The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (44 page)

She was free. Ella gathered herself and ran away.

"I can still see! Should I stop her?" someone yelled.

"Yes, she might be a spy! Stop her!"

Ella couldn’t digest the situation. She simply put her head down and ran down the main street. She ducked through a market, the sound of pounding feet behind her spurring her on. She collided into a woman purchasing a gauzy roll of cloth, yelled an apology, and kept running.

She ducked into a narrow street, and then turned again. Soon, she left the commotion behind her, but she still kept running.

Dashing over a bridge, she made a quick decision and dropped down to the river bank below rather than continuing on the road. She followed the bank away from the bridge, slowing to a walk now. When she was sure she’d lost all pursuit, she sank down to her knees.

She couldn’t believe what a disaster it had been. How could she have been so stupid? She should have gone somewhere quiet, where she could have been more prepared to deal with any opposition, where she could have tested the reactions of just one person instead of many.

Now she’d lost her chance. What could she do now? Undoubtedly Killian had passed that way — the man with the moustache had said something about a priest.

Perhaps he was even still there! And she’d gone walking in, bold as brass.

She cursed herself while she watched the shallow waterway flow slowly by.

After a while it occurred to her, there was only one option left to her. She had to leave the town, following the road further into Petrya. Once she’d gone far enough, she would wait.

~

I
T
was the third day of waiting.

Ella sat on a crest of rock, high above the road, where she could see for a great distance in each direction. It was difficult business, waiting. Beside her, the slope dropped down to the shore of a lake. She watched it hungrily. It had been weeks since she had washed at the Steady Hand. She could feel the build up of dirt and dust on every part of her body. Her eyes were grimy, her cheeks stained with the signs of her travels.

It was the middle of the day. The winter that was so cold in the north seemed almost non-existent here in Petrya. Ella felt uncomfortably hot. Sweat ran down the skin between her breasts, adding to the build-up of grime. She imagined how she would look to Killian. Not that she cared of course, her priority was to get back what he had stolen and leave him tied up somewhere to think about what he’d done.

Sunlight sparkled off the water. There was a tapered tree leaning out over the pool. She could see its rust-coloured leaves reflected in the water.

Ella sighed and continued to watch the road. Looking to the extreme limit of the perspective she had on this peak, she wondered how long it would take for a man to walk the distance of road her vision covered. After some thought she estimated three hours.

Three hours. And that was if he came as soon as she left her perch. Most likely she would come back and find nothing had changed. In a worst case scenario, she would come back and see him walking along the road with plenty of time to prepare.

Three hours, and all she needed was half an hour.

The cool water beckoned.

41

Just be glad the Veznans never joined the Rebellion. I hear they were close. Ever seen what happens when a building is abandoned for a while? Nature beats civilisation every time.

— Torak soldier, date unknown.

K
ILLIAN
grimaced as his face pushed through a spider web. He peeled the web off, wiping his hands on the once-white cassock. He crept forward, pulling the branches to the sides, keeping his body low and under the cover of the trees. His feet were silent on the soft dirt, crunching forward slowly one after the other.

The cloth of his acolyte’s robe caught on a thorn. His movements even and careful, he untangled the garment and continued his stealthy approach.

Not for the first time he thanked the Sunlord for the providence that had given him a priest’s outfit. It was a part he could play to perfection, having grown up around priests, seen how they spoke and acted his whole life. People always assumed the best of a priest. They thought he was a gentle, non-violent man, with little preoccupation with worldly possessions, consumed with worship of the Evermen.

If they had known some of the templars Killian had, people would quickly revise their opinions.

His acolyte’s robe meant the locals didn’t look twice when he’d shown up possession-less and smelling like a two-week dead rat in the country towns of Altura’s south. He was a priest, he lived on another plane, what more could be expected? Still, he’d needed to pay his way somehow, and felt guilty about stealing from the innkeeper.

The garb had also been of major benefit when he’d been accosted by the bandits at Wondhip Pass. They’d snickered and called him weak. He’d played his part, pleading for them to let him on his way, before he’d withdrawn the cudgel he’d pocketed inside his robe and let at them.

He’d let his anger flow freely then. Still, it had been an even match. A fight against eight men was truly testing his skill, even though he only fought one or two at a time as they got in each other’s way. He still bore bruises from the encounter, and a sword had narrowly missed the artery in his thigh. Fortunately the blade had been rusty and had barely penetrated his leg. Added to the gouge across his back, the pain was becoming unbearable.

It was a haven to be in Petrya. He wasn’t especially fond of the passionate Petryans, but a priest of the Evermen was always welcome in their lands. He’d simply said he was on a pilgrimage — on his way to Stonewater — and they had taken him in, feeding him and giving him time to bathe and repair himself. Knowing that Petryans had a history of enmity with Altura, he’d also asked his hosts to be on the look out for Alturan bandits who had been trailing him in search of easy prey.

He had a good idea he was being followed. He knew the Alturans would stop at nothing to get back their Lexicon, and having met the High Enchantress he’d seen a woman who possessed an extraordinary determination. Killian had no wish to get stopped by Evora Guinestor.

He’d prepared his way both into and out of Altura with care. He’d cut across country to make himself even harder to follow, covering his tracks with every skill of forest lore he knew. He’d climbed down the rope and cut it — unless his pursuers could fly that would surely slow them down. The rope bridge across the Sarsen had been more difficult to cut, but he’d wrecked that completely.

It had been much easier when he’d escaped from Halaran. He’d only had to get to the Azure Plains and he was in friendly lands.

He had come clean away then; there hadn’t been the loose end of the girl left behind. Not that she knew anything about him, of course, but a physical description could be enough. He found he still thought about her sometimes, she’d been remarkably pretty — enough to stir him terribly when he’d kissed her.

