The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  “The gods will soon resume their rightful place.”

  1

  Miro Torresante, high lord of Altura, strode with purpose through the streets of Seranthia. The district of market houses passed him in a blur.

  Four bladesingers scanned the crowd for threats while another twenty of the elite palace guard struggled to keep up with their young high lord.

  Miro was thankful for the cold of Seranthia’s winter. The high lord’s robe he wore was silk, but the glistening folds and stiff collar gave the material weight. It was covered with protective runes, and as part of his ascension Miro had learned the language of single-activation sequences, but he longed for the armorsilk of a bladesinger. A bladesinger had never been high lord before, and even with all the robe’s power, it was no match for armorsilk. Single activations could only do so much; the most powerful lore always required continuous chanting.

  Yet the robe was a sign of his office, and Miro was on official business.

  Miro scowled as he walked, and barely registered the merchants and couriers who drew away from his glare. It wasn’t just the sword and flower raj hada on his striking robe, nor the deadly warriors who surrounded him. They’d all heard of the tall man with the long black hair, currently tied back with a clasp of gold and emerald. They saw the thin scar running from under one eye to his jaw line, and whispered his name, bowing down before him like water cresting at the front of a ship. Even with so many influential rulers in Seranthia for the Chorum, the power of this man was palpable.

  Unaware of his effect on the passersby and consumed with his purpose, Miro muttered to the man walking beside him. He looked at Beorn as he spoke and wondered if he looked as uncomfortable in his regalia as Beorn did in his.

  Beorn, a veteran of the Rebellion, was nearly twice Miro’s age. In comparison to Miro’s lithe grace, Beorn’s boots stomped heavily as he shifted in his formal attire, his raj hada proclaiming him the lord marshal of Altura. Beorn had resisted the promotion, but Miro wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Two days to get an audience,” Miro said. “Two days!”

  “The Louans are busy,” Beorn said, scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard. “Everyone wants what they have.”

  “To be concerned about gilden at a time like this. Sentar Scythran is coming to destroy us all, and all the Louans care for is money.”

  “It’s their way.”

  “It’s greed. Pure and simple.”

  “Here we are,” Beorn said as they came to a halt outside the Louan market house, a huge, cube-shaped structure. Blue trim decorated the building’s paintwork, and the Louan device, a spinning wheel, hung prominently above the door. Miro glanced up and saw the device move; the silver wheel was actually turning.

  The double doors stood wide open and guarded by a handful of Louan grenadiers. Miro had an appointment, and it was clear who he was; yet even so, he was forced to wait impatiently as one of his men stepped forward and announced his arrival.

  “High Lord Miro Torresante of Altura to see High Lord Ramon Stouk of Loua Louna.”

  “Please wait here,” one of the Louan guards said.

  Miro fumed as he was made to wait outside the Louan market house. He remembered when he’d come to Seranthia as a younger man, and the elaborate courtesy the Halrana displayed to Tessolar. Now he was required to wait outside the Louan market house like a common supplicant.

  “Calm,” Beorn said under his breath. “We need what they have.”

  Finally a woman emerged from the entrance and stood at the top of the steps, bowing from the waist in the eastern manner. She was short and middle-aged, with close-cropped sandy hair and an intelligent cast to her eyes. Her tailored blue clothing was well made and expensive, and her raj hada proclaimed her an artificer as well as a senior merchant of House Loua Louna.

  “High Lord,” she said, “my apologies for keeping you waiting. I am Touana Mosas. Please follow me. Your bladesingers may come, but I’m afraid the rest of your retinue will have to wait outside.”

  Miro waited as Beorn spoke to the men, issuing instructions. Beorn then nodded and fell in behind Miro as Touana led the group through the market house. Passing several closed doors, Miro heard strange buzzing sounds and a scraping similar to the effect a saw makes on wood. Miro wondered what was happening inside, but returned his thoughts to the task ahead.

