The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  The gasps were clearly audible now. Faces turned white and men growled.

  “Soon my brother, the high lord of Altura, and the high lords of Vezna and Halaran, will pass this way. With them is Killian Alderon, your emperor. They go to stop our enemy before he can conquer Seranthia. I don’t need to tell you, if Seranthia falls, the rest of the Empire will soon follow.”

  Ella’s gaze swept the market, roving over the growing crowd. These people would pass the word, and soon everyone in Mourie and beyond would hear the news.

  “When they come, I ask that you help. Gather your weapons and your men, and follow where your emperor leads. We don’t battle for Altura, nor do we fight for the survival of Seranthia. We fight for the Empire. Please, I beg that you do your part.”

  “Who is this enemy?” someone called.

  Ella considered her words. “It is an army of revenants, led by rebel Akari necromancers. Their leader is a man of the utmost evil.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Which brings me to my next purpose. The Akari are our allies, and their own revenants may help to hold back the tide. Have they been seen in this area?”

  As before, Ella saw only shaking heads and blank looks. She would have to continue her search.

  Ella reared her horse back, sending the hooves kicking at the air before her mount once more regained its footing. She nodded at Shani, and they sped from the market, all eyes on them as they left.

  Ella and Shani rode along narrow trails, through forested glens and down wide roads, heading north into the wild lands the Akari would have to pass through on their way south. Ella made the same speech at every town and village. Sometimes her words were received with fright; other times people challenged her with rattling swords and cries of rage.

  They traveled as swiftly as possible, desperate in their search, always with the fear in their minds that they would miss the Dain’s force altogether. Perhaps the Dain hadn’t seen the signal. Or perhaps he’d seen it and hadn’t come.

  Even with remounts, they couldn’t gallop all the time. Ella took care to ensure they spared their horses. If they lost a mount, their mission would suffer.

  “Ella,” Shani said as they walked the horses alongside a grassy bank beside a thin stream. “I just want you to know, I don’t think it’s true.”

  Ella tore her gaze from the trail. “What’s not true?”

  “About Killian having a love back in Seranthia. I don’t think it’s true.”

  Ella sighed; she wished she’d never told Shani. “What makes you say that?”

  “I saw the way he looked at you back in Sarostar. You’d have to be a fool not to see it. It was the look of a man in pain. A certain kind of pain, if you get my meaning.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ella said. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

  “What’s more important than love?”

  “Safety,” said Ella. “Freedom. Life.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Shani. “Bartolo would give his life for me, and I for him. Do you doubt me?”

  “No, but . . .”

  “It’s love that binds us together. Even if we rarely acknowledge it, it’s love for our fellow humans, even those we don’t know, that makes us risk our lives to fight for the Empire.”

  “Fine,” Ella said. “I get your point.”

  “Do you? Ella, love is a risk. It takes courage, and it takes work, but it’s all worth it in the end. Every time something goes wrong, you can’t shy away. You need to face things head on.”

  “Like facing an enemy?” Ella smiled.

  “Like everything else in life,” Shani said, her expression as grave as Ella had ever seen her. “You’re brave in so many ways, but when it comes to love, you’re as timid as a dormouse. I understand you’re afraid of being hurt, but that’s part of the process. Every time Bartolo goes into battle, I’m so scared I can hardly breathe. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Shani, he knows about Ilathor. I saw his eyes; he’ll never forgive me. And now he has Carla. She was his first love. I’ll never compete.”

  “Talk to him!”

  “I’ll think about it,” Ella said. “There’s another village ahead. Let’s see what they have to say.”

  The villagers told them about a large army passing through. Ella couldn’t believe the relief she felt to hear them describe tall, blonde-haired warriors with pale skin and endless ranks of eerie white-eyed revenants.

  Ella pushed Shani and herself harder now, riding from before dawn until after dusk. After two more days they passed a fallow field next to a series of pastures, and with night setting around them Ella saw a multitude of twinkling lights that could only be campfires.

