Miro knew he would have at least two days’ notice from the Buchalanti scouts, and morale was important. He spent the last of his gilden on the feast. It was probably one of the best meals many of these people had ever had.
Bonfires dotted the pale white sands to the east of Schalberg, far from the defenses, the fires banishing the darkness and continuing into the night. The men drank weak beer, but it didn’t stop them from singing. They toasted Miro and hid their fear behind jokes and tall stories about the women in Tingara.
Miro didn’t join in.
He stood alone near the water’s edge, looking up at the sky. A comet passed overhead, leaving a sparkling tail in the afterimage.
“An omen,” a voice came from behind him.
Miro glanced at Commodore Deniz. “Do you believe in such things?”
“No,” Deniz said, and both men chuckled.
“I feel it, though,” Miro said. “Something tells me it won’t be long now.”
Deniz nodded, his face clearly visible in the starlight. “I feel it too.”
“Tell me, Deniz. With all this talk of omens and Evermen, what do you believe?” Miro asked.
Deniz shrugged. “My people believe in gods who live under the sea and in the sky. They shoot lightning bolts at each other when they fight, like a bickering husband and wife.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know what I believe. I know, though, that I will fight this darkness with every ounce of strength I possess, even to my own death. Though the navy has always been my family, my homeland was ruined, and even if my people return and rebuild, Veldria will never be the same again.”
“Don’t lose hope,” Miro said.
“I have found something else to hold on to,” Deniz said. “Vengeance.”
For a time there was silence between them before Deniz spoke again. “And you, Miro of Altura, the man from across the sea, whom I once took captive, what do you fight for?”
“I fight for my homeland and for the lives of those I love. I fight so that my son, Tomas, can grow up in a free world.”
“A worthy cause,” Deniz said, “perhaps much more so than revenge. Tell me, are you ready to die?”
Miro paused. “I am,” he finally said.
Deniz nodded as he gazed at the dark seas.
“But I’ll try not to.”
14
The Poloplats market in Sarostar was a place where items both ordinary and strange could be found. It was never the same from one day to the next, and scouring the market day after day could yield results, if one knew where to look.
Ella had once worked in the market selling flowers. She still recognized many of the merchants, and this morning she’d already enjoyed startling Harry Maloney, an unscrupulous buyer she’d once had to work with, with a cheery greeting. He’d sputtered hot cherl all over his jerkin. Ella didn’t feel bad: his clothes were always filthy.
Just like the other merchants and buyers, Ella asked Harry about the things she needed—sometimes people without scruples could get hold of goods that others couldn’t—but so far she hadn’t had any luck. She needed more of everything: beakers and vials, bars of iron, and any swords she could lay her hands on. She needed things she didn’t even know she needed. Already Ella had found slow-burning oil, and flicking through the alchemist’s book, she found a formula for naphtha. She bought all the merchant had and instructed him to send the flasks to the Academy.
Ella would have liked to send someone else to the market, but she knew she had to come herself. She wasn’t paying with gilden; she paid using the letters of credit Miro had given her. The merchants always hesitated when she presented them, but Ella wouldn’t accept their refusal. They knew who she was and didn’t dare say no to her face, especially when she gave them a certain stare.
Tungawa’s book contained formulas for poisonous fumes and fiery liquids, and Ella kept an eye out for anything interesting. The book always made her think of the alchemist’s dying words, words Ella thought were intended for her. It is the dose that makes a thing a poison. What had he meant?
The lore Evrin had taught Killian didn’t give Ella any hint at the truth, as fascinating as it was. When Sentar came, how could they ever hope to defeat him? Would Killian come to their aid if Altura called?
Walking along the aisles, Ella scanned the low tables. She emerged back onto the road, and as she was about to re-enter the next aisle of stalls, she overheard two merchants talking.
“Look who it is,” a vendor with a jewelry display said to the fat man next to him, a seller of pots and pans. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s probably wealthier than the emperor himself. What do you do with that much gilden?”
