Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  Killian’s skin was tingling. He felt strange, like he was in another man’s body. He reached the bottom of the stairway and looked out.

  Murals decorated the walls, depicting the scenes of the Evermen Cycles. Incense rose from a golden brazier, the smoke curling and twisting. The ceiling was vaulted here, rising from columns that had been cut into the rock of the mountain. Killian walked out.

  He could feel the history of the place. He walked past niches cut into the walls; it was like a museum. The first niche contained a strange bracelet, covered with runes. Next was a silver dagger, curved wickedly. He saw a lock of long red hair, tied with a ribbon. A sound came from behind him — templars pouring out of the stairway, swords drawn.

  "This way!" one of them said. "I can feel it. Pure evil."

  Killian ran to the back of the chamber and found a second set of stairs, carved in intricate patterns. Making out runes on the wall, he knew he was getting closer.

  ~

  THE priest was kneeling at an altar. A stylised depiction of the Lord of the Sun scowled down at him from above. The priest mumbled to himself, the words endless and repetitive.

  He started at the sound of breathing from directly behind him.

  Killian grabbed him around the neck. "Make a sound and you’re dead. Understand?" The priest nodded, his eyes wide. "Where is the extraction system?"

  He loosened his grip on the priest’s neck slightly. "Three floors down. You’ll never get there. It’s protected by..."

  "Never mind what it’s protected by. I will find it." Killian slowly turned the man’s head from side to side. The eyes were clear. "Priest, I would leave Stonewater if I were you. There is darkness here. Perhaps you have felt it. If you have, you already know you should leave. If you haven’t, perhaps you deserve whatever comes to you."

  Killian pushed the man away. The priest coughed, placing his hands on his neck.

  Killian looked for the next set of stairs.

  60

  I told the templar that the Primate had given me permission to see the relics. It was worth a try.

  — Toro Marossa, ‘Explorations’, Page 409, 423 Y.E.

  PRIMATE Melovar Aspen stood at the summit of a jagged hill. He assessed this final front of resistance.

  "Peace." He smiled. "Emperor Xenovere, we are so close now I can taste it."

  He looked over to gauge the man’s reaction. Emperor Xenovere V shivered in the brisk air. His shoulders were slumped in his full-length purple coat. The immense collar simply made his head look small in comparison to his body. His raj hada was stained with the signs of travel.

  A fitting sign — the imperial raj hada tarnished with mud. How far the mighty fall, the Primate thought. He smiled again.

  "Well?" Primate Melovar said. "Here we are. About to crush the enemy who rebelled against your rule not so long ago. Are you pleased, Xenovere?"

  "Just kill them and get it over with," the Emperor sighed.

  "What? Not happy? Your legionnaires form the heart of my army. I would have thought there would be some pride there. Are you not proud of your people, Xenovere?"

  "Proud?" Xenovere said. Some fire rose to his eyes. "Yes, they rebelled. We fought and they lost. But at least they knew what they were fighting for. We knew what we were fighting for."

  The smile left the Primate’s face. "Peace," he snarled. "Something you were never able to give them. I promise peace in this life and salvation in the next. What did you ever offer them? I promise to never let men like you think you have the right to abuse your responsibilities. I promise universal law, Xenovere. That is what we are fighting for."

  "Then why are they here?" The Emperor pointed at the mass of Halrana refugees, the lined fortifications of the defenders. "They do not seem too interested in the peace you offer."

  "You heard the Alturan High Lord. They are led by a rebel. Now that Tessolar has been converted to our cause, we simply need to remove this rebel and the last elements of resistance will be defeated."

  "Who is this man, this rebel?"

  The smile returned to the Primate’s face. "You would know him actually. As a babe he watched as his father was killed at Mornhaven."

  "You convicted him, as I recall," the Emperor growled.

  "At your orders," the Primate returned with a nod. "High Lord Serosa, the man’s name was. The child was Miro. Bad coins always turn up, eh?"

  "I fought him at Bald Ridge," said Moragon. "He fought well."

