He didn’t even acknowledge her when she entered; he was so wrapped up in his work. She put her heavy bags onto the counter and activated the fading heatplate with a word.
When she added the meat to the pan he looked up. "Amber, you’re here. I didn’t even realise."
"What’s new," she muttered to herself.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Igor. Nothing."
"Mmm. That smells good."
"Don’t expect much. You’ve got no idea what the level of food is getting like at the market now."
He grunted, "I can imagine. I’ve had my essence curtailed again."
"It’s not the same thing," she muttered.
"What?"
"I said it’s not the same thing," she said. "Those people… They’re struggling to feed their children. Your essence allocation would buy enough to feed entire families."
"I don’t feel like arguing, Amber. Not today."
She stirred the pot. Lord of the Sky, she was tired.
"I take it you heard about the defeat, then?" he said.
She grunted.
"They’re falling back to Mornhaven. A conference has been called. A war conference. Lord Tessolar himself left today."
"Good. Perhaps someone else will do a better job at running things here in Sarostar."
"Amber, listen to yourself! Are you well?"
She whirled, "No! I am not well!"
He took a deep breath, "What is it?"
"I don’t know!" she kept mindlessly stirring the pot. "Everything!" Tears welled in her eyes and started to run down her cheeks. "I just want everything to be back the way it was. I want my friends."
"You can’t mean that Ella girl? She ran away. I thought she showed promise, but her reckless nature told, didn’t it? People like you and I have to work that much harder because she left. Everyone here does their part, but where is she now? We’re better off without people like her. It’s war. We all need to support our soldiers in the front." He paused, clearing his throat. "Speaking of which..."
"I wish I was at the front," Amber said. She thought of Miro. Was he even still alive? Was he out there somewhere, injured, bleeding?
"No you don’t."
"At least I wouldn’t be here."
He sighed. "High Lord Tessolar asked the Dunfolk if they would help us. Did you know?"
Amber looked up, "No? What did they say?"
"They said no, what else? Stupid creatures."
"They aren’t stupid. I met their leader, the Tartana."
"That’s right. I forgot. Well, perhaps stupid isn’t the right word. Ignorant, perhaps. What would they understand of war? They’d rather keep to themselves. I will tell you something though, if Altura goes, so do the Dunfolk. They wouldn’t last a moment without us protecting their borders."
Amber thought about the vicious steel pointed arrows, propelled with unerring accuracy by the Dunfolk bows.
"I wouldn’t be so sure of that."
"Bah," Igor said. There was silence.
Amber dished up the food and they sat. Eventually she broke the silence.
"Why did you leave early today?"
Igor stopped for a moment. He took a deep breath. "I’ve been summoned to the front."
"You what? You must be joking."
"It’s true. It’s that desperate, Amber. They are calling up every man without white in his hair."
She didn’t say anything. They ate in silence, not tasting the food, simply fuelling their bodies.
"Well?" Igor finally said.
"Well what?"
"Aren’t you going to say anything?"
"What do you want me to say? You’re leaving me, just like everyone else."
Igor sighed. "I leave tonight. I’ve finished my sword. I’m taking it with me."
"You’re no bladesinger, Igor."
"I know. But I’ve been around warriors in the Pens. I know a thing or two."
Amber snorted. She didn’t know why she was being so cruel to him. He was leaving her. The emotions swirled around her head, leaving her drained and empty until she felt nothing, nothing at all.
She knew it then. She wanted him to die. She wanted to be free of this marriage, to find Miro, wherever he was, and tell him how she felt.
Igor sighed again and left the table. Amber stayed motionless, her head in her hands. She stayed silent while he packed. He came up to her and kissed her head. She looked up at him, the feelings of guilt wracking her body. He stood in the doorway and looked back at her. Then he was gone.
Amber put her hand to her belly.
"I’m sorry," she said to the unborn child inside her.
Then she broke down and cried.
50
I would give anything to see what our house is capable of, given unlimited essence. Can you imagine what we could build? I’m not talking about fortresses. I’m speaking of public buildings, such as you might find in any of Merralya’s great cities. Schools could float in the clouds, and libraries could be housed deep underwater. We could build up, rather than out. Or in many directions all at once. Why would we build such things? Why, simply to show that it could be done.
— High Lord Koraku Rolan to Primate Melovar Aspen, 543 Y.E.
ELLA felt the wind in her hair, the great power of the noble creature beneath her. It was complete exhilaration. She had never felt anything like it.
"Keep your back straight. Hold onto the horse with your knees, not your hands. Yes, that’s it."
Below her, Jehral grinned as he watched her enjoyment. She rode away from his standing figure then turned in a wide circle, heading straight for him before pulling up and trotting along a line.
"Well done, High Enchantress. Remember though, if the Prince finds out, he will cut out my tongue."
It had taken days to convince him to take her out. Women simply did not ride horses, nor did they want to. It was this simple supposition that had enabled Ella to take this step in the first place. The Prince was often busy with his men and Jehral had been charged with her protection. The pace of life was slow in the tents and when Ella had asked the Prince if Jehral could show her the desert he had agreed easily enough.
