The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three)

by James Maxwell

  Deniz touched his feathered hat, and then turned away, while the soldiers reformed around their two prisoners. Without another word, Miro and Amber were marched away. Miro's suspicions were confirmed when they were taken onto a winding path leading upwards.

  They were being taken to the palace.

  ~

  THE SOLDIERS marched in a tight formation, with the prisoners on the inside so it was difficult to see through them, but on the way to the palace Miro saw a prosperous city of cobbled streets, well-dressed people and flickering lanterns at every corner. The windows all had glass, while the vivid colours of the facades were only matched by the shades of the people's clothing.

  Miro could see they were indeed a seafaring nation, with chandlers, sail-makers and rope-makers in abundance. Sailors strolled on the streets and drank in the taverns, and looking back the way they'd come, Miro saw the massive harbour revealed in all its splendour.

  Against the clatter of marching soldiers' boots he heard the sounds of revelry, voices and warbling music carried on the evening breeze.

  "What's going to happen to us, Miro?" Amber said.

  "I don't know," Miro said.

  "No talking!" a soldier growled.

  The palace was even bigger than Miro had originally thought — a series of buildings rather than a single edifice. He saw little of it, however, besides the heights of the domes and towers.

  Miro and Amber were separated, but he was relieved when he saw they were taken to separate entrances of a bathing hall, with hot and cold pools beckoning seductively and braziers to warm the night air.

  Miro was told to undress, and his clothing was taken from him — guards standing close by but looking studiously away. A silent older man led him to a pool and handed him soap. The man refused Miro's efforts at conversation, but wasn't content until Miro had passed through all three of the pools. The old man then made Miro lie on his stomach while he rubbed fragrant oil into Miro's back.

  Even as he worried, Miro felt the cares of the journey melt away under the old man's hands, and sighed in pleasure. Finally, Miro was clothed in loose white garments — billowing trousers and an open-necked shirt. He was given soft boots to wear, and the old man combed another kind of oil through his long black hair, tying it with a cord at the back of his head.

  Miro was then handed back to the guards and taken outside the bath house. Amber waited also under guard. She looked clean and beautiful, clad in a white tunic, but her expression was apprehensive.

  "Your woman will be looked after," one of the soldiers said, "but an unmarried woman should be kept apart from the men."

  "She's my wife!" Miro said, scowling.

  "Where is the stone in her nose to show the status of her husband?"

  "We come from another land, and we have a different custom." Miro barked a laugh. "But whatever the highest status is, then that's what she would have."

  "I am sorry," the soldier said. He nodded to his fellows, and Amber was led away.

  Miro watched as his wife was taken from him.

  He wondered why he'd brought her along on this foolish quest.

  23

  MIRO paced the length of his cell, staring at the windowless walls and thinking dark thoughts. He supposed it wasn't fair to think of his chambers as a cell; it was the size of the small house he'd lived in with Ella and Brandon back in Sarostar, and had a sleeping chamber, a toilet chamber, and a room with a table and chairs where he took his meals. Yet, he was a prisoner, so it was a cell.

  He'd been fed an evening meal of dumplings and broth and then slept, a long sleep of exhaustion after which he felt like a new man. In the morning he was given another meal, this time of tart creamy cheese and fruit. His midday meal consisted of dark bread and heavily-spiced soup.

  Miro hadn't eaten so well since leaving Altura.

  With nothing better to do, he now awaited his evening meal. He looked at the panelled wooden door; it was heavy and opened inwards. Until he found out what these people intended to do with him, there was no use trying to break free.

  Miro heard the jangle of a key and the door opened on well-oiled hinges. Two guards beckoned to Miro, and he followed them out. They weren't here to give him his evening meal.

  Miro was once more taken to the bathing house, where he was again washed and oiled. This time the white garments were woven with golden thread, as fine as anything made in the Empire.

  "What about my wife?" Miro asked a guard.

  "She is well, barbarian," the soldier said.