  The Emperor suddenly fought to control a spasm — his back arching. The regal face grew contorted. Melovar nodded to Moragon.

  Moragon held the Emperor’s head, dribbling a small amount of black liquid between his lips. The seizure began to subside. Soon only the Emperor’s facial muscles were twitching.

  "It is killing him," Moragon murmured to the Primate.

  The emaciated figure shrugged. "He was one of the first. There were refinements I still needed to make. The new ones will last longer. Think of Saryah."

  "She is different. Perhaps she was lucky, or perhaps she was unlucky, but the elixir worked differently on her. What will you do when the Tingaran Empire has no Emperor? Xenovere won’t last much longer."

  "I won’t have need for him after this day."

  Moragon turned away, his face like stone.

  Emperor Xenovere wiped at the corner of his mouth. "Give me a sword," he said in a hoarse voice. "At least let me die like a man."

  The Primate chuckled. "So you can try to kill me? Come now, Xenovere. I am not that stupid." He resumed his survey of the battlefield. The defenders were outnumbered twenty to one. "Stupid," he murmured. "They should have removed the refugees long ago."

  "What would you do if you were in command?" the Emperor said. "Kill them all and throw their bodies into the river? In the name of the Evermen, you are a priest!"

  "Come now, Xenovere. You have military sense. You can see it. We simply need to break through their line and start killing refugees and we’ll start a stampede. The Halrana refugees will overrun their own protectors in their desperation to get away."

  The Emperor started to twitch again, his limbs shaking in agitation. The Primate nodded to Moragon, who dribbled more liquid into the Emperor’s lips. Xenovere was beginning to outlive his usefulness. The charade was becoming too difficult to keep up.

  "We’ll crush them against the Sarsen," Moragon said, once again surveying the battlefield.

  Primate Melovar smiled. "We’ll probably drown more than we’ll kill with the sword. I’m always pleased when we can do things without magic."

  "You should be pleased, then" Moragon grinned, sweeping his arm grandiosely.

  The Black Army stretched to the horizon in all directions, an unstoppable force. The catapults and trebuchets were lined up. A surprise lay in store for the defenders, for the stones were covered in runes — a trick they had copied from the Battle of Bald Ridge.

  Forty imperial avengers led the advance elements of the legion. Behind the elite troops would be the full weight of the army. Dirigibles and mortar teams were ready to rain destruction on the embankment. Pikemen and a motley collection of swordsmen formed the bulk of the men in the rear.

  It was a glorious sight. The defenders looked pitiful in comparison.

  "Is that their command?" said the Primate, pointing.

  Moragon nodded. "Do you want to offer them terms?"

  The Primate barked a laugh. "Terms? At this point? Let us offer them unconditional surrender. Who knows — they may take us up on it. If they do, that river is going to be very handy when it comes to disposing of so many bodies."

  Moragon spoke briefly to a herald, as Melovar continued to survey the field.

  "And the status of the bridge?" Melovar asked.

  "They weren’t able to rebuild it. They have constructed rafts. They are ferrying the refugees across the river, a score at a time."

  The Primate laughed out loud. "They’ll be there until the end of the world — which it probably is for them. Eve
ry beautiful garden has its weeds. It is time to remove the last bunch."

  61

  The women in Mornhaven are easy. Young or old, they’re as meek as kittens. Of course, it helps when you have a shaved head. Heh.

  — Tingaran legionnaire, date unknown.

  MIRO had feared it would come to this, but he’d always held out hope. The Evermen had turned their backs on them this day.

  "How many are still functioning?"

  Marshal Beorn’s face was as still as the grave, "None, Lord Marshal. Some hours ago, the runes faded on our last functioning zenblade. None of our enchantments will activate. It’s been too long since the Lexicon has been renewed."

  "Let’s not focus on what we don’t have. We still have the tools of the artificers — prismatic orbs, dirigibles, mortars."

