Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  She began to dig at the stones under the boulder, scratching at them with her bare hands. Her fingernails broke and tore and began to bleed. She heard another piercing cry overhead, but ignored it. The rocks she removed began to form a mound and the space created under the boulder began to get bigger. She found a scoop shaped rock and began to use that instead of her hands, making much greater progress. Placing the larger rocks up onto the mound, Ella tried to worm her way into the space.

  It wasn’t big enough.

  There was a sudden whistling of wind and then Ella saw the claws strike the rock again, this time only barely missing her head. The bird soared up into the air, then came straight back down again.

  Ella wriggled with her shoulders and kicked with her legs. Pulling most of her body into the cavity, she tucked her knees up, trying to get her dangling legs out of the open air.

  For a long, still breath there was silence.

  Then the eldritch’s baleful glare was eye to eye with Ella. Its beak lashed forward at her head, going for her eyes. Again and again the razor sharp beak snapped, and it screeched, the pain in its voice wretched as it clawed at the makeshift barricade, tearing the mound down in moments. It twisted around, snapping its beak under the boulder, a breath away from tearing open Ella’s stomach.

  Ella whimpered, helpless to do anything but await her doom.

  Then the eldritch was gone. Ella looked from side to side, and then carefully moved her head away from the scant protection provided by the boulder, ready to duck back down at a moment’s notice.

  The majestic creature was up in the air, its feathers torn and bloody. It screamed then, a terrible cry of impossible pain. Twisting and turning in the air, biting and scratching at its own body, it barely managed to stay aloft.

  Then its body bent at an impossible angle, its eyes dripping red blood down its beak. There was a loud crack as the great bird’s back broke.

  The eldritch fell to the earth, plummeting through the air. It hit the ground with a sound like thunder and lay motionless.

  Ella edged out from her rocky cave, dusting herself off. The creature had landed only a few paces from where she stood.

  She felt nothing but sorrow for the poor animal and the use it had been put to. She was surprised it had lasted as long as it had. Perhaps it wasn’t the first time an eldritch had been put to this macabre use.

  Its once glossy brown and white feathers were clotted with blood; it seemed to quiver slightly. She walked along the length of the bird. The runes still glowed but there was now no purpose to their horrible control over this regal creature. She reached the head, and, avoiding contact with the ruined eyes, she ran her finger along the edge of its beak.

  "Ouch!" she exclaimed, pulling back her hand abruptly, surprised at the sharpness of the bird’s beak.

  Who would do such a thing? The runes showed a reasonable level of skill, but the essence cost to use this creature was prohibitive, given it was destined for such a short span of usefulness.

  That was the cost to the user, but what about the cost to the creature?

  Ella took one last long look at the eldritch, picturing it as it once would have been, happy and free. Then, shouldering her satchel, she continued her journey.

  ~

  IT was a gruelling climb, dangerously steep, with loose scree threatening to knock her down with every step. Ella knew that if she hurt herself there would be no help here; a sprained ankle meant death up here in the mountains. She simply concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  At some point, she stopped and ate, though later she couldn’t remember what she had eaten or what it tasted like. She did remember to ration her water — even so she was down to her last two bottles.

  Partway through the afternoon, she’d looked up to see she was heading for a narrow defile between two of the peaks, a thin split in the rock.

  Wondhip Pass.

  She camped that night with the pass in view. This time she chose a protected spot with a clear view of approach and the defence of a natural cleft in the rock. Fighting her exhaustion she gathered some rocks of various shapes and sizes and prepared herself. Whether by creature or by man, she wouldn’t be taken unawares again.

  ~

  THERE were eight men, dressed in a motley collection of leather and armour. Two of the men carried swords, one gripped a dull spear, and another tossed a rusty dagger from hand to hand. The rest were weapon-less, but their size was enough.

  They’d sprung out suddenly from a place where Ella would have sworn there was no one.

