“Kalif.” Jehral bowed with a flourish.
“Jehral . . . may I speak with you, my friend? Are you . . . busy?”
Jehral fought to hide an expression of bemusement. “I know it may appear that way,” he said with a wry grin, “but my time is yours. Of course we can speak, Kalif.”
“I am just Ilathor today, my friend. I have come . . . to ask you something.”
Jehral nodded. “Yes, we are all packed and ready to go. We will have to travel home overland, but there are many here who will share our journey for a time.”
“No,” Ilathor said. He hesitated. “It is something else.”
“Ahh,” Jehral said. “You have come to ask me about the signaling system. The emperor has agreed to keep it in place. In fact, he has some ideas for supplementing it. The artificers of Loua Louna have agreed to attack the problem and work with the Alturan enchanters. Combining the lore of the houses, we may be able to devise a new system of instant communication.”
“No, my friend.” Ilathor’s expression grew pained. “I wish to speak with you about something else.”
“What is it, Kalif?” Jehral said, spreading his hands.
Ilathor’s expression said he could finally see the twinkle in Jehral’s eye.
“You are making sport with me?” Ilathor wondered, shaking his head.
“I am.” Jehral laughed. “I know why you are here. Yes, of course you can marry my sister, my friend. I look forward to calling you brother.”
Ilathor grinned, a childish smile Jehral had never seen before, and the two men embraced. “And I you, brother.”
They drew apart and Ilathor’s expression once more grew sincere. “There is one other matter. I have one final request to make.”
This time Jehral didn’t know what Ilathor was going to say.
“The Alturans have the concept of a lord marshal. He is a ruler’s closest advisor and ranks above the other nobles. He tells the truth when it needs to be told. The title catches on my lips, however. I prefer to use a word that already exists among us: vizier. Will you be my vizier, Jehral? Together there is nothing we cannot achieve. Please say yes.” Ilathor drew back when he saw Jehral hesitate. “What is it?”
Jehral struggled to frame his thoughts. “You want me to tell the truth when it needs to be told?”
“Yes, Jehral. That is what I want.”
“Then, Ilathor, sometimes you are a fool. Your heart takes over your mind, and you are brave, but sometimes it takes more than courage to win the day.”
The kalif’s brow darkened and he scowled, ready to speak words of anger. Then, as quickly as they’d come, the lines left his forehead and he grinned.
“I asked you for the truth.” Ilathor smiled wryly.
Jehral realized what he’d said. “I apologize, Kalif. I should not have . . .”
Ilathor held up his hand. “Yes, you should. Always speak your mind, brother. I will not always agree with you, but I will listen.”
“Then yes,” Jehral said. “I will be your vizier.”
The two men looked westward for a time. The summer sun was hot, and in the far distance, heat waves shimmered from the hills.
“Come, Jehral. Let us make preparations to go from this place. The desert awaits.”
70
Ella glanced at the note in her hands and then looked down, her eyes following the winding path to the copse of trees below.
“This is the place,” she whispered to herself.
She was somewhere between Fortune and the market district. It was easy to miss the grove, hidden as it was by a row of tall buildings on a ridge of land. Yet the directions had been precise, and Ella’s heart told her she’d come to the right place.
Ella’s pulse raced as she walked with tremulous steps down the path.
The path led her down the hillside and wound between the trees, taking Ella deeper into the grove. It was narrow, and Ella passed under branches heavy with foliage, smelling moss and hearing the sounds of the city banished completely.
Ella arrived at an iron fence, hidden in the depths, previously obscured from her view.
She looked through the bars of the fence, and her breathing quickened as she saw the crumbled house. It was fallen into complete disrepair, the roof caved in and timbers strewn one on top of the other.
Her hands shaking, Ella read the note one more time.
Ella,
Some time ago, you received a legacy from your mother that enabled you to enroll at the Academy of Enchanters. The Eternal, or whomever we look to for the twists of fate, blessed Merralya on that day. Now, as I entrust you with my legacy, I hope and pray my final gift to you can have a similar result. There is none other I would rather entrust.
