Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  Primate Melovar Aspen tilted the glass back again, finishing the contents. He sighed and looked up, noting the Veznans’ glances at each other. At Moragon.

  "Trust me. You will be interested in my offer. Where was I? Ah, that’s right. The secret. High Lord Vladimir, can I ask you, would you like to live forever? To stop aging?"

  "At what cost? What is it you aren’t telling me?" the High Lord said. "I thought we were here to discuss a treaty, not to talk about eternal life. What is this madness?"

  "But we are, High Lord. We are discussing a treaty. I’m here to give you a choice. You can have the terms you are seeking, High Lord. All I ask is that you have a small taste of what I offer. You will have the peace you seek, your borders will be protected, and you will have all your many, many years to see your people prosper."

  "No."

  "Why not?" said the man in white. He glanced at the son, Dimitri.

  "Father, he is drinking it as we speak. What harm can it do? Even if it doesn’t do everything he claims, we can help our people!"

  "Dimitri, do as I say. Do not accept this man’s gifts."

  Dimitri Corizon eyed the flask of black liquid sitting on a low table next to the thin man. The thoughts were visibly crossing his face. Eternal youth. Powers of regeneration.

  "Oh, and your other option. Your other option is that I can destroy your Lexicon. I’m not speaking about lack of renewal, allowing your magic to fade. I am speaking of permanent destruction, made possible by raj nilas. Raj Vezna will be no more. Your civilisation will sink into the swamp. Your famous living city will rot and die."

  "You don’t have our Lexicon, and nor will you."

  "Do you really think you can last? I’ve already given the same offer to the Emperor. To High Lord Koraku of Raj Torakon. To High Lord Raoul Maul of the artificers. You know where they stand. You can join them by standing with me. Think of what I offer — the death of your house, or eternal life. Here, taste it."

  The thin man smiled and refilled his glass from the flask. He held it out to Dimitri.

  In an instant Dimitri took the glass and touched it to his lips.

  "Dimitri, no!" said the High Lord.

  Prince Dimitri took the smallest of sips, grimacing at the taste and set the glass down. The thin man took it back, while Moragon leaned forward in his seat, his smile broadening.

  The High Lord shook his head. "You should not have done that, my son."

  "It was just a taste," said Dimitri.

  "Well done, Dimitri," said the Primate. "The borders of your land are now secure. Once your people join with us, you will be part of something bigger, something great, a new order for the world." His gaze became unfocussed. "The High Lords will live forever. There will be no more displacement of power, no voids left by departing rulers. People will live and work together in harmony. No more Lexicons. No more houses. And eventually, elixir will be available to all. Join with me, High Lord Vladimir. Tell me, Dimitri, how do you feel?"

  "It feels… Amazing. I feel strong," the young lord’s expression was rapturous.

  "Join with you?" the High Lord said with contempt. "You are nothing but a servant, a judge, a templar. Why would anyone follow you? This meeting is over."

  The Primate simply smiled. "I was discussing the properties of this amazing liquid," he said. "It comes from the further processing of essence, you know. Did I mention that? There is only one small downside." His smile broadened. "It is addictive. Like nothing you have ever experienced. And," he nodded at Dimitri, "because this is your first time, you are going to feel it with full force."

  Dimitri shook his head.

  "I’ve heard it’s similar to the pain of essence poisoning — the pain of withdrawal from this liquid. You’ll be starting to feel it now. Ah, yes, there it goes. Remember, my child, all you need to make the pain go away is a little more."

  Dimitri’s eyes began to look feverish, sweat rose on his brow. "Make it stop."

  "A little more?" the Primate handed the glass out again.

  "No!" the High Lord said.

  Dimitri reached for the glass. High Lord Vladimir knocked it out of the thin man’s hands.

  "Guards!" the High Lord called.

  Moragon moved. Faster than the eye could follow — a blur of motion. He latched the heavy door, then before either Veznan could react he pinned the High Lord’s arms back behind him.

