The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (64 page)

The defenders were about to be crushed against the Sarsen.

He saw an overcrowded raft topple, sending dozens of women and children plunging into the icy water. They were swept away, never to be seen again.

He cast his mind over what he had done to bring them here. He knew events could not have turned out better if they had surrendered. The Black Army’s past actions proved that.

Two more rafts safely landed their precious cargos on the shore of the opposite bank. Miro sighed. At least some had made it. Even if they landed all of the refugees now, he still had the army to pull back. There was no hope.

"Hold that line!" Marshal Beorn called, as a group of legionnaires burst through the defences, opening the floodgate holding back the tide of bloodthirsty warriors. The gap opened to become a surging tide of men.

Miro watched, sickened, as they went straight for the refugees. He saw children trampled beneath heavy boots, women vainly trying to run, cut down from behind. The panic began. The refugees began to surge. There was nowhere for them to go. The rampaging attackers surged through the gap, the slaughter began in earnest.

"You cowards!" Lord Rorelan screamed. There were tears streaming from his face.

Suddenly there was a commotion on the opposite bank. The trees began to move, and a group of men emerged from the forest. They were small men, with light-coloured hair and ruddy complexions. More men came out. They were followed by a multitude of others. They continued to advance all the way to the riverbank. More men kept coming all the time. They held strange weapons in their hands, curved pieces of wood with feathered spears fitted to a string.

"It’s the Dunfolk," Marshal Beorn whispered. "As I live and breathe, I cannot believe it."

There was a woman at their head. She wore an enchantress’s green silk dress, auburn hair flowing down her shoulders. At her side were a tiny man and a white-robed priest.

"Amber," Miro said. He knew it was her.

The Dunfolk formed a line along the bank. As one, they leaned back, pulling on the strings of their bows until their arms must have been bursting with the pain of it. They released.

The sky darkened with the flight of the arrows speeding over the Sarsen. Miro held his breath as he watched the arc of their flight. It was as if time stopped. Their sharpened heads of the shafts weighed down their flight as they reached their apex. Then they fell.

The wave of arrows decimated the rampaging legionnaires. A second flight was already on its way. The attack faltered.

"Plug that gap! Every third man to the top of the line!" Miro cried. "Hold them back!"

The leading wave of attackers was cut down to a man. The Dunfolk released another flight of arrows, this time into the rear of the enemies’ lines.

Miro prayed. They had gained some time. But for how long?

"Sir, look!" Marshal Beorn pointed.

Miro gasped as he saw the lone warrior. He had crested the peak of the enemy command point, his sword blazing like the sun.

He was still unopposed.

65

Love starts with a smile, grows with a kiss and ends with a tear.

— Torak proverb

A
MBER
immediately grasped the situation as the Dunfolk released yet another flight of arrows. She had never realised the devastating potential of the weapons. Used in a group they were deadly.

Father Morten was helping some of the refugees. He looked exhausted. They had marched for two days without stopping. She only prayed that they were in time.

"I’m going to get to a higher vantage to see what’s happening on the other side," she called. The priest nodded without looking up.

She ran to the crest of a hill, breathing heavily by the time she arrived. The sight that greeted her was like nothing she could have imagined.

There were hordes of refugees on the opposite bank, their numbers uncountable. Protecting them from the mass of attacking forces was an incredibly long line of Alturan and Halrana soldiers.

They were only barely holding. In moments they would be overrun.

The refugees were coming across in rafts. Where the great span of the Sutanesta Bridge had once stood was an empty space. The massive blocks were scattered across the river, their tops poking above the water. There was no way the refugees would make it across before the defenders were overrun.

Like a surging ocean the enemy threw themselves against the defenders again and again. The Alturan commander was skilled indeed to have made it this long, surviving by the barest margin. Amber could see him outlined against the sky, gesturing as he handed out orders.

The enemy had chosen a similar vantage for their command of the battlefield. Amber could just make out an imposing man in imperial purple, another man in white at his side. She frowned.