“What do you think you’d do?” said the fat man. “You’d get out of here and head east, or maybe south. Anywhere but here. Any fool can tell this isn’t a place to stay.”
“What are you going to do if you have to flee?”
“Where would I flee to? This is my home.”
Ella scanned the road in the direction the two men were looking, curious to see the subject of their attention. A convoy of three wagons stood pulled up at the side of the main road, near the section where stores and supplies were sold. Surrounded by a cluster of guards, the driver of the foremost wagon stood negotiating with a seller of vegetables.
Ella squinted but a group of soldiers passed by, obscuring her vision. When they’d passed, she quickly crossed the busy road, speeding up as she recognized the squat figure with broad shoulders and close-cropped hair.
“Hermen!” Ella called. “Hermen Tosch!”
Hermen turned at the sound of his name, revealing a round face and deep-set eyes. The free cities trader, who turned up in the most unlikely places, looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t want to see her. Ella had first met Hermen when she’d helped the Hazarans rediscover their lore. She’d last seen him in the ice city, Ku Kara, and though they weren’t close, she now considered him a friend.
As Ella passed the wagons, she saw two young men, one in each of the driving seats of the two other carts. A woman sat next to the youngest, and both of the young men had Hermen’s features.
“Enchantress.” Hermen nodded. He rarely smiled, but Ella had learned he possessed an acerbic wit. “No surprise to find you here,” he said in his thick, guttural accent.
“Where are you going?” Ella asked.
Hermen sighed. “East, Ella. East and north. There’s virgin land north of Loua Louna. I’m taking my family and making a fresh start.”
“I didn’t know you had a family.” Ella turned and smiled at the woman and the two young men.
“That’s my wife, Greta, and my two sons, Thorsten and Rolf,” Hermen said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Ella called to Greta.
“And you,” Greta replied, but she didn’t smile. “Hermen, we must go.”
“What’s in the wagons?” Ella asked.
Hermen hesitated. “My life’s work,” he said.
Ella wondered what he meant. She looked at the way the wagons’ axles were bowed under the weight of their loads; whatever Hermen had with him was heavy.
Then Ella had a sudden thought, and realization dawned. She frowned and strode around to the back of Hermen’s wagon. Hermen left his haggling to chase her. Pulling the flaps at the back of Hermen’s wagon wide, Ella saw chests, dozens of them.
“You’re taking your money and running?” Ella said, letting go of the coverings and turning back to Hermen.
“Not all of us are fighters,” Hermen said. He looked down at the ground. “I’m a trader, Ella, and I have a family to take care of.”
“What about him?” Ella said, indicating with her chin an old man passing by.
The old man’s wrinkled face peered at the world from under a fringe of thin white hair. He wore faded Alturan livery, the sword and flower on his chest barely discernible. He carried a worn scabbard strapped to his waist and traveled with a group of all ages under the supervision of a middle-aged of
ficer. All carried sacks over their shoulders as they walked in the direction of Castlemere.
Castlemere: Hermen’s home.
“Do you think he doesn’t have a family? Children? Grandchildren?”
“It’s not my way,” Hermen said. “We can’t all fight.”
“No, obviously it’s not.” Ella fought to control her anger. Part of her knew she wasn’t being fair to Hermen, but the sight of the chests, no doubt filled with gilden, filled her with anger at the unfairness of it all.
“I must be going.”
“Good-bye, Hermen. I wish you a successful new start,” Ella said. She stuck out her hand, and he slowly returned the handshake before letting his hand fall away. Ella wondered if she’d ever see him again.
Hermen looked sad. “Good-bye, Ella.”
Ella crossed the road back to the market, promising herself she would forget about him, though she felt Hermen’s eyes on her back.
“You can’t blame him,” Evrin said to Ella as they walked through the grassy fields surrounding the Academy. “People will always act true to their nature. It is the way of the world. We can’t expect more from people than they can give.”
