He didn’t have much time. It was complicated, this process, and if he didn’t do it right he’d have to start all over again. The High Enchantress made liberal use of bright nightlamps — a second-rate effort wouldn’t be good enough.
Killian unclasped the silver chain from his neck, placing the pendant bottom-side up on the workbench so he could see the matrix of runes inscribed on the back. Killian sat the essence vial on the bench and removed the stopped. He then took the scrill and dipped the sharp end into the bottle. When he took the scrill out, its end dripped black, oily liquid.
Killian began to copy the runes onto the bare skin of his chest.
He tried to keep his hand steady, but his breathing made it difficult. Smoke hissed up from the end of the scrill but he felt no pain, just a slight tingling sensation.
Killian finished the first rune. Comparing it to the rune on the pendant, he decided he’d made a reasonable job of it. He began on the second rune. It was more complex than the first, with some difficult bridges and whorls. He began on the third rune. The sound of muttering bounced off the walls.
The High Enchantress was coming.
Killian started to move the scrill more quickly, but he knew he couldn’t make the slightest mistake or it would all be for nothing. The muttering grew louder. The smoke drifted into his nose, irritating him, and the hissing as his hand moved seemed so loud that surely she must be able to hear. Killian began tracing the final rune. The High Enchantress walked into the chamber.
"Sur-an-ahman," Killian whispered, under his breath.
Killian vanished.
Evora seemed to sense a change in the chamber. She frowned as she scanned the room, and then her eyes lit up. Taking a small stone tablet from a shelf, she left the chamber, clutching the tablet to her chest.
Killian breathed: a slow, steady sigh of relief. His trousers were in a pile on the floor; he’d removed them and kicked them under a table just before the High Enchantress had looked his way. He stood naked now and completely invisible. The pendant was clasped in one hand, hidden by his skin, the vial of essence in the other. It had been close; too close.
Gathering his composure, Killian followed Evora from the room. The High Enchantress walked back into one of the libraries and sat down next to a shelf. She proceeded to compare what was inscribed on the tablet to the contents of one of the large books, keeping her back to him.
Killian sat near her as she worked. His confidence returned, but alongside it was frustration. How would he find what he was looking for? He decided to leave her for a moment and continue his search elsewhere.
~
KILLIAN had been wandering for what seemed like hours. He’d come across no fewer than five traps — wards that would most likely boil an ordinary intruder’s blood. His special ability allowed him to pass through them like they weren’t there.
But Killian’s time was running short and he could now make out the faint outline of the runes on his skin as they glowed softly silver. Soon the effect would end. Killian had to find the Alturan Lexicon, and he had to do it quickly.
He suddenly heard voices.
"He can’t have made it far," a soldier’s curt speech. "He probably just woke up in a strange place and tried to find his way out."
Killian heard the High Enchantress. He didn’t quite catch what she said but she sounded troubled.
He edged forward until he could see them, standing in a group.
The High Enchantress and a dozen armoured palace soldiers were searching the chambers.
"Be careful not to touch anything," one of the soldiers said.
There were even two bladesingers present. Killian wasn’t happy at all to see them; he’d heard rumours about their abilities.
"He must still be here," the High Enchantress muttered.
Killian knew he had moments only. Thoughts of the Alturan Lexicon left him — there was nothing for it, he would have to think of a different tactic and come back another time. Yet what chance would he have then?
Sighing, he remembered where the stairs upwards were from his previous explorations and turned in that direction. Killian passed through the libraries on the way. Plenty of books here, he thought wryly.
Then he stopped in his tracks. A path had been worn into the carpets, the passage of feet so regular it was discernible.
His heart racing, Killian followed the slightly worn trail into one of the libraries. It was the room the High Enchantress had been occupied in, comparing the stone tablet to something in one of the great books.
Of course! She’d never be able to hide the Lexicon away — she would need to work with it constantly. Not only would she need to refer to it in her work, if she didn’t renew it regularly the enchanters’ runes would fade! Killian had stood right next to the prize and left Evora with the Lexicon while he’d run off on his fool’s errand.
She’d hidden the Lexicon in the best possible place — among thousands of other books.
"Lord of the Sun scratch you, woman," Killian cursed the High Enchantress.
He sat down where she had knelt, facing a row of large books. Killian checked the first book. Strange creatures leapt from its pages, vivid drawings of monsters the like of which he’d never seen. He put it back and withdrew the second book. It was some kind of text, a story, illustrated and captioned: the travels of an Alturan from long ago. Killian returned it to the shelf. The next book was full of numbers, column upon column of numbers. Some kind of reference? Replacing it, Killian turned to the next book.
It was of a different kind than the other books. This book’s pages were made of a silver, almost metallic fabric, the sheets so thin that the book had a great many more pages than it first seemed. It was surprisingly light, untouched by age, and felt foreign, almost alien. It didn’t feel like the creation of man.
The cover of the book was green, and on the cover of the book was a rune: the number one. Killian opened the book as curiosity overwhelmed him. Runes stared back at him, undeniably perfect. It was the work of the Evermen; a relic of unimaginable power.