  "Now, I’ll be happy to give you a little more, Dimitri, but first there is something I need you to do. Just a simple task, and then you can have all you want. Are you ready?" Dimitri whimpered. "I want you to kill your father," the thin man said, smiling.

  Guards began to thump on the door.

  "Never," Dimitri said. His eyes were turning red, he started to twitch. "It hurts so much. So much!"

  "A little more?" the Primate asked again.

  The guards called out. They began to attempt to knock down the sturdy door.

  Moragon grinned.

  Dimitri started to groan. A keening sound came from his mouth. "It hurts, oh, it hurts so much. Give it to me!"

  He suddenly lunged at the thin man, who danced out of reach. Panting, Dimitri fell to the floor.

  "Kill your father," the thin man said. He held out a knife. Moragon held the High Lord pinned to his chair.

  "Have strength," High Lord Vladimir Corizon whispered.

  Dimitri began to writhe. His eyes grew yellow and foam started to appear at his lips.

  "You know what you need to do," Moragon said.

  With a great effort, Dimitri stood, lurching like a drunken man. For a moment, it seemed he would attack the man in white. Then he snatched the knife from the Primate’s hand, and ran the cutting edge across his own throat.

  The wound lay open for a heartbeat, before resealing itself.

  Dimitri screamed with anguish; there was no refuge, no escape from the pain. His eyes darted about, before he made his decision.

  The blade lashed out, slicing across High Lord Vladimir Corizon’s throat.

  "Now, give me more," Dimitri said.

  The Primate handed over a tiny portion of the black liquid. Dimitri tipped it back. He fell into his chair, the strength gone out of him.

  Moragon heaved the corpse of the Veznan High Lord onto his shoulder and walked to the open window. Without ceremony he threw the body into the air. A moment later a great splash sounded as the body entered the moat.

  "Congratulations, High Lord Dimitri Corizon. Now, inform the guards of your new position. And if you have any doubts, remember, I am your only source for the elixir."

  "What… what do I say?"

  The thin man shrugged. "Assassin? I’m sure you’ll think of something."

  Moragon unlatched the door. Several soldiers in the orange of Raj Vezna spilled into the room.

  "Prince Dimitri! We heard the High Lord call."

  "Quickly, an assassin! My father was at the window, looking out. He saw something, and called out. Something happened. I think he fell into the moat!"

  The guard paled. He looked out the window and gestured to the other soldiers. "The grounds. The High Lord has been attacked!"

  Dimitri put his head in his hands.

  "Well done, my child. We will make a proud ruler of you yet." The Primate leaned forward, offering the flash. "Another drink?"

  There was a sudden noise from immediately outside; it must have come from a window ledge; a human sound of pain.

  Guards called to each other from below. They seemed to be coordinating their efforts.

  "I think there really is someone out there," said Moragon.

  A black form moved past the window.

  34

  If you don’t climb the mountain, you cannot view the plain.

  — Sermons of Primate Melovar Aspen, 536 Y.E.

  ELLA woke some time before dawn to bruised ribs and freezing cold. She was shivering terribly. Her mind numb, she fumbled around for her satchel. Inside it was the simple heatplate. She took it out and placed it on
the ground.

  "Sahl-an-tour." The runes came to life, instantly emitting a soft glow and beautifully warm heat.

  For a moment she just held her hands over the heat until the shivering subsided a little and she could think clearly enough to take stock of her situation.

  She was still in her wet dress. She wasn’t sure if it was better to stay in wet clothing or to take it off, but decided it would dry more quickly if she removed it. Gasping and wheezing with the cold she quickly found a long branch and erected it over the heatplate, then removed her clothing and draped it over the branch. Naked now, she brought her body as close as she could to the life-giving warmth.

  She had her satchel but she knew she’d lost the nightlamp. Suddenly frantic she searched the bag, breathing a sigh of relief when she found the essence and two scrills. The precious fluid was starting to run low but at least the bottle had stayed intact. The rest of her clothing was completely soaked through. She kicked the bag closer to the heatplate. Hopefully some of the warmth would reach through to it.