“I guess I thought he was better that that.”
“Has he ever shown you his nature was any different?”
Ella thought about the first time she’d met Hermen, in the shadows of Ilathor’s tent, deep in the Hazara desert. He’d seen an opportunity in the Hazarans’ growing power, and he’d most likely profited greatly.
She remembered when they’d met in Ku Kara. Once again, Hermen had been opening ties with a people formerly lost to the trade of the Empire. He’d always spoken of profit and customers and trade routes.
“I suppose not,” Ella said. “But how can he leave his home so callously?”
“His family is his home. As long as he has his family by his side, he can protect them and create a new home somewhere else. We all have ties to our homeland, but the ties of family are stronger still.”
“I don’t see Miro taking Amber and Tomas to some place far away.”
“That’s not Miro’s nature,” Evrin said. “But even your brother doesn’t just fight for some rocks and rivers, forests and fields. He fights for the people he protects. He knows that even if all of Altura were evacuated, the enemy would still have to be faced. He has chosen this place to make his stand.”
“What about you?” Ella said. “Where is your home?”
Evrin smiled sadly. “I lost my home when I saw something greater. I once ruled over thousands of people from a glorious palace. My love . . . she showed me something altogether more important. I thought my brother Evermen were my family, but she showed me we weren’t brothers; we were allies, united by our arrogance and our lust for power. She became my family, and I fought for her and others like her. I fought for you, Ella, and I will continue to fight.”
“That makes me sad. Are you saying you don’t have a home?”
“I have places where I spend time. But yes, I suppose you’re right; I have no home. It was lost to me long ago, but the trade was worth it. Every human is my family, whether I know the person or I don’t.”
“You put Hermen Tosch to shame.”
“He is just acting true to his nature.” Evrin looked into the distance, and Ella wondered what he was seeing. “Just as I must face what I once did and act true to mine.”
15
As Carla left the Imperial Palace, she looked up at the great timepiece on the face of the tallest tower. Slow down, she reminded herself. She had time. She was out looking for work, and she needed to walk with purpose, but not with frantic worry.
She strolled toward Fortune and the Tenamet; it would make sense for her to seek employment in the boutiques of the city’s wealthiest district, or perhaps the eating and drinking houses of the place where Seranthians went for pleasure. Heading along the Grand Boulevard also gave Carla a chance to see if anyone was following her. She’d caught the sidelong looks from Alise, Killian’s mother; the woman was definitely keeping an eye on her.
Carla pretended to read the inscription on one of the statues lining the side of the Grand Boulevard closest to the park. It was difficult to establish whether any of the multitudes walking along the avenue were watching her, but she was trained at these things, trained and talented. Looking back at the palace, Carla continued to wait. Anyone following her would have to loiter when they were uncertain where she was going. Carla was satisfied, for now, but she couldn’t let down her guard.
She turned back into the warren of streets and alleys when she reached Fortune. So far, her actions hadn’t given away any purpose other than a young woman looking for work.
Carla passed a series of dressmakers and resisted the urge to glance in. She loved fine dresses and had a wonderful wardrobe, but her current guise had her wearing basic clothing. She’d chosen this set carefully and had some nicely snug bodices and fashionably short skirts, but she knew she could be much more beautiful in a lovely dress. As always, it was a matter of striking the right balance, in this case between poor and pretty, careworn and clean. She needed to evoke the right amount of sympathy, yet not be pathetic. She needed to be attractive.
Next Carla walked past a row of manses, and now she was truly envious. One day she wanted to have the biggest manse in Seranthia, but though she sometimes spent time in the company of Seranthia’s lords, she didn’t want to achieve her ambition—to become rich—because of a marriage to some powerful man. She wanted to do it on her own. Carla shuddered at the thought of being given an allowance and told how she should spend her time. Nothing was more valuable than freedom.