  Touana gestured for them to follow her into a large wood-paneled chamber. The bladesingers ranged the walls, radiating comforting strength, as Miro and Beorn took a seat at a long table. Miro wondered when the Louan high lord would be joining them as Touana seated herself, clasping her hands on the table in front of her.

  “Now, High Lord, what can I help you with?”

  Miro struggled to stay calm. “Where is High Lord Ramon?”

  Touana gave an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid he’s busy.”

  “Busy?” Miro growled. “With what?”

  “Not with what, High Lord—with whom. He is with the emperor and was unable to make this meeting. My apologies, but—well . . . he is the emperor, and with the Chorum in five days there is much to discuss. I am sorry for any offense, and please trust I am fully authorized to negotiate on behalf of my house. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “You know what we need,” Miro said. “Prismatic orbs. Mortars. Dirigibles. The tools of war. The enemy is coming.”

  “Yes, I do understand, High Lord. As I’m sure you can imagine, this new threat from the west has sown the seeds of fear among the houses. We can only produce so much, and prices have come up accordingly. How much are you looking to spend?”

  “Spend?” Miro said. He caught a warning look from Beorn. “We’re asking for your help, and you’re worried about gilden?”

  “High Lord, I don’t mean to patronize, but let me give you a lesson in basic economics,” Touana said. “Even in times of war—in fact, especially in times of war—the rules of finance must hold sway. Every high lord believes his land is at risk. The only fair way to allocate our resources is by the market forces of supply and demand, and their effect on prices. Tell me what you can spend, and I will do my best to ensure your order is fulfilled.”

  Beorn laid a cautioning hand on Miro’s shoulder. “We’ve been busy fighting a war, a war that freed your house, among others, from the primate’s evil. Since discovering this new threat, we’ve been pouring gilden into bolstering Altura’s defenses, which unfortunately aren’t as strong as the other houses’, and Altura lies directly in our enemy’s path.”

  “You say,” Touana said, shocking Miro with her bluntness as she met his gaze. “Yet by your own admission, High Lord, this enemy’s eventual goal is the relic housed inside the Sentinel, and they come by ship. Who is to say they won’t bypass Altura altogether and make landfall at some other part of the Empire?”

  Miro had to acknowledge she had a point, even as seething rage burned within him. “Yes, I’ll admit there is no way of knowing where they’ll make landfall, but it’s logical that it will either be the free cities, Castlemere and Schalberg, or Seranthia. Last year we found a new continent across the Great Western Ocean, only to see it fall. Trust me, our enemy won’t stop there. The entire reason for the assault on the new lands to the west was to form an army and to gather the ships to carry it here. The closest ports are the two free cities, and Castlemere borders Altura itself. I can understand the desire to strengthen Seranthia, and I applaud it, but if they gain a foothold in Altura, their forces will grow in power to the point where the rest of the Empire will never be able to hold them off.”

  “It’s a matter of fairness, High Lord. If Grigori Orlov of Vezna wants to defend his house, and can pay, it is not for us to turn him down. The gilden he provides goes to our merchants, who efficiently allocate orders to our workshops, who pay their workers, who turn up to work to earn their pay. Without gilden, the whole system falls apart, and I’m sorry, but I cannot give you what you want without payment.”

  Miro clenched his fists, and Beo
rn shot him a cautioning look.

  Touana fixed Miro with a penetrating stare, interrupting him before he could speak. “Tell me, High Lord, how many enchanted swords are you exporting from Altura, for free? How many sets of armor?”

  Miro sighed in exasperation. He had a sudden thought, and reaching into the bag lying at his feet that he’d brought with him, he pulled out a pyramid-shaped prism of quartz. He set it down on the table in front of Touana with a heavy clunk and then crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “What’s this?” Touana frowned as she looked at the device. She picked it up in her hands and inspected the matrices of runes. “Whatever it is, I can see it is not a complex device.”