  "I’m sorry, Lord Marshal," said Lord Rorelan. "We did our best. I expect we’ll get little mercy from the Primate, but perhaps we should consider surrendering."

  "No!" said Miro. "I would rather fight and die here today than see our people butchered out of hand. You know we can’t expect any mercy, not after what happened at Ralanast."

  "Miro," said Lord Rorelan. "We tried. But even if our bladesingers were able to fight, even if the iron golems and the other animators’ constructs were fully functional, we can’t last against an army of this size."

  For the first time, Miro accepted the chance of defeat. He’d tried so hard! The despair clutched at his chest, he felt he couldn’t breathe.

  "There must be a way!"

  "I’m sorry, Miro," said Marshal Beorn. "Ordinary soldiers just won’t last against imperial avengers and elementalists. With no enchanted armour the prismatic orbs — both ours and the enemies — will devastate our men. Our entire battle plan relies on our enchantments."

  A strident trumpet blared out. A courier came running, his breath coming in gasps.

  "The Emperor, he’s giving us a chance to discuss terms," the man said.

  Miro looked at Marshal Beorn, and then at Lord Rorelan.

  He sighed. It was over. "Tell the Primate I’ll discuss our terms of surrender."

  ~

  MIRO walked alone through the masses of the enemy. Lord Rorelan had begged him to take an escort but he didn’t want to risk their lives as well as his own. He felt naked without his zenblade — he’d left it behind, even though its runes had faded over a day before. He still wore his green armoursilk; it looked strange without the spidery symbols covering every inch of its fabric.

  Surrounding Miro on all sides were armoured templars with white tabards, escorting him to his meeting with the Primate. The soldiers of the Black Army drew back from them fearfully. Templars were well-trained soldiers, but this was something else. Then Miro noticed their yellow eyes, and remembered what he’d seen in Rosarva. These men had the taint.

  For the first time in his life, Miro saw the Emperor. The man was still far away enough that it was difficult to distinguish his features, but the purple robe and the Tingaran raj hada were unmistakeable, particularly against the black and white of the soldiers around him.

  Miro passed through an inner circle of templars. They stood guard around the hill, where Miro could now see a thin man in white — Primate Melovar Aspen — standing beside the Emperor. Moragon also stood with the Primate. The melding’s eyes gleamed as he watched Miro approach.

  Miro fought to keep his breath steady and even. He was coming face-to-face with Melovar Aspen. This was the man he’d had nightmares about his whole life. Miro would also be mere paces from Moragon, the Emperor’s executioner, the man who had killed his father.

  "You come alone, Lord Marshal, how brave," said the Primate.

  Miro stared into the man’s yellow eyes. More than at any other time in his life, Miro wished he had his zenblade with him. He would gladly have given his life for a chance at destroying this man.

  "I’ve come to discuss our terms of surrender," Miro said stiffly. The words caught in his throat, he couldn’t believe he was speaking them. He spat them out as if choking.

  He glanced at the Emperor. Drool ran from the man’s chin. There would be no help here.

  "You and I have met before, Miro. Do you know where?"

  Miro wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. "No."

  "You were only a small child. Much as you are now," the Primate smiled. "I needed your mother to spy for me, but she wouldn’t cooperate. A knife at your throat soon changed her mind. She married Tessolar and did what I asked. You see, none of this would have been possible without her. She gave me the information I needed — it was in the Alturan Lexicon. Your mother was the ultimate betrayer, Miro."

  The pieces finally fit together for Miro. He understood it now — why his mother had married Tessolar. Even Tessolar himself hadn’t known. This man was the reason he had grown up without a father. He was the reason Katherine had been forced to pretend to love her husband’s betrayer, to stay away from her children, even though they must have constantly been on her mind.

  Primate Melovar Aspen smiled when he saw the look in Miro’s eyes. "You understand, don’t you, Miro? I have you to thank for all this. In a way, the destruction of your house will be entirely your fault."

  Miro’s eyes burned. He forced himself to speak, "I am here to discuss terms of surrender."