  “Who goes there?” a tall sentry challenged the two riders.

  Ella breathed a sigh of relief to see he was a living Akari warrior. More sentries came up to join them, and soon they faced a cluster of warriors carrying axes, hammers, and two-handed swords.

  “I’m Enchantress Ella Torresante of Altura, and this is Elementalist Shani of Petrya,” Ella said. “We need to see the Dain.”

  The sentries conferred, and a moment later half a dozen warriors formed up around them as the two women dismounted, leading Ella and Shani through the camp. Ella passed necromancers in gray robes and tried to relax her tensed muscles: these were friends, she reminded herself. Lord of the Sky, she struggled to shake how much they looked like the enemy.

  Seeing the revenants actually wasn’t as bad; the enemy revenants came from the lands across the sea, a motley horde collected from all over those conquered lands. These revenants were calm and orderly, universally Akari, with gray uniforms and precise movements. Ella managed to steady herself after a time. The memories of the fight for Altura were a month old, but they were as fresh as if they’d occurred moments ago.

  Ella and Shani halted outside a white pavilion, open at the sides, evidently a space the Dain used for receiving visitors and making plans. Revenant servants took their horses, and then Ella ducked her head and entered the pavilion, with Shani following close behind.

  Dain Barden Mensk of the Akari sat at the head of a table of whitewashed wood. He leaned forward over a map while a commander spoke to him in low tones.

  “Enchantress Ella of Altura and Elementalist Shani of Petrya,” a soldier announced.

  Dain Barden glanced up and frowned. Ella felt the familiar chill along her spine as he looked at her with penetrating blue-gray eyes. Tall, even for his people, and muscled more than any man she’d seen, Dain Barden pulled on his forked beard, playing with the silver thread woven through. His long white hair was braided at the back of his head, and the lines in his brow were cruel and forbidding.

  “Ella,” the Dain said, “finally some news. The fact you are far from your home says much. How fares Altura?”

  Ella took a deep breath. “Dain, Altura stands, but only just. We turned back the enemy, but with great loss of life. The forces of Altura and Halaran are shadows of what they once were. The free cities are gone.”

  “But you turned them back?” the Dain said. “Good. We can go home.”

  “You don’t know, then?” Shani asked.

  “Who is this?” Dain Barden scowled.

  “She is Shani, an elementalist of Petrya and a friend. We’ve been searching for you for weeks.”

  “Tell me, what is it we don’t know, Ella?”

  “Our enemy is crafty and divided his forces. While we were tied up fighting in Altura, he continued by sea to the lands in the east. A month ago Stonewater requested help. We can only assume that, while they would have held for a time, by now the land of the templars has gone to the shadow.”

  Dain Barden’s eyes went wide. “And Seranthia?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Ella said. “With the emperor and most of the Legion marching back from Altura, along with the rest of our forces, the emperor asks . . . he requests . . . your help. Your force is in a position to delay the enemy unt
il he can bring the Legion back.”

  “Where is the enemy now?” one of the Dain’s commanders spoke.

  “Most likely somewhere between Aynar and Tingara.”

  “And what stands between the Lord of the Night and his goal?” Dain Barden said.

  “The Hazarans.”

  “Those desert men? Three years ago we were fighting them, and now you want us to help them?”

  “It is the only way to save the Empire. We’ve been outmaneuvered, Dain. If the emperor hadn’t come to Altura’s aid, we would have fallen, yet by doing so he’s left Tingara exposed.”

  “I’ll think on it,” Dain Barden said.

  “Let’s head back to Ku Kara—” the commander began.

  “I said I’ll think on it!” the Dain growled.

  Ella and Shani swapped glances. Ella knew it wasn’t the time to press the proud Dain, but she also knew that without the Akari, the Hazarans were doomed to fight the enemy alone.

  Ilathor and Jehral had come through for Altura. True to their word, they’d fought for Ella’s homeland and had lost a great many men.

  Now it was Ella’s turn to come through for her friends.