I now go to bring peace to my conscience, for I intend to end Sentar Scythran’s evil once and for all. I do not expect to survive. I will soon be rejoined with my love, wherever she may be.
I give you my sanctum. No feet other than my own have ever crossed this threshold. I told you I have no home, and that is true. I once told you that when in Seranthia, I always stay with my friend Barlow at the Cedar Palace, and that was a lie.
I will tell no more lies.
On the reverse side of this message are directions to my sanctum, as well as instructions for revealing the structure and passing my wards.
I believe your journey has only just begun. Learn from my mistakes. Be truthful always. Fight for what you know is right.
You have my eternal love and respect.
I am better for knowing you.
Evrin Evenstar
Ella glanced up once more at the iron fence and dilapidated house. Following the line of the fence, she walked until she came to a barred gate, as high as her shoulders, sealed shut with a rusty padlock.
Ella crouched down and picked up a stone, tucking some strawberry tresses behind her ear as they fell in front of her face.
She tossed the stone over the gate, her eyes following its arc. With a sudden flash of flame the stone vaporized, leaving nothing to fall back down to the ground.
Ella moved her hand slowly forward and felt it grow warm as she passed the boundary. Before long the feeling became uncomfortable and she drew her hand back.
Ella smiled and shook her head.
She spoke a word and the gate . . . changed. The rusty padlock vanished, to be replaced by an intricate silver lock covered with runes of enchantment. Only the iron bars were the same. Ella spoke a second word, and with a click the lock opened, the gate swinging open.
Ella stepped through and closed the gate behind her, seeing it once more shift until it was again bound by a rusty padlock.
Gazing at the ruined structure, Ella raised her hand in front of her and spoke three words aloud.
In a heartbeat, the dilapidated house was gone. In its place was a cottage with three steps leading up to a porch and a white wooden door with an oval glass window in the center.
Ella felt excitement creep upward along her spine as she walked up the steps to stand in front of the door. She nearly cried out in astonishment as a face appeared in the oval window.
She realized she wasn’t looking through the window; the face was a projection, hovering in empty space and scowling as he looked out.
“Who goes there?” Evrin said. “Ah, my dear, it’s you.” His glare shifted to a grin. “Welcome.”
Ella wiped tears from her eyes as she smiled. How long had he known she would come here? Seeing Evrin’s face like this only reminded her how much she missed him. She’d lost so many friends.
Ella pushed away thoughts of Rogan. She couldn’t face that. She wasn’t ready.
“Welcome to my sanctum,” Evrin said. “Everything here is now yours. I have a few instructions. Drink the wine; don’t keep it until it goes bad. Use my recipes, but only when you’re in good company. And be careful whom you share the lore with, but”—he smiled—“I know you will be. My home is now yours, my dear. As you know by now, there are no schools of lore. All power
comes from the one source, and that source is inside you, inside your brother, your people, and inside every living thing. Perhaps you will learn things the Evermen at the height of their power only dreamt of. Perhaps you will open the pathway to new worlds, or cure the ills of this world. That is for you to decide. Be well. And tell my descendent I expect him to treat you in the manner you deserve.”
Evrin’s face vanished, and Ella sighed. She knew whom he was referring to.
Killian.
Ella spoke the last of the activation sequences Evrin had given her, and the white door opened. Ella stepped inside, and of its own accord the door shut behind her.
Somehow the small cottage was cavernous inside. Ella was in a sitting room with shelves filled with books lining every wall, other than where a solid leather armchair rested next to a cold hearth. She saw an arch leading to another room, and stepping through, she found a dining room, also filled with shelves of books in addition to the square table and seating for four.