  Thinking dark thoughts, she fell asleep.

  ~

  WHEN Ella woke again she squinted against bright sunlight. It felt like midmorning, but she was cold again. Sitting up, she saw that the heatplate’s runes had faded. It needed to be re-enchanted if it were to ever again provide warmth. Rather than giving the heatplate anger for running out, she thought of Layla, and sent it love for saving her life.

  Layla!

  Ella hurriedly put on her now-dry clothing. Scooping her belongings into her bag, she started to search the area.

  "Layla!" she called again and again.

  She looked all along the bank up towards the waterfall, then back down, past the place where she had washed up. She looked everywhere, scanning the opposite bank, searching the reeds for sign of the raft or Layla’s possessions. Nothing.

  Then, walking up a hill to get a better view, she saw the road, only a few dozen paces away.

  The road.

  Ella looked south, conflicted. Killian had undoubtedly gone in that direction. She’d probably made up a lot of time on the river. She could catch him, find out who he was working for, and get back her house’s Lexicon.

  Then she looked north. In this direction was Layla’s homeland and her own. If Layla had perished in the waterfall, there was no use in going this way. If she’d survived and gone back to the Dunwood, there was also little use.

  Ella had checked the river. She felt certain Layla wasn’t there. As certain as she could be.

  She had to make a choice.

  She stood there for a long time. Layla was her friend. But her people needed her. Miro needed her.

  With a heavy heart, she turned south.

  ~

  IT was strange to see the signs of civilisation again. She passed cottages and farmland, much of the earth lying fallow in winter’s heart. With one final heart-stopping lurch of hope, Ella clutched at the inner pocket of her dress.

  They were still there, two deen coins and twelve cendeens.

  Passing a small farmer’s market she bought eight crusty white bread rolls and a block of hard ripe cheese. Unable to stop herself she followed it with some cured sausage, a pot of jam, a bottle of fresh milk, two large sourmelons and three bottles of dark beer.

  She received a few strange looks as she heaved her satchel to her shoulder and without stopping began to assemble her lunch.

  For once, Ella didn’t care. She munched contentedly and ate while she walked, the bag getting lighter with every mouthful.

  It was easy going for the most part. The road was dry and dusty. The temperature during the day was cool enough that the walk wasn’t uncomfortable. Ella marvelled at the towering trees that lined either side of her path, beautiful evergreens with their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. This was the great farmland of Altura’s south.

  Always at the back of her mind though was the importance of her task. Her long legs found their traveller’s pace, she focussed on landmarks in front of her, determined to reach them in the shortest time possible. She finished the milk as she walked, feeling instantly invigorated. The beer she would save for later.

  The sun started to sink low on the horizon, the rays casting a glow on endless fields of sugarwort, covering the land with red and orange colours. As the road turned slowly east, Ella could now see the forbidding peaks of the Elmas in the distance, the natural barrier that separated the lands of Altura from the lands of Petrya.

  Ella knew where Killian was headed.

  There was only one route through the Elmas, one way to leave Altura behind and head for the east. The Wondhip Pass.

  Ella walked while it was still light enough to see and then stopped at the next hamlet she came upon, a tidy little place with a sign proclaiming it the village of Rowen.

  Facing the road was a small inn: the Steady Hand. Before she entered Ella looked down at herself. Her blue dress was scratched and torn. The knees were dirty and the hem had obviously been dragged in the mud. Her hair was a tangled mess. Making a decision, Ella placed a few coins ready in her palm and walked around the back of the inn.

  Ella found a huge woman behind the building, sweat pouring down her forehead as she pounded at some stubborn laundry stains. Water and soap sloshed down her jiggling arms. A barking dog challenged Ella. The woman looked up.

  "Lord of the Sky, dear! What are you doing back here?"

  "I’m seeking lodging for the night," Ella began.