Ella realised that, after her conversation, with the Prince there had been a shift in the men’s’ attitude towards her. He had acknowledged that she was a woman of high rank, and obviously intended her for some purpose. Even Rashine left her alone now, although Ella sometimes saw him frown as he watched her from a distance.
Prince Ilathor had summoned her twice more to talk about the lands outside the Hazara Desert, showing a dedicated desire to learn everything she could teach him. He had sat close to her, leisurely smoking the waterpipe, his intense eyes watching her every move. She eventually grew comfortable in his presence, animatedly discussing finer points of etiquette, or methods of teaching at the Academy. The talk made her smile as she remembered the beauty of the Sarsen and the nine bridges of Sarostar. It also made her homesick.
"Rise and fall with the horse, cushion yourself with the stirrups. You should feel you are one. Good."
Ella spoke to the horse as she rode — simple words of encouragement and affection. She patted his neck. His name was Sundhep. Jehral told her it meant ‘dark storm’. He was a very dark brown, almost black, with a white blaze on his forehead. Ella swore he could understand her words.
"That’s enough, High Enchantress. We should be heading back now."
"Please, Jehral? Just a moment more?" Ella wanted to make sure she was comfortable with the horse. When the time came, this was how she planned on making her escape.
"No, that’s enough. The Prince returns soon. He will want to see you."
Ella sighed and dismounted while Jehral held the reins. He mounted up and pulled her up behind him.
"What would my mother think of me, teaching a woman to ride?" he muttered to himself.
He spurred the horse to a gallop, its hooves pounding through the sand.
~
ELLA could tel
l something had changed in the camp. Jehral gave Sundhep to another man and led her to the Prince’s tent.
Prince Ilathor Shanti burst from the tent before anything could be said. "Here you are; come in, immediately."
For a moment, Ella wondered if he’d found out about her learning to ride. She exchanged glances with Jehral, who remained passive. She entered the tent.
"Please, be seated," Ilathor Shanti said.
Ella lowered herself onto some cushions. There was something to his manner, he seemed excited.
"I have something for you," he said. "A gift."
Ella’s expression grew even more puzzled.
"Before I give it to you though, I must tell you that this gift cannot be taken from my tent. It is to be used in my presence only. Do you agree?"
"Yes," said Ella.
"Good," he smiled. He casually rested his hand on her arm for a moment. He touched her blonde hair briefly. Ella felt uncertain, was he attracted to her?
Ilathor moved to the back of the tent, entering a smaller room. He returned a moment later, holding something in his hands.
He put an item down. It was a scrill, made of solid gold and beautifully worked. He then followed it with a flask, the size of a large water bottle, that sloshed as he set it down.
"Essence," he said, smiling down at her, gauging her reaction.
Ella couldn’t believe it. She had never seen — never even heard of — so much essence being assembled in one place before. Here it was, in a simple water flask, enough essence to enchant a hundred sets of armoursilk!
"Are you pleased?" Ilathor said.
"I… I am surprised, Your Highness. How did you come by...?"
"No, wait. I have one more thing. The final surprise."
He left again. Ella stared at the assembly on the low table. They were actually giving her essence!
He returned, and set something down on the table in front of Ella. Her heart nearly stopped. Her jaw dropped open.
It was a book, with a yellow cover. The pages were of a familiar metallic fabric. A rune was on the cover, the number five.
It was a Lexicon.
The Prince laughed when he saw her expression. "You are pleased."
"Where did you find this?"
He sat next to her, leaning in, his leg almost touching hers. "My father."
Ella reverently opened the cover. Ilathor watched her closely.
The same message, in the same flowing script: "To the common people of Merralya, one and all, I give you this, the fifth volume in my Tomes of Lore. Evrin Evenstar."
She turned the next page. An embossed title leapt out: "The Lore of the Illusionist."
Ella’s hands moved of their own accord as, one by one, she turned the pages. It was a whole new set of principles, completely different from anything she had ever seen. Ella soon lost herself in the book. Ilathor seemed content to simply watch her as she worked.
After some time, Ella looked up. "Do you realise what this is?"
"Tell me."
"Well, what do you know of your people’s lore?"
"It is said our people would come from the storms, striking from the shadows. I do not understand this, though."
"Illusion," Ella said.
"What?"
"Your lore, it is the power of illusion."
"I do not understand."
"If you give me enough time with this book, I’ll show you."
Ilathor smiled. "Then, Evora Guinestor, time is what you shall have."
Ella could see her satchel, resting in the corner of the tent. Their agreement for the Prince to let her go remained unspoken.
~
IT took three days before Ella was ready. In this new Lexicon were its instructions for renewal, and she only hoped that, armed with this knowledge, renewing the Alturan Lexicon would be simpler than might otherwise have been the case. Her head was filled with runes and matrices — terribly complex combinations. Her existing knowledge of enchantment and animation was expanded. It fit neatly in with this new lore. She was beginning to see the pieces of the puzzle come together in a way she never could have imagined, in a way none of the masters at the Academy came close to realising.