Another chamber was a large workroom, with a few vials of black liquid neatly spaced on the shelves alongside a bewildering array of scrills. A long bench filled the length of one wall. Stacked books stood piled on a side table beside three black cubes covered in tiny symbols. A golden egg sat on a stand, and a dozen wands of all shapes and sizes lay on another shelf. Gems filled a bowl, and bracelets and rings hung on hooks. Tall, bizarre devices Ella couldn’t categorize clustered against the wall.
Ella left the workroom and found a kitchen, a huge room filled with knives, pots, and pans. Near the kitchen a set of steps led down to a cellar, and expecting more works of lore, Ella was surprised to see racks of wine bottles, neatly ordered and categorized with scribbled tasting notes.
“Alturan silversweet. Dessert wine. Plum and nutmeg overtones. Delicious with chocolate pudding,” Ella murmured as she read one of the descriptions. She smiled, shaking her head.
There was so much of Evrin’s personality in this place. Ella was filled with sadness and comfort in equal measures, and she felt closer to the old man than she ever had before.
Climbing the steps out of the cellar, she went back into the sitting room and began to scan the shelves. So many of these books’ pages were made of the strange metallic fabric Ella had seen in the Lexicons and the book that had led the primate to the hidden relic.
As she drank in the sight of all the knowledge, Ella felt frayed nerves began to settle and ragged emotions calm.
When Brandon had died, she’d buried herself in her studies at the Academy of Enchanters. After Killian vanished into the portal, Ella had again thrown herself into her work, going to Mornhaven to help Evrin build the new machines that would once more give the Empire essence.
Ella had lost too many friends: Evrin, Layla, and now Rogan. She didn’t want companionship. Ella wanted knowledge. She needed lore.
Finally, Ella allowed herself to think of Rogan, testing herself, seeing if she could bear the loss. The pain was raw and jagged.
Ella’s breathing began to catch and she pushed the thoughts down. Selecting a book from the shelf she read the cover. Of Plants and Animals.
Ella sat in the leather armchair and began to read.
Soon, the pain melted away.
71
Winds of change swept across the lands of the Empire.
New essence rolled out in drudge-pulled carts from the catacombs under Mornhaven. This time priority was given to the houses that had sacrificed the most.
Though they weren’t part of a house, and preferred the glint of gold to the glow of runes, the proud people of the free cities even received their own allocation. The unexpected wealth would go a long way toward rebuilding Castlemere and Schalberg.
Councilors Lauren and Marcel decided to appoint a new joint mayor to oversee the work and renew the ties of trade that the free cities depended on. Hermen Tosch grumbled, but he finally agreed—in return for concessions for his new trading company.
The winds swept away the last odors of decay.
In Seranthia, a contingent of tough Tingaran legionnaires halted outside a sprawling manse stretching from the edge of Fortune down to the harbor’s edge.
Killian waited impatiently while his captain called through the barred iron gate to summon the owner of the manse, Lord York, one of Seranthia’s wealthiest nobles. As the hired guards on the other side of the fence ran to find their master, Killian looked at the nervous man at his side.
Lord Osker combed his fingers through the thin hair covering the bald patch on his scalp. He looked frightened.
“You’re certain?” Killian asked. “Lord York is the one?”
Osker licked his lips but nodded decisively. “I’ve known for some time.”
Killian scowled. “Then I’m not going to give him a chance to get away. Stand back.”
The legionnaires stepped away from the iron gates at Killian’s command. The emperor spoke a series of activations and moved his hand in a vertical cutting motion. A flash of bright light flickered from his palm, slicing through the bar holding the gates closed.
Two legionnaires hauled the gates wide open.
“Find Lord York,” Killian called, waving to send his men forward. The legionnaires swept past the emperor, crossing the grounds and dashing into the grand structures.
Entering the manse, Killian ran his eyes over the opulent property. Beautiful statues dotted the grounds, spaced around spilling fountains lit up from underneath with the glow of multihued nightlamps. He had no doubt that the manse’s grounds would be stark compared with the decadence of the interior, but Killian had no desire to continue inside.
