The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  As Alturan heavy infantry with glowing armor and swords surged to follow the spearhead into the enemy’s heart, Tiesto heard a man calling his name.

  “Tiesto!”

  Tiesto turned and saw Bartolo pushing forward, blood splattered on the man’s face and hands.

  “Where’s Miro?”

  “I lost him. Look! Back at the hills!”

  Tiesto turned back to the hills and saw a long line of red. A huge flag flapped in the breeze, and Tiesto recognized the teardrop and flame.

  “It’s the Petryan advance guard!” Bartolo cried. “The Petryans have come!”

  “They’re too far away.” Tiesto grimaced. “We’ll lose the battle before they get here.”

  Sweeping his gaze across the clouds of dust and engaged men at every point of the line, Tiesto had an idea.

  “Bartolo, go and find the kalif. The Hazarans are coming out of the dust on our right. If you can’t find Ilathor, find Jehral. Tell him to gather his horsemen and ride up to the hills. Fetch the Petryans and bring them down to the battle.”

  “What if Ilathor refuses?”

  “Make him!” Tiesto growled.

  Bartolo grinned. “All right.”

  As Bartolo sped away, Tiesto once more saw the danger at his flanks. The three avengers had all fallen, revenants hacking down at them as they writhed.

  Tiesto saw the enemy preparing a countercharge at the gap left by the avengers and, realizing the danger, saw it was time to make his own attack.

  “To me!” Tiesto cried.

  He waved his single-activation sword high above his head and leapt back into the fray with renewed vigor, signaling his intent with the fiery line of his sword. Soldiers of all nations gathered to his call, roaring and shouting in defiance.

  61

  Miro fought.

  Lost in the dust, Miro looked for Bartolo, but he couldn’t see much at all. His zenblade was completely dark, and without the power of Ella’s lore, the long blade became heavy and difficult to wield. Miro concentrated on his armorsilk, chanting for protection and shadow, and with the battlefield a confused melee of powdered stone and screaming warriors, he simply looked for opponents, throwing himself at enemies as quickly as they came.

  He fought by running, flicking his sword to the left and right as he charged, knocking as many back with his shoulder as he did with his blade. He poured activations into his armorsilk, his voice rising and falling with each stroke of the bright steel, and each cut at a warrior was met with a cry, the sharp sword slicing through flesh and bone. Penetrating deep into the ranks, he realized he was among the toughest of the enemy warriors, revenants in black-and-white checkered uniforms, and these were skilled swordsmen, many carrying enchanted weapons.

  Soldiers of all nations fought and died on all sides. It was the most chaotic struggle Miro had ever fought in. Dust came and went, obscuring the city and then revealing the enemy’s endless numbers. An Alturan on Miro’s left fell as a gash opened in his throat, and a Veznan on his right died as a warrior in black tore his body in two. Two more soldiers filled the spaces they left, but were in turn cut down.

  And then it was only Miro.

  Glancing around, he saw the allied attack had faltered; he was the only one of the charging men still among the cluster of uniformed warriors.

  Miro saw Gorain himself.

  A space had opened around the pirate king of Nexos. The revenant in his black and white garb held a sliver of purple light, an enchanted blade, as long as a zenblade and wielded with precise skill. Opposing him, a tall man in shining green silk whirled to meet every strike, his own blade crashing against his enemy’s with each darting parry, every feint and thrust.

  The two swordsmen circled each other, stepping in and out like trained dancers, carving the air between them in a deadly flurry of blows. They moved so quickly Miro couldn’t see any opening for either warrior to take. This was swordsmanship of the highest order.

  Only when the tall man in green blocked a strong overhead blow and grimaced as his muscles strained with effort, did Miro see the gray hair and scarred face.

  The warrior in shining armorsilk was Rogan Jarvish.

  A steady song came from Rogan’s lips, the zenblade seething with energy as he darted forward and leapt back, spun on his heel and thrust before ducking and cutting at Gorain’s legs. Rogan’s blade found an opening and smashed into his opponent’s side, but the runes on the revenant’s skin warded off the blow with a sound like a lightning strike.