A lone warrior, an Alturan by his colours, was flying up the side of the hill, throwing enemy warriors to the left and right with sheer determination. He carried an immense two-handed sword, shimmering with a rainbow of colours. Amber knew that sword. She knew that figure.

Her eyes opened wide. Her breath caught in her throat. It was Igor.

As she looked on, he cut into a legionnaire, tearing the man open in a burst of blood. He caught a blow in return on his neck but ignored it. He threw another warrior from the summit of the hill.

Amber couldn’t watch. This was the father of her child. Her husband. She couldn’t look away.

He crested the hill. Ignoring the man in white, he went for the Emperor. The sword turned blue with fire. Igor leapt forward.

Countless thousands of people watched Igor Samson, Master of the Academy, plunge his custom-made zenblade into the chest of Xenovere V, Emperor of Tingara. He withdrew the blade. The man in purple crumpled to the ground, and then keeled over.

Amber put her hand to her mouth in horror as Igor was in turn cut down from behind, a sword blade penetrating all the way through his chest.

As he fell to his knees he looked out over the battle below. She could swear he met her eyes. Then the light went out of them.

Igor was dead.

Amber cried out as if in physical pain. Father Morten looked up at her in concern. She started to run. Down the steep hillside she ran, not knowing where she ran, or why, her legs just carrying her forward.

Shrubs tore at her ankles, gravel slipped under her boots, and Amber’s breath came in and out of her chest in sobs and heaves.

She reached the rafts. An enchanter was hard at work, a rope in his hands as he pulled a raft in to shore. One glance told Amber he was holding the bits of wood together by lore alone; hastily scrawled runes glowed on the motley collection of planks.

"Take me across," Amber said.

"Are you crazy?"

"Now!" she screamed.

The enchanter looked at her green dress. "Get on."

The crests and troughs of the river surged in a turbulent fury. The raft threatened to tip with every wave, and that was with just the two of them. Amber could only imagine what it would be like, crowded with a host of refugees.

Igor! She knew he was dead. They were all dead. Ella. Igor. Even if Miro wasn’t dead, he soon would be. She’d tried so hard. She’d done her best. The arrows of the Dunfolk hadn’t been enough.

Now Amber raced to be with the only man who had ever loved her. She could see it now. She had been so blind!

In her crazed state he was out there still, battling through hordes of the enemy to protect her.

The raft smashed into the opposite bank. Amber fell out onto the bank, half in the river. She pulled herself up by her arms.

"Igor!" she cried.

She ran in the direction of the fiercest fighting.

66

Pain is inevitable.

— The Evermen Cycles, 8-11

K
ILLIAN
opened his eyes, and panicked. He was blind!

No, not blind, but there was something obscuring his vision.

He tried to move, and winced in pain. He was pinned down, something heavy holding him in place. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he realised it was a massive piece of rock. Another boulder lay across one of his legs. Behind his head he could feel hard stone. He was covered in rubble.

He coughed; dust filled the air. The last thing he remembered was the beast. He had set the explosion. The beast had nearly killed him. With sudden force the memories returned. The refinery! Evrin had said he needed to destroy the refinery above all else!

With a great surge of strength, he kicked forward with his free leg. Stars sparkled in his vision, and he nearly passed out again from the pain, but something moved. He kicked out again. The rubble shifted. Wriggling his knees he finally managed to free enough space to kick out with the full strength of his legs. He heard the crunching sound of rolling rocks. A spot of light showed near the lower half of his body.

He next tried to move his arms. His left arm screamed in pain. Killian cried out aloud.

Then he stilled, his breath coming ragged. Had he heard something? Then it came again. A shriek, followed by a beastly roar. Somewhere in the distance. The creature. It was still alive.