A voice broke the spell — a woman’s voice screaming, crying with all of its power. "Guards!"
Killian tucked the book under his arm, trying to obscure it as much as possible with his body. A body that was weak, naked, and starting to betray him.
He ran.
~
THE Crystal Palace reverberated with a commotion: the sound of soldiers’ boots, calls and shouts. It was perhaps three hours before dawn, the time when spirits were at their lowest and men fought to blink away sleep.
A passer-by looking directly at the Crystal Palace would have blinked and rubbed at their eyes as an ethereal shape stole out, hiding behind a column, before soundlessly creeping down the marble steps, slipping from shadow to shadow.
Killian’s heart pounded and he fought to keep his breath silent. There were two guards at the bottom of the steps, made alert by the commotion. Killian stilled his breath further, attempting to slow his heaving chest. He would have to walk directly between the guards, a space barely wide enough for his body to fit through.
"Have you seen anything?" a voice called from behind him.
"No, nothing," one of the guards responded.
"He must come this way. He must," the voice said. "I think I’ll wait with you."
"Of course, bladesinger," the guard replied.
Killian felt like he had been punched in the chest — a bladesinger, directly behind him! He prayed for the light to stay dim; he prayed to the Sunlord that the bladesinger wouldn’t see him.
Killian moved to the shadow of another column, creeping towards the guards. The gap was ahead of him; he just needed to slip through.
He heard it then, just at the edge of his hearing; he never would have heard it if he hadn’t been so close.
"Tun-ahreen-lahsa," the bladesinger whispered.
Killian ducked, and in the same instant, so fast it was blinding, a piece of light thrust where Killian’s head had been les
s than a heartbeat before. The bladesinger moved like a coiled spring. If it hadn’t been for the two guards in the way, Killian knew he would have been sliced in two.
He was now behind the column closest to freedom, and tucked under his arm, the book felt like it was writhing, trying to save itself from this trespasser. This thief.
Killian saw the runes dim on his chest. He could see his fingers now, make out their definition. It was now or never.
Killian ducked and threw himself between the two guards.
"Get out of the way!" the bladesinger snarled.
Completely lost in this strange battle of whirling forces, the two guards tried to back up the steps. The bladesinger moved like wildfire, his song rising from his lips. He jumped over their heads, his sword held before him in a striking position, before he landed softly on two feet, scanning from side to side. Making a swift judgement, the bladesinger cut across the air in front of him viciously: once, twice, the vibrant zenblade making a sizzling sound like meat on a fire.
Killian only knew he had to get away. As he rolled to a standing position at the bottom of the stairs he felt something slice across his back, the lightest touch, but followed by a searing pain like nothing he’d ever felt. Gritting his teeth, he lurched to a standing position and began to run.
Blood ran down his back; he could feel it dripping to the ground.
"Now I have you," he heard the voice behind him.
Killian knew it was over. Wounded, with an angry bladesinger, he didn’t stand a chance.
In one hand was the book, clutched under his arm as he ran. What was in the other? His pendant and… something else.
Killian stopped and turned, facing the bladesinger. Surprised, the glowing warrior slowed.
Killian stood painfully, completely naked with the Alturan Lexicon clutched under his arm. Blood dripped down his back and onto the ground. Soldiers called in the distance.
“Back away,” Killian said.
"You won’t be seeing the dawn, thief," the bladesinger said with venom.
Killian dropped the Lexicon to the ground.
"Good," said the bladesinger.
Killian removed the stopper from the vial of essence, and as fast as he could, he flung his arm out, spraying the black liquid in all directions, careless of whether he hit himself.
The bladesinger moved to attack, too quickly for Killian to see if he’d hit him with the essence. Then, the warrior slowed, and Killian saw the bladesinger on his knees, an expression of horror on his face.
Picking up the book, Killian ran until the forest hid him.
And then he ran some more.
26
They discovered your daughter’s body in the Emperor’s chambers. She’d been knocked around like a toy.
— Confidential report to High Lord Peragion Telmarran, 522 Y.E.
"PLEASE, you’re not going to leave, are you?" Varana said.
Miro turned away from the window. He’d been watching the town hall, recently appropriated by the army’s command. Varana lay on her side on the soft bed, her head raised on her elbow. Her dark Halrana curls spilled in a cloud around her; her eyes were smoky brown. She had the cover pulled up over the lower half of her body but the rest was open to his gaze, her breasts heavy, stomach flat.
Varana caught his gaze, "Come here, come and lie with me. Please, my bladesinger."
"Don’t call me that," Miro said.
She pouted. "Don’t you want me?"
Miro walked over to the bed and sat next to her. He began to stroke her thick, lustrous hair, watching how it glistened in the flickering light of the candle. Candles were becoming popular now, with essence strictly rationed by the military. It was still fairly light outside but the thick stone walls the Halrana favoured let in little sunshine.
Miro wondered if there would come a time when even candles were seen as a luxury. He shuddered.
"Oh, my baby. You’re cold. Come." Varana raised the cover, offering Miro a tantalising glimpse of her body. "Come in, join me."
