt and pain. She didn’t say a word, only clung on to him tightly. They spent their last night together in each other’s arms. Miro tried to sleep, but the tears falling soundlessly down Varana’s face stabbed at his heart like the sharpest knife.

  "I’m sorry," he whispered into the night, too softly for her to hear. "I’m sorry."

  ~

  THE bladesingers were posted along the flanks of the army, the first line of defence in case of trouble. Scouts were sent in all directions. Mortar teams were evenly spaced along the line of the column, ammunition near at hand. The enchanters had been placed with the most important of the workers at the rear of the column, surrounded by elements of the Alturan veterans. They were ready to move out.

  Some of the townsfolk waited in a small crowd to see them off, but most had either stayed indoors or were already at work, trying to get whatever crop they could out of the dry winter soil to help replace the stocks that had been devastated by the army.

  Still it was with red eyes and occasional sobs that the crowd — mostly women — watched the soldiers depart. Miro had looked for Varana but hadn’t seen her. It was better this way; they’d said their goodbyes the night before. Gazing stone-faced ahead of him, he looked about for any sign of trouble, willing some of the enemy to take him on now.

  Miro was near the front of the column this time. He watched Prince Leopold conferring with one of the officers, waving his arms vigorously as he talked.

  A scout ran up, red-faced and exhausted. He touched his lips and forehead in a token of politeness before gushing out his report.

  "Imperials, sir. A whole host of them," the scout pointed in the distance. A great dust cloud had risen on the horizon.

  "How many?"

  "Thousands, perhaps half our number."

  "They know we’re here?"

  "I don’t think so."

  Then Miro realised where the scout was pointing. In the direction of Sallat. "No," he said. He hadn’t even realised he was saying it.

  One of the officers spoke up. "Prince Leopold..."

  "There’s nothing we can do," Prince Leopold said, his face like stone.

  "Lord Marshal..."

  "I said, there’s nothing we can do!" Prince Leopold met the man’s eyes. The officer dropped his gaze.

  Already grim faces turned ashen. Miro tried desperately to think of something, anything, to take his mind off Varana. It was hopeless.

  ~

  VARANA busied herself about the house, the familiar chores soothing frayed nerves. Her eyes were red. She had watched the men leave, trying not to attempt to pick out Miro’s form, but her eyes were already roving. It wasn’t too hard, there were so few of the self-possessed men in green silk. She’d watched his tall figure with his long dark hair while pretending not to, finding reasons to stop by the window. Many of the townsfolk waited until the very end, waving pathetically until the last man was out of sight, waving until there was nothing but the trodden earth to show they had ever been there.

  He won’t come back, she kept telling herself. He won’t come back.

  Varana now glanced at the timepiece on the wall, a valuable artefact that had been in her family for generations. Its runes still glowed with life, nearly as bright as they had been a hundred years ago.

  Only a few hours had passed since he had left. It felt like a lifetime.

  Varana sighed and suddenly fell down on the bed, sobbing into the pillow. She could still see where his weight had pressed down on the blankets. She could still smell him in the fabric.

  At first, the screams didn’t register, so lost was she in her misery. Then they joined into a chorus, and leaping out of the bed, Varana ran to the window.

  People were running down the main street, some carrying bags of possessions, others carrying children. They ran with expressions of terror on their faces — the kind of terror that could be felt and communicated with a single glance at a stricken face.

  Some of the town’s men were running in the opposite direction, carrying ancient swords and wearing steel caps. A score of young lads shouted to those around them, urging them to join the fight.

  "Raj Halaran!" Varana heard the cry. It was taken up by few.

  The tide of fleeing townsfolk grew stronger. Varana stood transfixed, watching through the window, unable to move. It was dreamlike, unreal.

  Varana saw a man drop all of his family’s possessions, leaving them by the side of the road as he scooped up a child who was lagging behind. His other two children ran close by his legs. His wife carried a small howling dog.

  A few more of the townsfolk emerged with weapons. Stop! Varana wanted to tell them. Give up! You’ll only make it worse!

  There was a sickening, crashing noise in the distance, in the direction the militia were running in. Then all Varana could hear was the sound of marching boots. A young Halrana boy ran by, away from the fighting. His sword was gone and blood covered his chest. Then another came — this time an older man, his head balding. Where his right arm had been was now just a bloody hole. He didn’t make it far. The old man collapsed, his lifeblood pouring onto the dust.

  In the distance buildings went up in flames. Soon Varana’s vista was one long line of smoke as the town was systematically burned.

  A crashing sound behind her forced Varana to tear her gaze from the window. The bedroom door burst inward and a huge bare-chested man entered carrying a curved sword in his hands. His shaved head bore a sun tattoo, spread across his scalp, and his face was scarred. He was old, as old as Varana’s father, and he grinned when he saw Varana.