  "Then you’ll be wanting to talk to my husband, Oerl." The woman looked Ella up and down. She smiled over her wobbly chins, a kind smile. "On second thought, perhaps you’ll be more comfortable if I let you in back here and get you settled, yes?"

  Ella nodded.

  "You have… ahem... you have got…"

  "I’ve got money," Ella said, opening her palm.

  "Ah, no problem, no problems at all. Come with me, lass, and we’ll get you settled. It looks like you’ve a story to tell, but you’ll be wanting to tell it clean, I’m thinking." She caught Ella’s expression. "Or not at all, as the case may be. Ahem. Yes, now come with me. That’s the way. Wait here and I’ll see if I can get you a nice warm room."

  Ella followed her to a set of stairs. It felt so nice to have someone show her a bit of care. Even in Sarostar she’d always had to look after herself. The woman gestured.

  "Here you go, top of the stairs and second on the left. Number four. You won’t be needing help with your bags? Good, good. You have a nice wash and come down for some supper when you’re ready. Any clothes you want washing just put them outside your door and I’ll see to it. Any mending also. I’ll send some hot water up in just a moment."

  The woman trailed off as Ella closed the door behind her.

  Ella couldn’t believe the sight that greeted her. A bed, a real bed. With a real mattress, and warm woollen covers. And pillows! She suddenly felt completely, utterly filthy. Turning and encountering a mirror only confirmed it for her.

  There was a soft knock on the door. Ella opened it to see a young round-faced girl holding two large buckets of steaming water.

  "Water, for the bath," the girl said.

  "Come right in," Ella said with a smile.

  ~

  EVEN though she was wearing one of her dirty dresses — the least damaged of the bunch — Ella felt wonderfully clean as she descended the stairs and smelt the first aromas of a hot dinner wafting from the public room.

  There were far more tables than people. She chose one near the open fire, the warmth finally driving the last of the cold out of her bones.

  The innkeeper’s wife approached; she’d changed into a matronly white costume with a black apron. It seemed amazing that she’d found one to fit her immense girth. She was all smiles as she approached Ella.

  "Look at you, dear. Now who would have known there was a beautiful woman under all that dirt? I’ve just now realised I never gave you my name, how rude of me! Never forgive me, my old mum would. I’m Tessa Lowellen and
my husband’s name is Oerl. What’s your name now?"

  Ella smiled. "My name is El…" She suddenly had a cautioning thought. "…Eldwina," she finished.

  "Eldwina, that’s a nice name now. And where might you be from, Eldwina?"

  "I’m from... Wrenmark, near Castlemere, on the Basch Coast."

  "My, my! Such a long way away! I would have picked you to be from Sarostar, myself. Your voice; and you’ve got that your look. I spent some time round there, when I visited the Dunfolk."

  "Dunfolk? You know the Dunfolk?" Ella blurted, before she caught herself.

  "Oh yes, I spent some time there learning about medicine, when I was younger. I’m Rowen’s local healer, you see. Learned a lot about herbs! Hopefully it shows in my cooking, speaking of which, what will you have?" She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper, "I recommend the hunter’s pie with gravy and black bread."

  Ella laughed. "I think I’ll have hunter’s pie then."

  "An excellent choice!" the woman laughed, departing.

  The food lived up to the woman’s reputation, it was delicious. Ella found herself warming to Tessa Lowellen, but she cursed herself for some of her lapses, the woman was cleverer than she pretended. While she ate Ella firmed up her story. Surprisingly, Tessa asked no more questions.

  Ella retired early, she needed the rest. As she went to sleep she thought about Layla, and Miro, and Amber. Killian’s face danced in front of her own. His devilish smile. His soft touch. Gentle eyes.

  ~

  "WILL you be staying longer? Ah, all right then. Thought you might have only been staying the night," Tessa said as she took Ella’s breakfast plates away. She suddenly dropped down onto the bench opposite and looked at Ella with serious eyes.

  "Just remember, dear, no matter what you are running from, family is what counts. I just hope that’s who you’re running to."