  Desperately trying to find his own opening as he drew in, Miro watched as Gorain launched a counterattack, a series of slashing blows aimed at Rogan’s head and torso. Rogan grimaced as he met each attack with a flashing parry, giving ground as he drew back, and now Gorain’s back was to Miro.

  Miro saw his chance. Thrusting his darkened zenblade at the pirate king’s exposed back, Miro’s eyes widened with shock as Gorain was suddenly there to meet him, moving incredibly fast to knock Miro’s blade to the side and spear his purple blade into Miro.

  The purple fire met the armorsilk and tore through the runes, breaking the lore and splitting the fabric. Miro screamed as he felt the steel penetrate his abdomen, but he rolled his chest away even as the blade came forward.

  Rogan saw Miro’s plight, and the old blademaster threw himself at Gorain, slicing and slashing, striking twice at the revenant’s body. Still the runes warded off the blows.

  Miro felt at his chest and looked at his hand, dripping red. Rogan feinted at Gorain’s face, and as the revenant drew back, cut once more. Rogan’s zenblade sliced through the pirate king’s left arm at the shoulder, sending the limb flying through the air.

  Rogan coughed and choked, and Miro saw the older man’s breathing was labored, his face gray.

  Snarling with rage and pain, Gorain spun into Rogan’s overextended frame and made a reverse thrust into Rogan’s chest.

  The pirate king of Nexos roared in triumph as his purple blade penetrated through the armorsilk and continued through the center of Rogan’s torso. Miro cried out as steel emerged from Rogan’s back.

  The light in Rogan Jarvish’s eyes darkened, and the strength left his legs. He collapsed to the ground as blood spurted from the deep wound.

  Miro felt rage fire his blood. He charged into the pirate king, smashing his shoulder into the revenant. He crashed his blade again and again into Gorain’s sword, and when the pirate king expected another overhead swing, he fell to one knee and thrust with every bit of strength he possessed into the revenant’s stomach. His zenblade met the resistance of the runes.

  Miro’s zenblade shattered.

  But Miro had positioned his body as he’d intended. He dropped his broken sword and grabbed the hilt of Rogan’s zenblade, still hissing and blazing with power. From one knee, Miro thrust Rogan’s sword directly upward.

  The point hit the underside of the pirate king’s chin and continued, thrusting toward the brain. Miro grunted with effort as he pushed, his muscles straining as the zenblade fought the protective power of the revenant’s runes.

  Rogan’s zenblade won.

  Gorain’s head exploded. As the last of the pirate kings died its final death, the light faded from Rogan’s sword.

  Miro moved to stand over Rogan. He was an island in the chaos as enemies came at him one after the other, and each time Miro fought better than he ever had to cut them down with Rogan’s darkened blade. Blood dripped down Miro’s chest, his arms felt like lead, but he fought on.

  No enemy was going to make him move from this place.

  No one.

  62

  High above Seranthia, waves of terrible energy cascaded across the sky as the two Evermen fought a battle that would only end with one of their deaths.

  Killian dove under an assault of blue lightning and sent his own flurry of fire from his hands, chanting constantly as he launched coiled yellow spheres at his opponent.

  But Sentar was fast.

  He darted out of the way of
each successive ball, flitting through the air and then laughing as he bathed Killian in a sudden cascade of fire.

  Glancing down at his hands, Killian saw that only half of the runes on his skin still glowed brightly, the rest starting to dim. Drawing on the skills he’d learned fighting wraiths on the nightmare world of Shar, he clapped his hands together and sent a wave of concussive air toward Sentar, tossing his opponent back through the air. Sentar righted himself, and Killian saw Sentar’s runes had also dimmed, but Killian had made fewer strikes.

  The difference in their skill was apparent. Sentar was the more experienced fighter.

  Sentar shouted a sequence and opened his palms. A vertical sheet of black energy filled the air, and with a pushing motion, Sentar sent the sheet forward. Killian warded it with his palms in the way Evrin had shown him, scattering the sizzling black energy around him.