He was angry enough as it was.
As Killian waited, glancing at his companion and pacing the area, he wondered what to do with Lord Osker. His mother, Alise, had unearthed Osker, though she hadn’t explained to Killian how she’d found out that the lord belonged to the Melin Tortho, the most powerful of the streetclans. Killian had promised Osker that he would spare his life in return for information leading to the architect of the plot to abandon Altura and assassinate the emperor. And here they were.
Anxious to avoid punishment, Osker had told them everything he knew, yet he had abused a position of trust in the Imperial Palace and certainly wasn’t without guilt. Killian thought about his mother’s discovery and mused. Perhaps it was time for a new convict to arrive on the island that Alise had once been exiled to. Perhaps there was a place for the Isle of Ana after all.
Killian looked up at a commotion and saw six of his legionnaires leading a thin man in purple velvet out of the manse’s main entrance.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord York demanded as Killian’s men dragged him forward.
Killian waited until the hook-nosed noble was directly in front of him before speaking. “Lord York, you are under arrest for treason. You will be given a fair trial, but let me be clear; we will uncover all of those involved in the plot against my life and the plot to abandon Altura.”
“This is preposterous,” Lord York spluttered, his eyes seeming to pop out of his head.
“We shall see, Lord York. Or should I say, Tortho.”
The winds of change moved on.
In the city of Sarostar, a young boy helped a hobbling middle-aged man leave the infirmary and walk along the wide stone road leading toward the river.
“You don’t need to help me, lad,” Fergus grumbled. “My wife’ll be here soon.”
“She knows I’m here,” Tapel said. “She’s waiting at the river.”
Fergus leaned on Tapel as he felt the stitches on his wounds tighten. Even so, he felt better, whole again. He looked forward to resuming work.
When they reached the foot of the Tenbridge, Fergus held up a hand. “Hold on a moment. Just let me see my city.”
Fergus drank in the sight of Sarostar, seeing the Crystal Palace cycling through its evening colors, the famous nine bridges cascading down the bubbling Sarsen one after the other. But most of all, he saw the people.
<
br /> A couple of old men fished from the apex of Victory Bridge, each of them holding a steaming mug that could only be cherl as they chatted, their attention more on each other than their rods. A pair of lovers walked hand in hand on the Tenbridge. Fergus knew the boy; he was training to be a stonemason.
There were faces he knew and faces he didn’t, but with time, he would come to know many of them, their hopes and dreams, trials and tribulations. Fergus had taken a terrible wound, but he was alive. The Lord of the Sky had blessed him and given him many more years with his nagging wife and unruly children. He longed to be home with them, but he took a moment to sweep his gaze across his beloved Sarostar.
He thought about the one who had saved him and taken his broken body from the barricades to be healed. Fergus the ferryman planned to one day find her and thank her, even if it took his whole life.
They said she was a determined young woman, with green eyes and pale yellow hair.
An enchantress.
72
Ella stayed in Evrin’s house for weeks, only surfacing to venture to the nearby bakeries and markets for the barest sustenance, just enough to get her through another day of study.
She found still more rooms filled with books: they filled Evrin’s bedchamber and even his wardrobe. Ella snuggled deep in the armchair and read, clearing all other thoughts from her mind. There were lifetimes of knowledge here. Ella planned to accumulate as much as she could.
Ella lost track of time. Sometimes she woke before dawn; other times she slept until late in the afternoon.
Soon she planned to enter Evrin’s workroom. It was time to test out some of the things she’d learned.
Frowning as she tried to understand a particularly difficult treatise on the various forms of light—apparently some light could even be invisible, Ella looked up in annoyance as she heard a loud curse from somewhere outside the house.
She moved to the door and waved her hand in front of the wood, muttering a swift series of activations. The door became transparent and Ella could look out, though she knew whoever it was couldn’t look in.
The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) Page 43