The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (44 page)

Dain Barden was taller even than Moragon, the top of his head nearly touching the roof of the command tent as he paced. His muscled legs stamped heavily on the ground and he occasionally looked at the war hammer at his belt as if wanting to use it on someone. Silver fox fur covered his shoulders and his leather armour had been bleached to a deathly near-white. His lips were turned down in a scowl and his brow furrowed in cruel lines to his eyes.

"We want to crush them, completely and overwhelmingly," Moragon said.

"And I keep telling you, we don't have the essence for such a long engagement. We're losing draugar daily due to rot and depletion," Dain Barden said. "You can't do it without us, no matter what you think. Their army is too large."

"Then, Dain Barden, what do you suggest?"

"We have to make this first engagement decisive, yet at the same time conserve our strength until the next carts of essence arrive from Tingara. We're fielding so many draugar, and spread so thinly, that if it weren't for the supplies coming from the Primate we would have headed back to the north long ago."

"Why don't you?" Moragon asked.

"The man you serve gave us a promise. We intend to make sure he fulfils that promise, and as long as he keeps the essence coming, we'll be able to make sure he does. As he strengthens our numbers to fight these rebels, he also gives us more draugar to make sure he fulfils his end of the bargain. We want this relic of the Evermen."

Moragon shrugged. "You can have it, for all I care. My task is to defeat our enemies."

"…And bring the world under one rule. Yes, I've heard the speeches."

"You don't think it's possible?" Moragon asked.

"I think it's possible. But is the Primate the man to do it? Are you?"

"We have the essence," Moragon said.

"You do. Using the techniques we gave you. I find myself wondering how you manage to glean so much, where we ourselves struggle to accumulate just a small percentage of what the Primate sends us. I've heard rumours, Moragon. They say you aren't just extracting the essence from your dead. They say that when you need more bodies you just go and kill yourselves some more."

"Rumours," Moragon said. "It's war. There's never a shortage of bodies."

"We'll see," Dain Barden said.

"Wait," Moragon said, holding up his hand.

"What is it?"

"I sense something," Moragon said, standing. "A presence."

Miro had been lucky to have escaped notice this long. Several times he had noticed Moragon tilt his head or pause mid-sentence. Once the melding had even shifted in his chair, glancing around the shadowed command tent.

Miro had been whispering under his breath, a trick he had used once before to keep the shadow ability of his armoursilk activated while he hid. But shadow drained his armoursilk at a phenomenal rate, and in his desire to learn more, he had waited, hidden in the dark corner of the command tent, too long.

Worst of all, he still didn't know where Amber was.

Miro let the shadow effect go, changing his song so that the protective power of his armoursilk was given priority. He drew his zenblade from behind his back, cursing that he hadn't brought his rail-bow — perhaps he could have ended it here, or at least taken down one or both of the enemy leaders.

"A bladesinger!" Moragon shouted. "Guards!"

Dain Barden pulled his war hammer from his belt, growling with menace, while Moragon didn't bother to grab a weapon; his grafted arm was weapon enough.

Miro spun and tore a huge hole in the side of the tent. He hadn't learned as much as he might have liked, but he knew the knowledge he had would still be vital to the struggle. He ducked as he heard a sizzling sound and Moragon's arm tore through the air where a moment ago his head had been.

Every instinct told Miro to turn around and face his enemies. He didn't know if he could defeat both Moragon and the leader of the Akari, but he could try.

But if he failed, the men he was responsible for would never know how sparse their enemy's supplies of essence were. If he failed, who would care about Amber in his stead?

Miro turned on his heel and the zenblade lanced at Moragon's head. Faster than Miro would have thought possible, the melding ducked with the speed only those with the taint of the elixir possessed. The metal arm smashed into Miro's side, knocking the wind out of him, and Miro fell to the ground.

Miro rolled to the side as Dain Barden's hammer smashed the ground where he'd been a moment before. With a grunt the Akari leader jumped forward and thrust the head of his weapon into Miro's face. Miro managed to pull back but the hammer still hit his temple with the force of mountains, nearly causing him to black out.

Miro gulped a breath of air and forced out the words that would strengthen his armoursilk. He rolled backwards and leapt to his feet, finally standing to face his two opponents with the zenblade held out in front of him.