  Her heart in her throat, Ella continued to walk steadily towards the narrow walled path that was the Wondhip Pass.

  She’d put on her green silk dress. Anyone who knew something about lore would know the designs on her dress weren’t there for decoration, but she hoped these men had no idea.

  As she drew closer she realised some of the men were badly injured. One of them had his arm in a makeshift sling, the bone poking out at an awkward angle. Another held his arm around his chest, his breath wheezing.

  Killian, Ella thought. She wondered if he’d sustained any wounds in return.

  For the first time she wished that the silk of the dress wasn’t so sheer, so figure-hugging. It was the last impression she wished to create.

  One of the swordsmen, a young man with a hooked nose and thin-face, whistled as she approached. He circled her, looking her up and down as he did. "My, my, my," he said. "Lovely, very lovely indeed. You make a fine change from the usual sort we get up here, princess."

  The other swordsman stepped forward. He was much older, and everything about him was big. His hair was long and shaggy, like an animal’s pelt. His head sat squarely on his wide shoulders and his legs were each the size of Ella’s waist. "Enough, Rostram. Let’s see what she’s got first."

  "Can’t you see what she’s got?" the young swordsman responded, his eyes still on Ella’s body. "Did you want to ask her, and maybe she’ll tell you?"

  The other bandits laughed.

  The big man’s expression blackened. "You think we’ll be able to buy food with what you’re talking about? What will that give us to get through the winter?"

  "Maybe she’s got both money and pleasure for us, hey Blackall?" the man with the dagger called out.

  The big man grunted. "Maybe." He turned to Ella. "Well? Got money?"

  Ella probably had enough gilden to buy each man a small piece of cheese, with none for herself.

  "No… No I don’t," she tried to keep her voice steady. Killian had come through these men, she could too.

  Blackall came closer to her; his breath stank as he spoke for her ears alone. "Listen, girl. These men, if you can give them a decent bit of money I might be able to stop them doing what it is they want to do to you."

  Hearing it spoken about so openly made Ella feel sick. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her throat closed up so it was difficult to breathe and even harder to speak. Every instinct told her to run. But her wits were telling her that to run was to die.

  She had to confront them.

  Rostram spoke from behind her, making her jump. "Whatever she’s got, it’s either in that bag, or in that dress. How about you search the bag, Blackall, while I search the dress?" he chuckled.

  The bandits began to crowd in, eager to see her body revealed. Rostram reached in to rip the dress from her body.

  Ella whispered the runes. Instantly the dress lit up like lightning.

  "Argh!" Rostram screamed in pain. He pulled his hand away. The fingers were blackened like coal. He would be lucky to keep any of them.

  "That dress, it’s enchanted!" yelled Blackall, drawing his sword. "Kill her — it’s worth a fortune to every man here!"

  Ella lifted the hood of the dress, pulling it around her head. She continued to chant, the words coming in staccato syllables as she spoke one activation after another. The dress grew brighter and brighter until it was as bright as the sun, projecting a fierce heat. Ella was
protected from it, even so, she could feel the scorching fire she was radiating. The men cried out in pain as they felt it. Blisters popped on their skin. Two of them ran off, their screams fading into the distance.

  "Kill her!" Blackall lunged at Ella’s head, but as his sword made contact with the dress a fountain of sparks sprayed out and the steel shattered into metal filings.

  Ella increased her chant still further.

  She vanished.

  One moment she was there, the next moment she was gone. Suddenly there was a flash of green silk and a bandit went down. Then a pale face hovered next to a hulking man, and he collapsed. One by one the bandits howled in pain and crumpled. Blackall just stood there, gaping.

  Then Ella was past. She chanted as she ran, until she had left the bandits far behind. She doubted they would have the will to chase her at any rate.

  The pass opened up again. It became a gorge. The walls of the gorge spread themselves apart to show what they truly were — the sides of mountains.

  Ella slowed, constantly looking behind her, only deactivating the runes when she was sure she wasn’t being followed.