Miro didn’t move, just continued to stroke Varana’s hair away from her face, playing with the wispy tufts at the back of her neck. He wondered if life would ever return to normal. Had it ever been normal?
After the battle the army had licked its wounds on the edge of the Wrenwood. The bladesingers were still furious. There had been terrible arguments between Prince Leopold and Blademaster Rogan, who had seen some of his best men lost due to poorly scouted terrain and a dangerous battle plan. The Prince kept pointing to the victory as justification. The Blademaster said that if that was the price of victory, there would be no soldiers left by the end of the war, and no bladesingers left by the end of the season.
The rain had finally stopped. The injured were sent home, the dead burnt on the pyres. The army had decamped, and with a much better idea about how to organise a column, they had moved deeper into Halaran. The billowing smoke of the funeral pyres was a reminder of their first taste of a major battle.
Word finally arrived from High Lord Legasa in Mornhaven. His armies were mostly intact, the men restless. They were shut away from the west, blockaded by the forces of Torakon and a horde of the legion. High Lord Legasa proposed that Prince Leopold and the bulk of the Alturan forces, together the elements of the Halrana who had joined them, should attempt to break through and link with Mornhaven and the Ring Forts. With lines of communication and supply opened from Mornhaven to Sarostar, they would be able to regroup and begin the re-conquest of Halrana territory.
Prince Leopold dithered, eventually sending a messenger to High Lord Tessolar back in Sarostar, requesting advice. He had decided to billet the men in the town of Sallat while they waited for a reply.
"What is it? What are you thinking? Are you leaving?" Varana said.
"No, I’m not leaving you."
Miro’s hand continued stroking her hair, and then as if of its own accord, began to stroke the pale skin of Varana’s shoulder. He caressed Varana’s shoulder blade and his fingers moved to the small of her back.
"Mmm," she said, arching her back like a cat. "That’s nice."
Miro leaned down and softly kissed her parted lips. "You’re nice."
Varana smiled in happiness. It was what he liked about her, her completely unguarded nature, the way she spoke what she felt and showed her emotions openly. She was perhaps five years his senior, but she acted like a little girl, responding to a harsh tone with tears, to a smile with laughter. She reminded Miro of Amber.
"What are you thinking about?" she said.
"Hmm? Nothing."
"Tell me."
"No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about… about the Prince."
"You were kissing me, and thinking of another man?"
He laughed. "No, nothing like that."
Miro continued to stroke her, his hand travelling from her back over her hip, feeling its curve. She had the most curvaceous body — her breasts full, her nipples large, thighs soft and white.
"Mmm," Varana said. She rolled onto her back and grinned impishly at the obvious suggestion. Miro smiled along, his hand tickling her flat stomach.
Miro bent down and kissed her left breast, before taking the nipple into his mouth, pulling on it gently. Becoming filled with arousal, he stood up and threw off his clothes, before moving onto the space Varana made for him on the cushioned bed.
Miro resumed where he’d left off, kissing her breast, the smell of her bringing forth his passion.
She whimpered, "And the other one."
He chuckled and moved to Varana’s right breast, his lips teasing. Miro’s hand came up and squeezed the breasts gently as he kissed the nipples in turn, devoting his attention first to one, then the other.
Varana shifted her body, and her legs were on either side of Miro’s waist as he moved down her body, kissing her stomach, then the soft hair below her navel.
A clarion sounded. The noise was unmistakeable.
"No!" cried Varana as, cursing, Miro rose. "J
ust ignore it!"
Miro dressed quickly, first pulling on his woollen undergarments, then the armoursilk above. He slipped on the soft shoes and then above it all he slung the zenblade in its scabbard over his shoulder, feeling it hard against his shoulder blades.
Miro looked out of the window as he dressed. He could see a great commotion in the town square. Half-dressed soldiers were running to get the news, then running back into their billets to grab their gear.
"What is it? Tell me what it is!"
"I don’t know," Miro said as he turned to the door.
"You’re leaving! I know you are!" Varana cried.
Miro looked over his shoulder and moved to face her. She sat up naked on the bed, her beautiful body abandoned before it could be given the homage it deserved. She was quivering, tears pouring down her cheeks.
"I don’t know what it is. I’m going to find out," Miro said.
He opened the door and left her there.
~
THERE was a crowd gathering outside the town hall, soldiers and locals, all sharing anxious expressions, desperate for news.
A messenger had arrived from Altura, the raj hada on his cloak proclaiming him an official courier. He must have come from the High Lord.
Miro stood aside to let Marshal Sloan past, flanked by two aides. Blademaster Rogan came past a moment later, the soldiers making ample room for him to pass.
The crowd grew; rumours abounded. Miro saw Bartolo some distance away and nodded a greeting. Ronell was near the other bladesingers, standing somewhat apart, unmistakeable by the scarring on his face, the empty sleeve of his armoursilk. There was no friendship there, only enmity.
It seemed like an age that they stood, waiting for news. Any news.
Finally Prince Leopold came to stand on a podium facing the soldiers and townsfolk. Rogan and Sloan murmured behind him, deep in conversation.
The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress Page 22