  “No,” Miro said. “It’s not as complex as the things your artificers make. It’s not a timepiece, or a seeker, or a child’s toy. It does require a fearful amount of essence to construct, however.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s a single link in a chain. Our enchanters are making these devices—we call them reflectors—in numbers. Artificer Touana, what we have devised is a signaling system. We’re mounting the reflectors on top of towers, spaced at regular intervals, to connect every capital. That includes Stonewater, and we’re even linking up with the icy north. Each device does one thing, and it does it well. When a source reflector in a capital is activated, the prism lights up with that house’s color. It then sparks the next reflector, and so on in a chain, until everyone in the Empire knows that nation is under threat. The devices are made to be indestructible. You ask me if we’re giving up our resources for the greater good of the Empire and I say, yes, and here is the proof. When we’re finished, we’ll have a system that will enable reinforcements to go and help those in danger. The essence we’re using could be used to buy the orbs we need or build more enchanted weapons, but I believe this is more important.”

  “It’s an intriguing idea, High Lord,” Touana said, “and I applaud your dedication. However I cannot change my position. We cannot give you what you need without payment.”

  “Can you offer terms of credit?” Beorn asked.

  “Coin only, I’m afraid.” Touana smiled and spread her hands.

  Miro stood up out of his chair, knocking it back behind him. Touana didn’t even flinch when he leaned forward. “They’re coming for Altura. And if we fall, so will you. Be it on your head.”

  “I can only advise you to state your case at the Chorum, High Lord. The emperor’s new agreement allocates essence evenly among the nine houses. Perhaps you can have the agreement changed in your favor.”

  Miro shook his head, at a loss for words. Beorn scooped up the reflector and waved to the bladesingers, hurrying to follow the high lord as he stormed out of the Louan market house.

  Miro soon stood back in the open air, but his shadowed eyes saw something altogether different from the busy streets of Seranthia.

  “That went well,” Beorn said.

  Miro turned and looked at Beorn. “I was there,” he whispered. “I saw what will happen to Altura.”

  “I don’t think we can count on getting any more Louan weapons anytime soon.”

  Miro growled, “She talks about fairness. Why should Petrya get the same essence as Altura when it’s we who will bear the brunt of Sentar’s invasion? What’s fair about that?”

  “We have five days until the Chorum,” Beorn said.

  Miro nodded. “We need to prepare.”

  2

  “All of our hopes depend on these devices,” Ella said.

  Ada, the eldest daughter of Dain Barden of the Akari, turned the pyramid-shaped prism in her hands. Ada frowned as she examined the device, seeing the holes on each corner of its base, where it could be mounted, and noting the myriad of tiny symbols covering each of the three other faces.

  Perhaps five years older than Ella, Ada’s hair was even paler than Ella’s, near white to Ella’s gold. She wore it in a thick braid she occasionally tossed when irritated. Ada now tugged on her braid, her expression thoughtful rather than fierce.

  Ella had invited Ada to this meeting in the Alturan market house in Seranthia. She’d had conversations like this with lords and templars, Tingaran melders, and Torak builders. This was now Ella’s chance to convince the Akari about Altura’s strategy for dealing with the coming storm.

  The device Ella called a reflector was made of quartz, and Ella had drawn the runes herself, using a lens to aid her vision. Ada passed it to the three other Akari seated around the broad table as Ella shivered; it was late winter in Seranthia, and the heating system in the cavernous market house struggled to fight the chill. For once the Akari didn’t look out of place in their heavy furs.

  “We’re building them to connect all the capitals and we’re even connecting Stonewater. Our enchanters mount them on towers, and as long as the next reflector in the chain is in sight of the previous one, the light carries from one to the next.”

  “So there will be a tower with one of these at its summit in Ku Kara?”

  “Unfortunately, in your case, no,” Ella said, “much as I might like it to be otherwise. As far north as Ku Kara is, we’re only able to extend the chain to Lake Vor. We simply don’t have the resources to continue farther into the icy north.”

  “So you need us to keep watch on the tower at Lake Vor?” Ada said, glancing up to meet Ella’s eyes.