  Killian decided to gain height and spread out his arms, shooting into the sky. But Sentar was there to meet him, and this time both men held one palm to create a defensive shield and pointed their other hand to launch twisting spirals of fire. Killian’s red fire splashed against Sentar’s shield while the Lord of the Night’s blue fire cascaded against Killian’s own barrier.

  Both men chanted, and Killian’s brow furrowed with concentration, matching Sentar’s own expression of intense absorption.

  Killian’s shield started to thin as it pushed back closer to his body. He felt heat begin to reach through to his skin, at first with a sensation of discomfort and then shifting to burning pain. Killian’s shirt began to smoke. Sentar’s face grew triumphant.

  The battle was similar to a sword fight, the spirals of fire like piercing blades. Remembering Miro’s training back in the Azure Plains, Killian moved his arms and turned side on, feeling immediate relief as his body presented a smaller target.

  But the relief was momentary, and Killian knew he had to do better or he would die.

  Recalling his own training as an acrobat, Killian dropped his attack, and even as Sentar brought his other hand forward to launch a second blast of blue fire, Killian shot up again into the air. He poured all of his power into speed, performing a complete loop in the sky to come up behind his opponent and crash into Sentar’s back.

  The breath shot out of Sentar’s chest as Killian wrapped his arms around Sentar from behind and began to squeeze. Robbed of his ability to chant, Sentar grunted, and Killian sent a wave of lightning across his body. He saw the runes on the back of Sentar’s neck dim and then one symbol after another fade altogether.

  Killian squeezed with every ounce of his lore-enhanced strength. But rather than having Sentar by the neck, he only had him around the chest, and the strength it required for him to hold on was taking its toll on Killian’s own runes.

  He saw several symbols on his arms fade.

  Sentar took a deep, gasping breath and spat out a series of activations. Sentar’s body lit up like a flame, and Killian screamed as his arms burned. Killian could no longer hold on, and Sentar kicked out, sending him tumbling through the sky.

  Killian’s training once more saved him as he corrected his wild spin, and both palms came up to ward off the next assault. As lines of energy shot from Sentar’s hands, Killian chanted to keep the defensive field up, but once more felt it pushed back as still more runes faded, and now barely a third of the symbols on Killian’s body still glowed.

  Sentar met Killian’s level as he kept up the relentless attack, streams of blue fire pouring from his palms. Killian saw his enemy’s dead eyes regard him with disdain, and he knew he was finished.

  Killian felt a sudden lurch as the power to stay in the sky left him.

  The drop took them both by surprise. Killian rolled and twisted as he plummeted down to meet the city below, his arms and legs scrabbling at the air.

  Looking down, he saw he was somewhere between the city and the harbor. In the space of a heartbeat, the wooden docks came up to meet him with incredible speed.

  At the last instant Killian gasped a series of activations and instead of crashing through the docks, he smashed hard into the wood, bouncing and rolling along the surface as agonizing pain filled his senses. Rising to his hands and knees, Killian shook his head and took in the scene.

  Fire raged on a nearby shipyard, threatening to take hold of the city if it caught onto the next building. A Tingaran soldier directed a chain of people with buckets to fight the blaze, but his astonished eyes were now on Killian.

  The soldier ran toward his emperor.

  “No,” Killian choked. “Go. Run.”

  The soldier was only a dozen paces away when Sentar landed gently on his feet behind him, unnoticed by the legionnaire. Sentar’s hand shot forward, and he took the big Tingaran by the neck. Sentar squeezed, and with a snarl and a horrible crunch, he tore the soldier’s head from his neck. Blood spurted into the air.

  The Tingaran’s body fell down, and his sword clattered to the wooden planks. Sentar threw the Tingaran’s head at Killian’s feet.

  The people by the fire screamed and began to run.

  Sentar smiled and whirled, launching fire at the fleeing people, taking them down in bright bursts of flame. He then turned back to Killian.