  “Leave me,” Dain Barden said. “Someone will find you tents. I need to think.”

  “Of course,” Ella said.

  She and Shani nodded and left the Dain of the Akari staring down at the map on the table, though his eyes had the look of a man seeing something else altogether.

  As they left the pavilion behind, Shani turned to Ella. “That’s the first time we’ve met. Is he normally like that?”

  Ella hesitated. “Gruff, yes. But there’s something affecting him.”

  A steward in a gray uniform came forward. “Ladies? Would you care to follow me?”

  Ella turned to the steward. “Is Ada here? The Dain’s daughter?”

  The steward paled. “She’s . . . unwell.”

  “Unwell?” Ella said. “Can I see her?”

  The steward hesitated and then nodded. “I will show you. Be warned, it isn’t pleasant.”

  He led them past campfires and clusters of tents to a structure larger than the rest, with a wide space left around it, as if the Dain’s warriors were reluctant to make their camp too close. As they passed through the entrance, Ella saw it was an infirmary tent. Her gaze took in dozens of cots, all lined up in rows.

  Every bed had an occupant, and the sick people were mostly Akari men. Moans of pain sounded from many as they writhed and gripped their bedding. Others appeared to be comatose.

  Ella and Shani followed the steward along a row, past a cot where an older man with a lean frame lay on his back. His head was strangely bald in wide patches, and his eyes were closed. If it weren’t for the rising and falling of his chest, Ella would have thought he was dead. At the next cot a younger man gasped in pain and clutched at his stomach, red blood showing between his teeth. Patches of bare skin also showed on his scalp.

  Ada was on the next bed.

  The Dain’s daughter was taller than Ella and older, with hair so pale it was close to white, and brilliant blue eyes. Ella looked down at the proud Akari woman in pity. Half her hair had come out, leaving ragged clumps, and her eyes were closed, though even in sleep her face was wracked in a grimace of pain.

  “Please don’t wake her,” the steward said. “She rarely sleeps. If she does, it is a blessing.”

  Ella wanted to squeeze Ada’s hand, but instead she bowed her head. She no longer wondered why the Dain had been so upset. Ella stayed for a while and then nodded that she wished to leave. Passing the rows of wretched Akari once more, Ella waited until they’d left the infirmary before she spoke in hushed tones.

  “So many . . . What’s wrong with them?”

  “We don’t know. It started just two weeks ago, mainly striking the necromancers. Many are in that tent, but we’ve buried dozens along the way. I’m not sure if you understand our lore . . .”

  “I know something about it,” Ella said.

  “Well, as you know, our draugar need tending, and they need necromancers to control them. Our necromancers started to get sick, and Ada stepped in to help. As the Dain’s daughter she’s been trained in our arts. Now she is sick too.”

  Ella’s brow furrowed. “Is it only necromancers?”

  “Only those who’ve spent a lot of time with our draugar, yes.”

  Ella thought about the things she’d learned from the alchemist’s book. “Corpses carry many diseases . . .”

  The steward shrugged. “It is beyond me. I’ll find you somewhere to sleep tonight,” he said. “Enchantress . . . if you can help us get to the bottom of this sickness, we would be grateful.”

  Ella nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  She exchanged glances with Shani. The Hazarans needed the Akari’s help.

  But it appeared the Dain had problems of his own.

  43

  The tension in Seranthia was palpable. The terrified citizens barricaded their homes, nailing planks across doors and windows so that the tap of hammers formed a pattering background noise to any walk through the city. The markets were all but devoid of food; stockpiling had led to a shortage of everything.

  Once again Seranthia’s fate would decide that of the Empire.

  Yet this time was different. When the allied force led by Altura had freed Seranthia from the grip of evil, leading to the defeat of High Lord Moragon and Primate Melovar Aspen, the city’s conquest had come to be seen as liberation as prosperity and pride eventually returned to the city, culminating with the coronation of a new emperor.