  Ella was now the same as she had always been — a young woman wearing a green silk dress.

  ~

  IT was hard going, but somehow the knowledge that she was now beginning the descent into Petrya spurred Ella on. There was just as much rubble and loose gravel as there had been on her ascent, but her steps were now more nimble, lighter. Perhaps it had something to do with her supply of food and water, which was running dangerously low, the benefit being that her satchel was the lightest it had ever been. Perhaps it was her sense of satisfaction at besting the brigands who had waylaid her.

  One thing was for sure, Ella felt warmer than she had in a long time. While the Alturan side of the range had been cast in perpetual shade by the sun, on the Petryan side, the late morning rays were warming the dry air.

  The land below was revealed in the bright light of day, a panoramic vista. Looking to the north, her eyes followed the Elmas behind her as they curved all the way to where the mountains turned into hills in the Gap of Garl. The foothills then became the Emdas, a range that was to the Elmas what a giant was to a tall man. The land of Petrya was a great plain surrounded by mountains on all sides but one; to the south was the great Hazara Desert.

  Ella’s main view point though was ahead of her, at the path Killian was taking into the great bowl that was Petrya. It was a harsh land, barren and littered with stones and boulders of all sizes and hues.

  Suddenly she stopped. There, at the base of the mountain, still a great distance in front of her, was a man. He was clothed in white. His hair was a fiery dark red.

  Then, as quickly as she had seen him, he vanished into a copse of trees.

  He was perhaps half a day’s march in front of her.

  Killian.

  Ella ran through the possibilities one more time. He couldn’t know she was there.

  Her steps were more careful now. Ella prepared to hunt down her quarry.

  39

  The Lexicons may not even be the greatest works of the Evermen. Who knows what other wonders lay deep in the bowels of Stonewater?

  — Diary of High Enchantress Maya Pallandor, Page 680, 411 Y.E.

  PRIMATE Melovar Aspen could remember the time before the elixir. It was hazy, like a remembrance of childhood.

  He could recall feeling tired. Sitting at his desk in Stonewater, high up in the hollowed-out shell of the mountain. The aching cold, deep in his bones. His pen scratching endlessly. The feeling of impotence, of being trapped by his position.

  Why had he felt impotent? A memory came to him of a conversation he’d had with an imperial ambassador. A money-grubbing peddler, with jewels on his fingers and rich dark clothes of velvet.

  The meeting followed the usual pattern, and then Melovar remembered standing up at his desk, his joints cracking. He had walked to the large window. Without a word he opened it, his thin arms encountering resistance, grunting with effort.

  Instantly a stiff breeze gusted into the room. It was always windy at Stonewater, something to do with the mountain’s height.

  The Primate leaned against the window frame, gazing out at the city of Salvation below. He beckoned the ambassador forward. After a moment, the man hesitantly joined him.

  "Do you see?" the Primate pointed.

  The ambassador seemed giddy for a moment, made breathless by the height and the sheer drop below the window. The stone face fell for thousands of paces.

  "What is it, Your Grace?"

  "On the edge of Salvation, outside the city walls."

  The ambassador’s brow furrowed. "Some kind of camp."

  "The dispossessed," Melovar said, looking at the ambassador to make his point. "Vagrants. They come from all over, but most of all, they come from Seranthia."

  "Really? From the imperial capital? But these are just rabble — what trouble can they cause? They probably aren’t even Tingaran citizens."

  "Most are not."

  "Then what is the problem? Your templars can’t control them?"

  The Primate shook his head. "They are too weak to fight. The system is corrupt, Ambassador, that is the problem. The non-citizens are multiplying faster than the Tingarans. The citizens force them out of work and the Emperor leaves them to starve. The Wall shuts them out of Seranthia, so they come here, to Aynar, to Salvation, because as templars we can at least give them order. We can feed them, and give them work hauling the raw materials for essence manufacture."