  On his hands and knees, Killian looked down at the head, seeing the Tingaran’s wide eyes and feeling rage burn within. As Sentar came close, Killian leapt forward with all his remaining strength, flying through the air to bring his fists down on top of Sentar’s head.

  His physical attack took his enemy by surprise as the twin blows struck home. Sentar reeled but struck back with a blast of air, throwing Killian twenty paces before he fell to the ground. Sentar probed his jaw and rubbed at his temple while Killian climbed back to his feet.

  The two men faced each other.

  “What a barbaric method of attack,” Sentar said.

  Killian’s chest heaved as he glared at his enemy. Sentar spat a tooth out of his mouth and smiled, his teeth tinged with blood.

  “Face me like a man,” Killian panted, attempting to steady his breathing as he straightened, clenching his fists at his sides.

  “Unfortunately for you, I won’t descend to your level,” Sentar said. “I am not a man.” His icy stare was filled with menace. “I am a god.”

  Killian tried to dodge to the side, but Sentar was faster. Black lightning wrapped around Killian’s body.

  The glow of runes left his limbs.

  Killian cried out in agony as his body convulsed, forcing his teeth together until he tasted blood. He was standing, but the only thing holding him up was the lightning, and when Sentar lowered his hands, Killian fell back to the wooden planks.

  “I will make your death slow,” Sentar said.

  Killian tried to think, but his mind was filled with pain.

  “But not too slow,” said the Lord of the Night.

  63

  As the battle for Seranthia raged, every soldier knew that with the Wall gone the city was defenseless. The men fought with desperation, but even Amber could see the outcome was inevitable.

  Outflanked, the allied army became surrounded. The last men standing fell inward against the press from the front, sides, and now behind. The once disciplined ranks of the allied army gave way to the formation of a defensive circle. There was no more use in strategy or tactics; this was simple survival.

  Amber scanned the soldiers even as she was pressed inward. She searched for Miro, but he was nowhere in sight. The stormy dust in front of Seranthia still clouded her vision. Amber wished she could be with her husband. The war would soon be over.

  The soldiers at the boundary fell, and the circle tightened. Those taking turns to rest in the center, the wounded and the tired, were pushed to the edge and fell in turn. The avengers were all down. The dirigibles had fled, their supplies of prismatic orbs exhausted. The last of the grenadiers had fallen long ago.

  The expected sortie from the city had faltered in the dust.

  Amber suddenly found herself at the pe
rimeter, and once more she launched bolts of golden fire from her wand, though she could see its runes dim and knew it wouldn’t last much longer. Revenant warriors clawed and grasped at her, and she fought them off with precision strikes, but still they kept coming. An Alturan fell at her left, his hands futilely trying to hold back the red blood spurting from his throat, and a Veznan in orange came to take his place but fell in turn.

  The circle tightened again, and Amber’s wand went dark.

  She fell back from the boundary, and a Tingaran legionnaire in glowing armor took her place. Gasping and shivering with fear, Amber saw High Lord Tiesto grimace as he darted in and out of the enemy ranks. Bartolo and another bladesinger fought like whirlwinds, their song the only thing giving the defenders heart as they held their ground against the pressure.

  More defenders fell, and the men began to look for somewhere to run. Amber could see their courage had failed them.

  But they were in a circle, and there was nowhere for them to go.

  Amber knelt and picked up a fallen Alturan’s bloody sword. She took a deep breath. She knew nothing about wielding a sword, but she was determined to die fighting. Perhaps her enchantress’s dress would give her some advantage.

  As Amber prepared to leap back into the fray, she felt an intense longing for her homeland. She wanted to see her son. She looked one last time, back at the distant hills, in the direction of Altura.

  Something appeared on the ridges.

  First one speck sped over a crest and down toward the battlefield, then another. Suddenly, there were hundreds of horsemen thundering down the hills, galloping with savage speed. Each horse bore two riders, one in black and yellow, another in red, the color of flame.

  The riders drew up to a shuddering halt just outside the battlefield, where the revenant horde surrounded the circle of defenders. Petryan elementalists leapt off horseback and formed a long line, hundreds of them.