  This time the enemy was feared by all. The Alturan high lord had warned them, and his words had been proven true.

  Refugees from Aynar trickled into the city, each bearing terrible tales of death and wanton destruction. They said this enemy was unbeatable. Vats were being erected in Aynar, and the revenants would keep coming until they’d achieved total victory.

  The enemy now had a foothold in the lands of the Empire. The Lord of the Night was coming for Seranthia.

  Rogan Jarvish sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he sat in his study in the Imperial Palace and made notes on a map of the city and harbor. He had a meeting with the Tingaran marshals later in the day and would present his plan for the city’s defense.

  Rogan had faced many enemies, and it took time to take their measure, but he now knew Sentar’s style. Rogan knew that the enemy force—which must even now be somewhere between Tingara and Aynar—would attack the city’s landward side. Meanwhile, their navy would attack the harbor. Sentar’s strategy was to distract them, to tie up their forces, while he went for his main objective: the Sentinel.

  As Rogan marked dirigibles on his map, he heard heavy footsteps. The footsteps grew louder, and then with sudden force the door to his study crashed open. Rogan glanced up in astonishment. He saw a Tingaran officer he didn’t recognize.

  “Ever heard of knocking?” Rogan growled.

  The officer brandished a sealed scroll in expensive purple-edged paper and thrust it into Rogan’s face. “Rogan Jarvish, I bring new orders. I regret to inform you that you are hereby dismissed from the army.”

  “What?” Rogan spluttered, rising from his seat.

  He took the scroll and broke the seal. The decree was curt, summary. It was signed by the Tingaran Council of Lords.

  “We’ll see about this,” Rogan muttered.

  He pushed past the officer and felt seething rage build up, heat rising to his cheeks. Passing through the marble-floored palace corridors, he finally found the Tingaran marshals, meeting in the war rooms. It was a meeting he hadn’t been invited to.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Rogan demanded, holding out the scroll. “Marshal Trask?” he spoke to a Tingaran officer he usually got along with.

  “Rogan,” Marshal Priam spoke instead, “your influence affected the emperor’s judgment, making him take most of the Legion from Tingara to go to Altura’s aid.”

  “That’s not tru
e!” Rogan spat. “I’ve always acted in your best interests. Taking the Legion was his decision, and I still maintain it was probably the right one. If they gained a foothold in Altura . . .”

  “They instead gained a foothold in Aynar, right on our doorstep. You saved your homeland, Jarvish, but at our expense. The Council of Lords met this morning and they took our recommendation. You won’t be playing a part in the city’s defense.”

  “I’m sorry, Rogan,” Trask said.

  “Scratch you!” Rogan said, throwing the scroll down to the table. He loomed over the table as the men drew back, their eyes fearful. “I’m tired of defending sound decisions to bureaucrats. I’m done with all of you.”

  “We thank you for your service,” Priam said. He affected a conciliatory tone. “Go home, Rogan. You’re old.”

  “Old?” Rogan felt heat come to his cheeks as his fury rose. With an effort he tried to calm himself.

  “You have a wife and son. Go back to Altura. We will manage without you.”

  Rogan Jarvish paced the length of the High Tower, the tallest structure in the Imperial Palace, open on all sides. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked, turning on his heel at the end of every dozen steps.

  His gaze swept over the vista; his vantage was all encompassing. In front of him he could see the harbor and the walled tower enclosing the Sentinel; and when he next turned, on the landward side the gray Wall loomed over the buildings to guard the city. Even the Wall wasn’t high enough to block the view of hills surrounding the Empire’s capital.

  Rogan fumed.

  He’d been arguing with the Tingarans for weeks, and it seemed they’d taken matters into their own hands. Rogan wanted to send troops to Tingara’s south, to buy them all time for the emperor to return, and to provide cover for the multitude of fleeing refugees. Instead, the Tingarans wanted to abandon the people of Aynar to their fate. They would now have their way, and the remainder of the Imperial Legion would stay on high alert in Seranthia.