The desert warriors were lined up at the foot of a dune, blank expressions on their faces, arms crossed in front of their chests. Ella saw Rashine scowling. Many seemed to think this was a waste of time. What could essence do that a good sword could not?
The Prince stood apart from the men, his demeanour serious. His clothing of black and gold billowed out in the gentle breeze. He looked suddenly imposing, what he was — the commander of a lethal force of fighting men.
Taking a deep breath, Ella reached out and Jehral handed her the scrill and flask, before returning to stand beside the Prince.
Ella was determined to construct the runes without reference to the Lexicon. She hoped she wouldn’t regret the decision.
In many ways this new lore was quite different from enchantment. It was both simpler and more complex.
The runes had fewer whorls and bridges, but a great degree of skill was required to minimise the amount of essence that was used. With enchantment, one could use a small amount of the shiny liquid to write on almost any surface. With illusion, the surface was first prepared by moistening with essence, and then the runes were written on top. It made illusion most suitable to cloth, or sand — a surface that to some extent could absorb the moisture.
Some experiments with sand had taught Ella that it was actually easier than it seemed. Several large drops of essence could be carefully spaced, each drop leaving a patch of moist sand ready for a rune to be drawn.
Ella opened the flask of essence and dipped the scrill in the bottle. Without waiting further, she allowed a drop of the oily liquid to fall onto the sand. She placed another drop above it, and then another. When she had a row of the wet patches she started on the next row. Soon, row upon row of dark patches covered the sand.
Ella began to draw. The scrill made small sweeping strokes on the sand, smoke rising as she moved her hand. The men behind her began muttering.
She pictured Master Goss watching her draw on such a poor surface — he would have had a fit. This was where the lore of illusion was different. The strokes of these symbols were broader. Less precise.
She covered a huge amount of ground, using up perhaps a tenth of the bottle. She realised she would never have been able to make the matrix without such a large supply of essence. Her little crystal vial would have been exhausted long ago.
Finally she was done. She walked back to the line of men and regarded her work. She had no idea whether it would work or not. The muttering increased in volume.
"Well?" the Prince said.
"Shu-tala-nara! Tuhr-alhambra!" Ella called.
The runes came to life.
The patch of desert sand instantly disappeared in a cloud of yellow dust. It spread faster than the eye could follow, left, right, and high above.
"Khamsin!" one of Ilathor’s men cried, turning and running. "Sandstorm!" He was soon followed by the rest of the warriors as they fled in panic. Only Jehral and the Prince remained.
Ella smiled, walking forward. Ilathor and Jehral watched as she vanished into the storm. She was lost for a long moment, before she materialised again, walking out of the dust.
Prince Ilathor took a deep breath, looking sideways at Jehral. He walked forward and entered the illusion. Several heartbeats later he emerged, a broad smile on his face.
"There is nothing there. I can even see you, Jehral. It is incredible! Come, enter!"
Jehral entered the seemingly impenetrable barrier, followed closely by Ella and the Prince.
Jehral walked about in amazement. "You could hide five hundred horses in here!"
Prince Ilathor laughed — a bright sound of joy. "You could indeed. Come, I want to see it from the outside again."
They exited and watched the storm with awe. Some of the men had trickled back, bashful expressions on their face
s.
Ella watched as two of Ilathor’s men walked up to the illusion, followed by a third man. Rashine. That was when she decided to activate the last sequence.
"Assan-shulanti!" she called.
An outline appeared in the storm - a huge face bearing a formidable scowl.
"Ahhh!" the two warriors jumped and ran away, their eyes wide with terror. Rashine was close on their heels.
The Prince and Jehral laughed uproariously. After a moment, Ella joined in too.
~
"TARN Fasala did this," Jehral said, looking down at the body.
There were six other bodies on the ground. All Prince Ilathor’s men.
The Prince swore. "The enemies of my father. We cannot let this stand."
"Do you plan on excluding them from the gathering of the tribes?" Ella said.
He frowned. "Excluding them? I plan on murdering them. Every last man, woman and child."
"How will you ever unite the tribes if these things continue?"
Jehral touched Ella on the arm. "High Enchantress Evora, you do not understand."
"What’s not to understand? You kill them. They kill you."
"This was a message, High Enchantress," Jehral said. "They are saying that Prince Ilathor does not have the power to call the tribes together. It is an insult. The other tribes will be waiting to see how we respond."
After Ella’s demonstration the Prince had sent messengers to all of the tribes, calling them to a great gathering in the deep desert. He had hinted to Ella that only a powerful leader could call the tribes together; Ella hadn’t realised it would elicit this type of response.
Prince Ilathor was kneeling down, stroking the cheek of one of the men. "Setara, the son of my mother’s cousin."
"Should I call the men together, My Prince?"
The regal figure raised himself up, an expression of determination on his face. "Call the men. We ride to battle."
~
TARN Fasala could muster twice as many warriors as Tarn Teharan. With half of Ilathor’s men hidden by an illusion, the remaining warriors of Tarn Teharan would provide a tempting target.
The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress Page 42