He’d left the town of Hatlatu with caution. The townsfolk had said there had only been one Alturan, a woman. It had to be the High Enchantress. It was sheer recklessness to walk on the road with an expert enchantress lurking somewhere out of town. With every sense on high alert he’d ducked straight into the forest and shadowed the trail, still heading east.

And then he spotted her.

She’d chosen her position well. It was covered on two sides, and had a magnificent perspective on the road. It was sheer luck that Killian was on the approach that afforded him the opportunity to see her. At first he’d stopped and stared; the figure was so still it could have been part of the cliff, but then he saw it move.

Killian took a deep breath as he crawled under an arch of branches and drew closer to the peak.

If only he had managed keep some essence! He’d cursed that bladesinger time and time again for making him throw away his essence in such a wasteful way. He still had his necklace, all he needed was essence to copy the runes from it onto his body, and he once again could have been invisible.

It was no use worrying about what could have been. He only had his cudgel, but it would be enough.

He climbed slowly, without sound. She hadn’t seem him coming, he knew that much, her attention had been focussed on the road.

He thought about his strategy. He needed to catch her without her apparatus — the green dress, the orbs and knives, and other unknown weapons she undoubtedly carried about her body.

The face was the weak part. He would strike the High Enchantress in the face.

He looked ever so carefully around a corner of the rock.

She was gone.

His heart suddenly hammering he twisted, expecting to feel the scorching heat of an enchanted knife slipping through his ribs.

He looked wildly about, his cudgel out and ready. She was good, he realised. He had thought it all seemed too easy. Wouldn’t she have bladesingers with her? Soldiers, trackers? He cursed himself for a fool for expecting her to be out here by herself, reckless enough to stand on a mountain and announce her presence to the world.

His breath coming fast and shallow, he raced down the bottom of the peak. He kept a sharp eye out for a flash of green, any indication of Alturans or anyone at all. He stopped and listened intently.

He heard a soft splashing sound. The lake!

As silently as he could he crept along the bed of undergrowth and brush. A twig snapped under his feet and he stopped, ears pricked. There was another splash. Sweat dripped from his forehead to drip down his forehead, running into his eyes. He blinked the liquid away and silently continued forward.

Killian looked through the bushes out into the rippling water of the pool. He wondered if what he was seeing was an apparition, mere paces away.

It was a female figure with milk-white skin. Her back was to him. She was in perfect proportion, the slender neck perched on narrow shoulders, her arms busy at some task. She was knee deep in the water. Killian involuntarily caught his breath. She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her body rose out of the water like some kind of forest spirit. Her thighs were white, the water running down them like beams of light caressing a piece of silk. Her shoulder blades arched down to a narrow waist, then flared out again at the hips. Two perfectly formed buttocks stood proudly, framing a perfect cleft.

She hummed a simple tune to herself, completely oblivious. The scene was so incongruous to what Killian had expected that he kept telling himself to look away — it must be some kind of trap, some trick — but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her.

She turned slightly, washing at her stomach. He could see one of her breasts in profile, small but firm, crowned with a pointed pink nipple.

She turned all the way around. He looked up at her face, this image of beauty.

It was Ella.

He gasped. She glanced up, frowning at the bushes, before continuing to wash herself.

Her pale blonde hair cascaded in a long train, framing her heart-shaped face. Green eyes caught flecks of sunlight. She licked her ruby red lips in concentration as she washed her arms.

Killian had to take this opportunity. She was without her enchanted dress, her tools. She was naked.

She turned again. Killian licked his dry lips. Her front was even more compelling, her stomach flat, her breasts and thighs undoubtedly womanly. She held herself unconsciously, somehow with a presence that was almost regal. He drank in her body, like a man drinking the last drop of water in the desert. With a great amount of difficulty, Killian tore his eyes away.

42

The imperial legion is remarkable, is it not? The strongest, fittest, most lethal force in the world. They fight wherever I send them, and are loyal unto death. How do I maintain such loyalty? The question is easier to answer than you may think. You see, most soldiers’ greatest fear isn’t death. It’s being maimed. Spending life as a cripple. But you won’t see cripples in Tingara. If one of our legionnaires loses an arm, or a leg, we replace it with a limb twice as strong. Scattered through the legion are meldings. And occasionally, we reward special loyalty by saving the direst cases. I’m sure you’ve heard of avengers.

— Emperor Xenovere V to Primate Melovar Aspen, 524 Y.E.

E
LLA
finally decided she was clean enough and walked towards the grassy bank where she had left her clothes.

She looked up to where they should be, and screamed.

It was Killian.

He sat with his back to her, holding everything of hers on his lap — her clothes, her tools, her bag, everything.

"Here, put this on," he said, his voice strangely gruff. He flung a dress out with his arm. It landed a few paces from him.

Ella could see the collar had been ripped off where she had drawn some runes. It was just a ripped grey dress now. Her other dresses would have suffered the same treatment. Ella had prepared herself well, or so she thought.

Lord of the Sky, what a fool she had been.

One arm covering her breasts, she scurried over to the grey dress and put it on. While he wasn’t looking, she felt in the secret pocket.

"I’ve taken the liberty of collecting all of your little tools and tricks and throwing them in the lake," he said. His voice was still strange, as if tense with emotion.

"You did what!"

"Your little bottle of black liquid. Essence, I suppose. Your long, thin, metal quill-thing."

"You… You…."

He turned around. He had changed from the Killian she’d met. This man was weary, she could see it in his eyes. They were still just as blue though. His long tousled hair was still a fiery red.

He regarded her seriously.

She faltered under his gaze. Her mouth went dry.

"Now, what are you doing here? The truth."

Ella thought about simply running. Then she looked at Killian. He was tall. His legs were strong. Here she stood dripping wet with no boots on. She wouldn’t get far.