  "Where am I being taken?"

  "You are being taken to the Emir."

  Miro followed the guards along covered walkways and through tiled halls. He quickly became lost but couldn't help but gape at the splendour of the palace.

  Passing a series of marble columns he felt soft carpet under his feet, shimmering silk material reflecting the light of flickering torches. Every column bore a torch in a sconce, and not a single torch was unlit.

  It was perhaps an hour past sundown, and Miro again heard the strange warbling music, though far away this time. He passed a room where a group of women ate seated in a circle, but he returned his attention to the path when one of his guards squeezed his arm and frowned.

  Miro finally reached an expansive chamber where carpets and cushions lay spaced around low tables. Light sparkled from a hanging chandelier, the glow of a hundred candles flickering through crystalline shards. Columns supported the high ceiling, while on all sides the chamber was open to the air, affording an unparalleled view of the city and harbour below.

  Miro looked again at his guards, examining them as a group under good light. They had the look of the free cities, with their stocky builds and round faces, but they also had something of the swarthiness of the Hazarans, along with the desert tribes' passion for elaborate custom and opulent surrounds. Who were these people? Long ago, had there been contact between these people and those in the Empire's west?

  Miro scanned the chamber that could easily accommodate several hundred men, only seeing two. The closest was a man who could only be a seneschal, standing still and holding a tall pole topped with gold. In the distance, a second man ignored the newcomers as he gazed out at the harbour.

  The seneschal lifted the pole and let it fall to the ground, the thump echoing throughout the chamber.

  "Kneel," the seneschal called. "You are in the presence of greatness."

  Miro was pushed down to his knees by his guards, who then followed suit. The soldiers bowed their heads to the floor, before returning to their feet. Miro was pulled up.

  The man in the distance turned and came forward, his steps smooth and graceful. He wore a long flowing robe of crimson silk, held at the waist with a belt of gold. As he came closer, Miro saw he had grey in his trimmed beard and silver in his black hair, with a sharp patrician nose and smoky dark eyes. He had a gold earring in one ear and wore a jewelled dagger at his belt.

  "The Ruler of the Seas, the Protector of Veldria and the Bearer of the Seal, Emir Volkan," the seneschal announced, clapping his staff to the floor with a boom.

  The soldiers again prostrated themselves, leaving Miro standing. Miro placed his fingers over his heart, and touched his lips and then his forehead in the Alturan manner.

  "Ah," the Emir said, his eyes lighting up when he saw Miro's movements. "So, barbarian, you are familiar with our customs."

  "My customs, not yours," Miro said.

  The Emir frowned. "You're not from the Crown Islands in the west, I can see that. Nor from Gokan, that much is clear. You're not from Narea, that's certain. Nor are you from Oltara, or Muttara."

  Miro opened his mouth. "Those places mean nothing…"

  The Emir held up a hand, and then was pensive for a moment. He looked at the soldiers. "Leave us," he said.

  The guards withdrew.

  The Emir then turned to the seneschal. "Forgive me, Ruben, but I wish you to leave also."

  The seneschal bowed but Miro could see the man frown, befo
re turning to Miro. "Do I have your word as a man of honour that you will not harm, nor allow harm to come to the Ruler of the Seas, Emil Volkan?"

  Miro was again surprised they would trust his word. "You have my word," he said.

  The seneschal bowed again before departing, leaving Miro alone with the Emir.

  "You are from the lands in the east, are you not?"

  Miro wondered whether to lie, but he couldn't see any reason to, and these people seemed to value honesty. "I am. My name is Miro Torresante. I am the Lord Marshal of Altura, the land of enchanters."

  Emir Volkan's expression grew pained. "Do not speak of lore to me!"

  Miro was taken aback. "My apologies."

  "How do you come to be in my lands?"

  "My ship blew off course…" Miro began.