Carla felt absolutely no remorse at using Killian. She supposed that in some strange locked-up part of her mind, she blamed him for her father’s death. She knew that didn’t quite make sense, which was also strange to her: that she could think that and still feel the same. Shouldn’t logic prevail over emotion? Carla thought of herself as a logical person. But one couldn’t be perfect all the time.
Savory aromas wafted toward her as she walked past a pastry shop. Carla entered and ordered a scroll, sitting down and taking her time to enjoy it. She liked the fancy food they served in the palace, but sometimes simple food was just as good.
She’d chosen the shop well, and she knew that any watcher would have to keep an eye on the shop from the street. Carla exited, and straight away she saw him.
He was good, to have escaped her notice so far. A professional, obviously. His tailored clothing—rich enough to get him into most places, but not ostentatious enough to stand out—gave that away. Even his face was bland, with two little moustaches his only distinguishing feature.
Looking down at the ground, as if disappointed by the results of a luckless job hunt, Carla continued into the Tenamet.
She passed through a section of storehouses with spiked fences, quiet streets where a young girl needed to keep her wits about her, and pretended to scan the alleys fearfully, though Carla knew this area well and could handle herself; her search was more to keep an eye on her follower. Then the number of passersby increased, and though it was early evening, revelers began to fill the streets and alleys in numbers.
Raucous music blared from doorways, and lopsided façades in need of new paint invited anyone with gilden to enjoy a meal, a few mugs of beer, or something more. Carla entered The Gilded Remedy and waited for the space of twenty breaths and then exited again, once more looking dejected. A few doors down she walked into The Hornet’s Nest and nodded at the barkeeper. Giving him the sign, Carla went to the door at the back and knocked three times, paused, and then knocked twice more.
The door opened, and a huge man with a spiked iron club looked her up and down. Carla gave him the sign, and he made way. “Just passing through,” she murmured.
This was where she would lose her pursuer.
Carla descended a set of stairs and walked along a narrow hall, passing doorway after doorway; she knew each contained a bed and littl
e else. Some were open, and shone the wan red light of faded nightlamps in lukewarm invitation, whereas others were closed, grunting sounds coming from within.
Carla reached the door at the back and nodded at the guard. He recognized her, but she made the sign anyway, and he pushed the rear door open, revealing a dark alleyway.
Carla wrinkled her nose at the stench and stepped around the piles of refuse. The alleyway popped her out onto the streets again, a block away from where she’d started, and now she hurried, taking a series of turns and then finally breathing freely as she left the Tenamet behind altogether.
There. She’d shaken him.
Able to hurry for the first time, Carla headed down to the harbor as the sun set and evening turned to night. Arriving at the docks, she looked out at the strange tower-like shape of the walled Sentinel, covered from base to top. She’d asked Killian about it, but he’d been evasive. Carla hadn’t pressed him, and she didn’t really care; her purpose had nothing to do with whatever his reasons were for walling up the majestic statue.
Carla followed the wharves to the farthest end. She reached back and pulled her hood over her head so that her face was shadowed. It was quiet here and dark. Carla waited and hoped she wasn’t late.
Sensing movement behind her, Carla started to turn, but rough hands grabbed her arms, pinning them at her sides. Before she could cry out, someone stuffed a gag in her mouth and placed a blindfold over her eyes, tied over her hood.
“Move,” a low voice said, putting pressure on her back.
Carla took a hesitant step forward and felt the pressure increase. She nearly stumbled, but her captor guided her and she heard the splash of water. She fought down her panic, and then she was physically lifted and felt rocking beneath her feet as she was set down in a boat.
Soon the sound of wood scraping on wood, followed by a regular splash, told Carla she was moving. She tried to count the minutes, but it was difficult, for she struggled to breathe through the gag, and her senses were heightened, her hearing conjuring up images of impending death by drowning or a blade in the chest.
The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) Page 12