  "Ah, that’s more like it. Hey, Renitt, this one’s much better than that one in Ralanast."

  There was a sound behind him and another warrior peered from behind the huge man’s shoulder. "Much better! C’mon, Skarl, me first this time. You got..."

  Rennitt was cut off by Skarl’s elbow in his gut. He coughed.

  "Shut yer mouth and wait by the door. Watch out for officers."r />
  Skarl moved forward, a wide grin on his face. Varana noticed half of his teeth had been broken somehow. She felt detached from her body and just stood by the bed, a basket of laundry in her hands.

  With a grumble, Rennitt leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest.

  "Here, there love. You won’t be needin’ that." Skarl pretended to reach for the basket then smashed his fists down onto it, knocking the basket from her hands. Varana shrieked. She couldn’t move.

  He chuckled. "There, there. No need for noise. Some folks, they like a bit of noise while they’re at it. Not me, not Skarl. You just be nice ‘n quiet. That’s the way, nothing to make a fuss over."

  Skarl reached over and slipped Varana’s dress first off one shoulder, then the other. He drew it slowly down and Varana’s breasts burst free. From the doorway, Rennitt made a sound of appreciation. Skarl reached over and roughly grabbed Varana’s breast, squeezing the nipple painfully between his thumb and forefinger. Varana cowered, shivering at his touch. It wasn’t happening. This would end soon.

  "Nice. Very nice," Skarl said to himself.

  "Hurry up then! Don’t want the officers to get here, do we?" Rennitt called.

  With a grunt, Skarl nodded. In one motion he grabbed hold of Varana’s dress and ripped it away from her body, tearing until the material was in a mess on the ground.

  Varana stood in front of them, eyes closed, her hands crossed in front of her breasts, her legs together. Both men chuckled.

  "Look at ‘er," said Skarl. "Today’s our lucky day."

  "Just hurry up," said Rennitt.

  Skarl stood menacingly close to Varana. He raised his arm. She could barely open her eyes, terrified he was going to hit her. Terrified of what else he would do.

  He pushed her, hard. Varana fell back onto the bed, and suddenly Skarl was on top of her, his weight crushing her, taking her breath. His mouth disgustingly tried to latch onto any part of her skin it could find — her neck, her lips and her breasts. He tried to push Varana’s legs apart with his knees, while she tried to keep them shut with every bit of strength she possessed.

  "That’s the way it’s gonna be then?" Skarl said.

  His fist lashed out, smashing into her cheek. Varana blacked out for an instant, and in that moment he drew her legs apart. Skarl fumbled with his trousers.

  "Hurry u—" said Rennitt, his voice suddenly cut off mid-sentence.

  Skarl ignored Rennitt and continued to pull his trousers open. Then all of his weight came down on top of Varana, and he stopped moving.

  Varana felt something warm and wet spreading over her. She looked wildly about. Skarl’s dead eyes stared back at her. The weight suddenly lifted from her body.

  A man stood above her. His head was also shaved but he wore delicate plated armour, black as night. Strange symbols were etched across the steel.

  Varana slowly sat up. Skarl’s head lolled back beside her. His throat had been neatly cut from behind. Rennitt’s limp body was by the door.

  "Can’t have this sort of thing going on, you understand. It’s bad for discipline," the newcomer said. He turned to another soldier behind him. "Burn the house. Any looting will be punished. Severely."

  The soldier nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "Please…" said Varana.

  "Oh, I almost forgot."

  The man’s hand whipped out, fast as a snake. Something sliced across Varana’s throat and she fell to the bed.

  As her heart pumped the blood from her body, Varana looked at the timepiece on the wall. It had been in her family for generations.

  Everything went dark.

  27

  The idea is not to create the tallest, thinnest turrets. Nor is it to raise walls that will withstand the mightiest foe. It is to build structures that will inspire the world with their beauty for a thousand years.

  — Lore of the Builder, 14-12

  ELLA woke out of a nightmare, some terrible monster plaguing her even in the refuge of sleep.

  "Ho, the house!" a male voice called. "Enchantress, are you here?"

  Ella lifted her body out of bed. It was time to face the news.

  "Enchantress Ella!"

  Ella’s heart thudded when she thought of Killian. Was he alive? Had he died during the night? She tipped some water from the ewer into the basin and washed her face. She carefully combed her hair.

  She was terrified to hear what the man had to say.

  "Ella!"

  Ella dressed in her soft yellow dress, a simple garment that reminded her of summer. It set off her pale blonde hair, contrasted with her brilliant green eyes.