  "That's a lie. Commodore Deniz described your ship to me. You could never have come all the way from the lands in the east in that ship, particularly not with the stores you had aboard. So, tell me again, why are you here? What are a man and his wife doing half-way across the world, far from home? You say you are a leader of some kind. Where are your men?"

  "It's a long story," Miro said wryly.

  "Save the story. Tell me why you are here."

  Miro took a deep breath. "An outside force is causing problems in our realm, and we don't believe the source to be within our lands. We travelled to the three abandoned islands in search of an answer, but our ship ran against a reef, killing everyone except for my wife and myself. We found more questions than answers on the islands, and then we found a map that shows this continent. We decided to come here."

  Miro thought about the plight of his son. These people must know about the poison, but his intuition told him it wasn't yet the time to bring it up.

  The Emir stroked his beard. "I sense truth in your words, but I also sense there is much you are hiding from me. We will come back to your journey, and the next time I feel unsatisfied you will feel my wrath. For now, we are new acquaintances, and the code says we must be civil at all first meetings."

  Miro knew he had to speak carefully; this man held their lives in his hands.

  "Tell me," the Emir said, his hawk-like gaze suddenly fierce. "Are you a loremaster in your lands?"

  "No, I am not," Miro said. He decided to say nothing of being a bladesinger.

  "Good. If you were, I would have you killed."

  Miro thought about Amber. Lord of the Sky, he hoped she said nothing to their captors.

  Emir Volkan nodded. "I take it you know nothing of the history of our people, and how it relates to your own?"

  Miro slowly shook his head, while the Emir looked satisfied.

  "That is as it should be. Come," he gestured for Miro to follow him.

  With stately steps the Emir led Miro to the far side of the chamber, where a partition set aside a series of benches. Strange tubes and vials of coloured powders were lined up and labelled, though Miro had never come across the words before.

  "I am an amateur alchemist, you see," the Emir said, "although my skills are as nothing compared to the Guild. Watch."

  The stern ruler became animated, and Miro realised he was pleased to have an audience. The Emir picked up a bottle containing a large amount of clear liquid.

  He held the bottle up. "This is just water."

  Volkan poured the bottle into a wide-mouthed glass carafe. He filled it to a depth of six inches and then put the bottle back down on the bench.

  The Emir then took a second bottle. "Look," he said, swirling the contents.

  Miro gaped. The fluid inside shone like steel, yet was obviously a liquid. It slipped and whirled in a mesmerizing way as Volkan tipped the bottle.

  "This is an alchemical substance called quicksilver. Have you heard of it?"

  "No, I haven't," Miro said.

  The Emir tipped the silver liquid into a second wide-mouthed carafe to the same depth as the water in the first carafe. "I now have two quantities of liquid. One is water, the other is quicksilver."

  Volkan put the bottle away, while Miro stared mesmerized at the shining fluid in the carafe.

  He then took a small metal sphere and handed it to Miro. "How would you describe this?"

  "It's a ball. Heavy," Miro said. "Probably steel."

  "It is steel. What will happen when I drop it into the carafe of water?"

  "It will sink."

  The Emir took the ball from Miro and dropped it into the carafe of water. It sank immediately to the bottom, hitting the glass with a clunk.

  "Now," Volkan said, "watch."

  He took a second steel ball and gave it to Miro to check its weight. He then dropped the ball into the carafe of silver fluid.

  Miro watched mesmerized. Even though there was six inches of silver liquid in the carafe, the heavy ball floated on top.

  The Emir shrugged. "It is a simple experiment."

  "How does it work? Did you change the ball?"

  Miro thought about the runes that made his zenblade feel as light as a feather.

  "I did not. The quicksilver has special properties, as do many other substances. Tell me, do the people of your land study such things?"

  Miro thought about the Academy of Enchanters. "No, they don't."

  The Emir reached out for another vial, this one containing a black powder. He removed the stopper and poured a little of the powder into his fingers.

  "Come," he said, leading Miro back towards the terrace, where the lights of the city glittered below.