  “Exactly. If a reflector is activated in Seranthia, for example, it will shine purple. If the Petryans in Tlaxor were to activate theirs, it would shine red, the color of Petrya, to show they require assistance. The colors will spark along the chain until every device is lit up with that color, and everyone knows that a house is requesting help. It’s a simple system, but we hope it will be effective. We’re asking all the houses to pledge their assistance and to come if one of us calls.”

  “I understand,” Ada said. “I’ll explain the system to the Dain. How many of these towers have you built so far?”

  “We’ve traveled to Seranthia by ship, but after the Chorum we’ll be heading back home over land. Our enchanters will build them as we go, although the station at Lake Vor will necessarily be one of the last constructed.”

  “Excuse me, Enchantress. Two messages for you.”

  Turning, Ella saw a courier in Alturan green standing just inside the doorway. She didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t surprising; there were so many new faces in the market house these days.

  Ada stood as Ella took the two notes the courier handed her. “I see you have work to do,” Ada said. “I also have other business to take care of. Thank you for the demonstration. I’m sure my father will agree to help.”

  Ella rose and touched her fingers to her heart, lips, and forehead as Ada and her retinue gave a short bow and departed.

  Ella opened the first of the folded notes and frowned.

  It was from Ilathor, kalif of House Hazara, written with the flowery prose the desert men favored. Ilathor greeted Ella and asked her about her well-being. He said he wanted to see her at her earliest convenience.

  Ella thought about the time she’d spent in Petrya with Ilathor after she’d helped the desert prince conquer Tlaxor, the Petryan capital, a city guarded by a volcanic lake. Lord of the Sky, it felt like eons had passed since. She set the note aside and opened the second message.

  There was just one written word. Tonight.

  Ella smiled and felt a flush of pleasure. It was already growing dark, and she wouldn’t have long to wait. Ella glanced around to make sure she was alone before exiting the meeting chamber and heading deeper into the Alturan market house. She passed through the great hall, weaving through the merchants and soldiers she encountered on the way to the stairs. She checked over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being watched before she began to climb. The set of stairs led her up two levels before she reached her personal chambers at the end of a corridor.

  Her heart raced with excitement.

  Entering her chambers and gently shutting the door behind her, Ella threw a
heavy cloak with a furred collar and hood over her shoulders before pulling on two soft gloves. She crossed the room and pulled open the doors leading to the balcony.

  The fierce biting wind struck her with force, and she grimaced at the chill on her exposed cheeks. Stepping out onto the balcony, she tried to close the doors softly behind her, but they were torn from her grip and slammed shut.

  It was freezing out on the balcony, but even so, Ella placed two gloved hands on the rail and looked out at the grand skyline of the Imperial capital Seranthia and the golden glow of the windows, which gave the city a softened beauty in darkness that it never had in light.

  There were so many buildings pressed close together that it was difficult to encompass them all. Block-shaped structures clustered around her: the market houses of the other eight houses. Nearby, snowy gardens surrounded the manses of Fortune’s wealthy merchants. A long line where the distant buildings ahead terminated could only signal the length of the Grand Boulevard. The Imperial Palace rose above it all, easily the highest structure around, dominating the city with its lofty size.

  Seranthia was now so peaceful, but Ella feared the tranquility would soon be shattered by the coming darkness. In a way she’d come to love this city, a difficult place in many ways, where it was easy to feel like a stranger, yet filled with infinite variety. Rich and poor mingled together in Seranthia, even though the difference in their stations was greater here than anywhere else. Many of the city’s inhabitants seemed to think of Seranthians as separate from Tingarans, and even the individual neighborhoods were renowned, with each projecting its own charisma and the citizens of each fiercely proud of the district they called home.

  An emperor now lived in the Imperial Palace. Seranthia’s pride had returned.

  Time passed as Ella looked out at the city, her thoughts turning from one thing to another. If anything, it grew colder, and Ella fought to control a shiver. The message was vague about the time, so she didn’t know if she was too early. Deciding to head back inside, at least for a while, she turned away, but then she caught a flicker of motion on a nearby building.