  A pounding sounded at the door, growing steadily louder. Ella turned and walked to the door. A palace guard stood on the porch, his face grim.

  "Enchantress, there you are. Please, you must come with me at once. At once!"

  "Yes, yes. I know. It’s bad news then."

  "You know?" He seemed shocked. "How could you know?"

  Ella looked at him, perplexed.

  "He’s gone," the soldier said. “Gone.” Ella put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. "And we need you to tell us where he went."

  ~

  ELLA had never seen the palace guards so tense, so many of them with faces like cornered animals. They surrounded the Crystal Palace, out in force; there must have been hundreds.

  The cold winter sun had only just risen, sending scant warmth through the clouds overhead. Palace officials stood huddled in heavy woollen coats, talking together in hushed tones. There was something odd about the scene, something indefinable. It was as if a terrible tragedy had occurred, and the people were now looking for someone to blame.

  Ella couldn’t make sense of what the soldier said. He’d kept his lips firmly sealed, responding to none of her questions, just shaking his head and herding her in a direct line for the palace.

  On the palace steps Ella could make out the forms of the High Enchantress and two lords, flanking an old man. At first Ella just saw the wisps of grey hair, a flowing green cloak and an immense stiff collar. Then she realised who it was.

  "That’s the High Lord!" Ella exclaimed.

  "It certainly is," said the soldier. "And you are about to meet him."

  He herded her to the palace steps, until the two of them came to stand before the High Lord. If he hadn’t been a couple of steps above her, Tessolar would have been much shorter than Ella. The soldier departed without a word.

  Remembering her manners, Ella dipped her body and put her right hand over her heart, while the fingertips of her left hand touched first her lips and then her forehead. She thought again about Lady Katherine, mysteriously drowned. How could she have married such a grim man, even if he was the High Lord?

  "High Lord, this is the girl," said High Enchantress Evora Guinestor.

  "High Lord, it is an honour," said Ella, not knowing what else to say.

  He grunted — a surprisingly human sound to come out of his ancient face. From a short distance away the two lords looked on. "Ella?" High Lord Tessolar said in a hoarse voice. For some reason he wouldn’t meet her eyes. "Tell us of this boy, this thief who steals in the night."

  Ella took a breath. "High Lord, I don’t understand. What has happened? I take it he lived?"

  Evora spoke. "Lived? I doubt he was ever unwell."

  "I… I don’t understand."

  "Child, he was a thief. Last night, when most everyone in the palace was fast asleep, he searched my chambers, passed unhurt through my protective enchantments, found our Lexicon, and took it from under our very eyes."

  "He did what?" Ella knew she wasn’t supposed to speak in this way in front of the High Lord, but the shock was too much.

  "He stole our Lexicon," said High Lord Tessolar. "I would assume he was the same thief who stole the Halrana Lexicon. Much becomes clear now."

  "Clear and yet full of unknowing," the High Enchantress frowned at the High Lord. "It should never have been possible."

  "The animators’ Lexicon
has been stolen also?" Ella said.

  "Forget you ever heard that," said the High Enchantress.

  "Bah, our enemies know," said Tessolar. "The Emperor knows. This is all his doing."

  "We don’t know that," said Evora. "There is much we are dealing with that we do not understand."

  "Skylord scratch his name!" the High Lord cursed.

  Ella was shocked to hear the High Lord swear. She spoke up. "But I saw the essence. It was real essence, I should know. It touched his skin."

  "I believe you," said the High Enchantress.

  "You believe me? So…?"

  "Somehow, the essence did not kill him. Somehow, he was able to move about in my chambers undetected. He passed through our wards like they didn’t exist. He walked past hundreds of people without being seen. Child, I need to know what you know. Who is this young man?"

  Realisation came over Ella slowly, the shock of recent events fogging her mind. She had been tricked. It had all been a trick, all of it. She’d thought she’d killed him, killed another, like she’d killed Talwin. She felt sick.

  "He said his name was Killian." She swallowed. "I… I don’t really know much about him. He had an accent. He told me he was from a distant land, here to trade goods."

  The High Lord snorted. The High Enchantress shot him a warning glare.

  "Continue, my dear."

  "I showed him around Sarostar. He seemed interested in the palace. I told him everything I knew. I didn’t know there could be any harm in it, Lord of the Sky, how could I have known?"

  "Is there more? Were you, intimate?"

  Ella blushed. "No, nothing like that. Well, we kissed. Just once." She found it made her angry the way the High Enchantress was nodding. "We spent some time together, that is all!"

  A palace guard came over and made a formal greeting to the High Lord and the High Enchantress. "You asked for me, High Enchantress?"

  "Ah, yes. High Lord, this is Sorrell Ronin, one of the guards."

  "Soldier," said the High Lord.