  There was a torch near the parapet, ensconced against a supporting column. Without warning, the Emir flicked his fingers at the torch.

  There was a sudden sparkle in the air and a sizzling sound split the stillness of the night. Miro jumped, and Volkan laughed softly.

  "You do not have black powder in your lands, do you?"

  Miro smelled the same odour that had hung in the air after the explosion at the wedding.

  "No, we do not."

  "This is nothing," the Emir said dismissively. "The wonders that the Guild is capable of… You would be astounded."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Miro, this is what we are capable of, if we remove the crutch of lore. I mentioned the history of our people. Even many of the councillors don't know this, but I am the Emir, my father was Emir, and my grandfather was Emir before him, so I know."

  Miro waited expectantly.

  "Long ago, in the lands you call home, there was a great magical war. This war was fought with the most horrific weapons, and the suffering was terrible. Macabre creatures did battle, the forest was brought to life, and golems of wood and bone marched and destroyed all in their path. Fiery swords cut men into pieces, and flying machines rained death on those below."

  Miro nodded, and thought about Evrin's story, and the fight to overthrow the Evermen. This must be the war the Emir was referring to. He thought about the more recent wars, and Volkan's scathing words struck home.

  "We are those who fled. We are those who wanted nothing more to do with lore, with the death and the destruction. Taking pity on us, a group called the Buchalanti helped us make the great voyage across the sea, and promised never to reveal our presence to the other houses."

  Miro's eyes widened, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together.

  He had a sudden thought. "So your lands are at peace then?"

  The Emir barked a laugh. "You're a sly one. No, we're not at peace. We have had our own wars, and still do. Technology has come to take the place lore once had, and now inventions like black powder give us a power of destruction almost equal to lore. Note," the Emir said, "I said almost."

  Miro looked out from the palace as he listened to Volkan's words.

  The Emir continued, "Look down at Emirald, our beautiful city. For every advance in war, we have had an advance in peace. We have learned about the way the body is constructed, and we have medicines to cure many ailments. Every year our poor get richer, and our merchants travel Veldria in safety
. We Veldrins are safe not just because we build the best ships and we rule the seas, but also because we thirst for knowledge, and are the only truly civilised nation in Merralya. To us, all others are uncivilised, and rightly so."

  "What of the other nations?" Miro said. From the map he'd seen, he knew this nation's neighbours must all be to the north.

  "North of Veldria is Gokan, a small land and the only other that may claim to be civilised. We have fought in the past, but not for a hundred years. Staying strong is not a problem for the Gokani, for the Alchemists' Guild makes its home in their capital, Wengwai."

  "And the others?"

  "North of Gokan is Narea, a large nation with a powerful land-based army. They are constantly at war with the barbarians. We wish Narea to stay strong, for they protect us from the horde. Where we Veldrins rule the seas, Narea's mighty armies keep our lands safe from the tribes. The far north is where they call home, a cold land of icy steppes and mountains. They come from Oltara and they come from Muttara. Sometimes Oltara wars with Muttara, and the people of the south breathe freely. Twice in the past, Oltara and Muttara have joined forces under a single tribal chieftain, and once they sacked Monapea, the capital of Narea."

  The names of these nations were strange to Miro, but he gathered that the people of Veldria, Gokan and Narea lived in constant fear of the barbarians in the north.

  He thought about his quest to find the antidote to whatever terrible poison had struck Tomas. It was doubtful that Volkan would have the information he needed.

  "You've mentioned a guild. Who are they?"

  "The Alchemists' Guild ostensibly makes its home in Gokan, but they rule themselves, and keep their secrets close. Their chapter is in Wengwai, and they alone know the secret of the black powder, an invention none can now do without. My two hundred warships are all armed with cannon, and need the black powder, as do my five hundred musketeers. Over time, I plan to move all of my swordsmen over to muskets. When you see them in battle, you'll understand why."

  Miro wondered if he could look to the Alchemists' Guild in Wengwai for the answers he needed.