  "Ah yes, terms. This should be fun. First…"

  Miro didn’t hear the Primate’s next words. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a line of silver appear on his armoursilk. Another line appeared. One symbol after another came to life. How could it be possible?

  The only explanation was that someone had renewed the Alturan Lexicon.

  Moragon was looking at the Primate. Neither had noticed the return of the runes. Miro fought not to look and draw attention to them.

  "And finally, Miro, I want you personally. This is non-negotiable. You could be very useful to me if Tessolar gives us trouble. It doesn’t matter how much willpower you think you have, Miro. I can still turn you. In fact, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you lead your people, under my control. You can be my puppet, Miro." The Primate gestured towards the Emperor. "Just think of the illustrious figures you’ll be joining."

  Miro looked up at the Primate.

  The man started at the menace in Miro’s gaze.

  "I take back my offer of surrender, Primate. I hope you’ve enjoyed your moment. The next time we speak it will be at your defeat."

  The Primate laughed and signalled. Some templars came forward. "Take this man somewhere out of the way and give him the elixir. Force it down his throat if you have to."

  Miro allowed himself to be led away. Even with his armoursilk functional, he had no chance of killing the Primate, or even escaping alive. He needed to wait until there were fewer of the enemy to guard him.

  He had to make it back to his men.

  Somehow, they had been given a chance.

  The Alturan Lexicon had been renewed.

  ~

  MIRO stumbled but righted himself. Blood matted his hair and his knuckles were scratched and raw. Without the armoursilk he would never have escaped. Still, it had been close. He had bested seven templars with his bare hands.

  "Marshall! You made it." Marshal Beorn embarrassed Miro by giving him a rough hug.

  "It’s a miracle," said Lord Rorelan, gesturing at Miro’s armoursilk, which glowed fiercely with power.

  Miro smiled wearily. "The runes…?" He held his breath.

  "All of the enchantments are functional."

  Miro began to feel hope again. "Spread the word…"

  "Already done," said Marshal Beorn.

  "All we can do now is wait. They’ll attack at any moment."

  They all sobered. Miro looked over at the rafts ferrying the refugees across the Sarsen.

  Every time he saw another group of refugees unload at the Alturan side, he thanked the Lord of the Sky.

  At mid-morning, the Black Army attacked.

  ~

  FORTY
imperial avengers led the way. Behind them, a horde of legionnaires formed the front of a relentless tide of screaming men.

  Miro watched as the Black Army drew closer to the first of the white marker stones. As the enemy passed the line, the eight dirigibles blinked into existence as their charge of essence was depleted and the shadow wore off. Miro released his breath. He hadn’t even realised he was holding it. They had lasted.

  The dirigibles dropped their loads of orbs in a black rain. Men and dirt flew in all directions as the prismatic orbs exploded in blue fire. The airships turned to fly back to the protection of the defenders, enemy mortars shooting up at them in a fiery hail. Five of the dirigibles were hit. Three escaped.

  Miro looked on, his chest squeezing his heart like a vice, as the stricken pilots activated the new sequence that had been built into their airships. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Pilot Varoun was in their number.

  As they struck the ground, the airships self-destructed, taking their pilots with them, along with vast numbers of the enemy.

  Still, the Black Army came on.

  They reached the second of the white markers. Miro’s four great catapults released their loads — hundreds of smooth stones from the river. They hadn’t had the essence to enchant the stones, it had been Marshal Beorn’s idea to instead enchant heatplates and bring the stones to an incredible temperature. Miro almost felt sorry for the Black Army. Almost.

  The air whistled as it was seared by the countless projectiles. They hit the enemy like a giant squashing thousands of men with his foot. The soldiers simply went down.

  They were soon replaced. The weight of their numbers pushing them forward was simply too great.

  The enemy now began their own catapult bombardment. The tall earthworks had been enchanted to the strength of iron. Miro now watched to see if it would hold. He saw a mighty boulder sail through the air. It flew over the barricade to crash into an Alturan mortar team, exploding on impact, tearing them to pieces.