Killian imagined the creature finding him trapped in this way. He remembered the screams of the man in the woods of Petrya. They had lasted until dawn. There was some twisted streak in the woman — she enjoyed seeing pain. He imagined her looking at him, laughing in her rasping croak as she clicked her fingers together and prepared to watch him squirm.

Panicking in earnest now, Killian ignored the pain in his body and kicked out with his arms and legs. He pushed his head upwards, feeling the weight of the rock above move slightly. He took a deep breath. He pushed again, with every bit of strength he possessed.

His head burst free of the pile of rock. He reached out with his arms and freed his body. Scrabbling over the rubble, an eye out for the creature’s white dress, he crawled and pulled his way out. He stood panting, the massive rocks littering the floor in all directions.

He was at the very base of the shaft. He looked up. He had fallen the entire height of the mountain, and then been crushed by the immense weight of hundreds of boulders.

He looked down at himself. He felt pain all over his entire body. Still, he didn’t even have any broken limbs. Half of the runes on his skin had faded, the rest glowed faintly silver.

The muscles of his bare chest were clearly visible. He could see the cuts and slices on his body. He was no longer cloaked by the runes.

Killian felt in the pocket of his trousers. The last cube was still there. There was work to do.

The scream of the beast sounded again. It seemed closer. Killian looked around. There was only one direction he could go.

A bright light came from a glowing archway, its stones covered in the flowing letters of an ancient script. Evrin had described this chamber. It was the refinery. Where the most precious substance in Merralya came into being.

He limped into the chamber. At one end of the vaulted room was a strange, pointed cylinder. A beam of light shone from the cylinder and onto a great crystal that buzzed and hummed. Light shone from its glittering facets, and focussed to a single point underneath. The light at that point was too bright to look at.

Killian stared in awe at the ancient relic of the Evermen. The energy in the room raised the hair on his arms, the air fairly crackling with power. It seemed a shame to destroy such a wondrous creation.

Almost reluctantly, he began to reach into his pocket for the cube.

Then he noticed it, a small pedestal in the corner of the room, a brown-covered book resting on it.

The Halrana Lexicon.

A figure in white stepped into view.

"It was no difficulty to determine where your next target would be," she said in a sibilant voice.

This time, she carried a silver dagger in each fist.

Killian looked about for some kind of weapon. The floor was white marble. The walls were bare.

He felt real fear.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Saryah. I am the High Templar. You are standing on hallowed ground. Your presence here disturbs the Evermen."

Killian fingered the cube in his pocket. It would kill both of them. If it came to it, could he do it?

Killian sighed.

Saryah raised her arms. Her eyes glinted with a dangerous yellow.

Killian’s skin tingled, but with nothing like the power of before. So many of the runes were dark. He had lost the advantage of invisibility. "Would you face an unarmed man?" he asked.

"A blasphemer like you? I would remove your head from your shoulders with pleasure." Saryah crept slowly forward, her daggers held in front of her. "And you somehow survived a fight with me. I think you are the first. I would hardly call you defenceless."

Saryah charged. Killian turned on his feet, attempted to move outside the whirling blades. His adversary responded too quickly, twirling and thrusting at Killian’s chest. A dagger stabbed a short way into his body before Killian managed to twist away. His skin sizzled. The pain was agonizing.

Killian tried to lash out with his elbow. Saryah ducked and swung at Killian’s legs. Killian jumped the stroke, but fell heavily as one of his ankles gave out. He rolled out of the way just as a blow came crashing into the ground.

Killian stood. He gingerly put weight on his ankle. His features contorted with pain. He was forced to put most of his weight on the other foot.

Saryah wasn’t even out of breath. Her gaze was venomous

Saryah charged again. She feinted at Killian’s head. As Killian tried to duck she changed her stroke to stab at his stomach. Bright sparks sprayed off as she was turned by the runes.

Killian took the opportunity to back away. He needed time. Time he didn’t have.

There was no other choice. He had to activate the cube, while he still could.

He withdrew the cube and spoke the runes. The cube came alive in his hand.