  "Scum," the ambassador spat the word. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but in Seranthia we give short thrift to non-citizens."

  "But don't you see, Ambassador?" Melovar was desperate for him to understand. "Isn’t that going against the very tenets of what the Empire stands for? What we here at the Assembly stand for? The Evermen gave us the relics for a reason. They gave us the Lexicons and the ability to create works of lore, but for what? I'm beginning to believe that perhaps magic is more of a cause than a solution to our problems. Magic is driving our greed — our constant striving for more wealth, more power. We aren't helping people, we're using them. And when they're all used up, we discard them."

  "Without lore there would be no Assembly," said the ambassador. "No templars."

  "Ah, but you are forgetting our original purpose," said Melovar. "To guide the people, and teach them of the Evermen. To help them lead lives free from sin. I am the spiritual head of the empire. My job is to help. Somehow, with the constant demand for essence, that has become lost."

  Melovar waited for a reply. The Tingaran ambassador opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, frowning.

  Melovar spontaneously gripped the man’s shoulders. "Look, Ambassador, look when you are there. Look deep within. Then, let us talk again."

  The ambassador shook his head. "Your Grace, what can I do? There will always be those who help themselves, and those who don’t. I bid you leave."

  The ambassador left Melovar standing at the window, staring out at Salvation and the masses of the poor.

  The ground suddenly heaved and the boom of an explosion made the earth tremble. The Primate put his hand to his head, shaking off the fugue, bringing himself back to the present. The conversation took place some time ago; it was just a memory. How long had it been? He’d been several minutes without the elixir, and he quickly sipped from a golden goblet.

  Instantly he felt rejuvenated. Where was he? He looked around him, at the fitted stones that made up the walls. The parade-ground voices of soldiers called, somewhere outside.

  Ah, yes. He was far from Stonewater, in Torakon. He was encamped with his army, in the middle of the Azure Plains, standing in the command centre the builders had constructed at his request.

  The last vestiges of the remembered conversation left him. The elixir had been having a strange effect on him of late.

  Primate Melovar banished such thoughts and looked at the great map spread on the wall. Half of the Tingaran
Empire was now under his direct control. Soon the black sun would fly from every building in every city of the world.

  Moragon entered the room. "Your Grace, the Halrana attempted a sneak attack. We’ve repelled them, but some men were killed."

  "Ah, Moragon. I was just about to summon you."

  The Emperor’s executioner had required little persuasion to join the Primate’s cause. Not an intimidating man by nature, the Primate had enjoyed the fear that Moragon inspired in others. Primate Melovar now took great pleasure in seeing people react the same way to himself.

  "Your idea was an interesting one, Moragon, but the eldritch didn’t return. Is there someone who knows more of these matters? Raj Tingara’s lore is not a strong suit of mine."

  "The Tingaran loremaster…"

  "Bah, the loremaster can hardly keep his wits about him. The addiction is killing him."

  "And you?"

  "Don’t presume to worry about me. I have the Evermen on my side."

  "Yes, Your Grace. But still, the Alturan Lexicon…"

  "I know," Primate Melovar snapped. "Yes, we need it, and I don’t know how far the thief can be trusted. There must be something in its pages to explain this addiction. Send Saryah."

  Moragon’s face turned grim. "Saryah? Are you sure?"

  "Yes, Moragon. I am sure."

  Moragon nodded. "I’ll see to it."

  "Oh, and Moragon?"

  "Yes, Primate?"

  "These ironmen are proving troublesome. I’m growing weary of the animators. Send word to Stonewater. I think it’s time to put the elixir to its greatest test. Let us destroy the Halrana Lexicon."

  Moragon bowed and left. His eyes closed as he sipped from the goblet, the Primate barely noticed.

  40

  Have you no wish for others to be saved? Then you are not saved yourself, be sure of that.

  — Sermons of Primate Melovar Aspen, 537 Y.E.