Even if he could take them both, in moments Miro would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

"I recognise you," Moragon said. He grinned. "You've got a nerve, Lord Marshal, I'll give you that. Just so you know, when I'm done every Alturan woman will be shared among my men. They'll thank me for the opportunity to serve."

Shouts and cries could be heard. Miro looked to the left and right. "I'll see you on the battlefield," he said.

"You'll never get back to your men in time," Dain Barden said. "In fact, you'll never get out of here alive."

"We'll see," Miro said.

There was one last sequence Ella had built into Miro's armoursilk. He used it now, hoping it would be enough.

Miro chanted the runes quickly, one after the other.

A second bladesinger stood beside him, every movement a copy of Miro's own. As his lips moved a third appeared, then five more, and then ten more.

The illusions appeared all around him. As Miro used their confusion to escape from the very heart of the enemy camp, he again thanked his sister for saving his life.

~

I
N THE
end, though, Dain Barden was right, and Miro missed the battle. He saw it unfold from a distance as he returned to the west, watching in horror as the revenants of the Akari tore through the ranks of the soldiers in green and brown, eventually causing the allied army to break, fleeing back to the protection of the Ring Forts.

Miro hated himself for missing the battle, and now that he hadn't managed to find Amber he hated himself for trying. He knew he was being foolish, that if he had managed to find Amber he would feel differently.

But when he made it back to Sark, and saw the expression on Rogan's face, it didn't make him feel any better.

48

E
LLA
had never been so filled with rage. She thought about all she had seen, and all she now knew, and she wanted to hurt the ones who had done this. She wanted to hurt them badly.

She ate a cold meal of dried fruit and biscuit and tried to formulate a strategy, to use a clear head and intelligence when what she really wanted was to feel emotion. Through the trees ahead of her she could see three sets of twinkling lights. One set was the prison camp, the second was the camp of the soldiers, and the third set was the terrible place where they took the bodies.

It was located near the road from Seranthia to Sakurai, capital of Torakon, which meant Ella was in Tingara somewhere. Once she had made the decision to leave the Hazarans she had swiftly outdistanced the army, able to make her way through smaller paths and back routes, travelling night and day, burning with her desire to find a way to defeat these Akari and their revenants.

When she'd come across this place and seen the vats, her intuition told her there was something here that wasn't right. She had explored the facility using the near-perfect invisibility of her enchantress's dress, and spoken to some of the prisoners as well as interrogating two guards. She had deciphered the runes on the bubbling vats, as well as she was able to given the strange lore she had never encountered before.

And she had heard the screams.

She told the prisoners to have heart, for she would be back, and soon Ella knew everything there was to know about what went on at the facility. She knew there were two of these places: the one below her, and another not far away, also in Tingara. There had been a third, in Halaran, but it had been liberated at the same time as Ralanast.

Ella wondered whether Miro knew about the facility in Ralanast, and what he made of what the Primate was doing. There would be no peace, not with a man who could perpetrate such evil. She hoped the allied commanders realised this war wouldn't be over until the Primate was dead and allied soldiers walked the streets of Seranthia.

A constant flow of essence was being carted out from the facility, stored in conspicuous canisters of black glass, piled atop drudge-pulled carts. Ella knew that the essence was going to the Akari, and that without the constant supply they wouldn't be able to field so many revenants.

She had found her enemy's weakness, although even if she hadn't, Ella wouldn't have been able to pass this place by. Filled with rage, Ella knew she had to free the prisoners and destroy this evil place.

Ella was glad she had enchanted the wand, even though it had been against Prince Ilathor's wishes. Without it, her difficult task would have been made impossible.

She would wait until the middle of the night.

Then she would strike.

49

K
ILLIAN
spent his last hours thinking.

His thoughts twisted and turned as he dwelled on what he could have done differently. He pondered the secrets the old man had promised to reveal but never did. He wondered if he was ready to die.

He thought about Ella.

She would never know what had happened to him. Did she even care? A girl like her, she would probably have found herself a strong lover by now, someone to see her through this terrible war. Killian wished he could see her one last time.

This was his last night, the guards had told him. He had been deemed a troublesome prisoner. The guards hadn't bothered to hide what would be done with him — why hide it from those who would soon die anyway? With the morning light they were going to take him out and slice his throat. His blood would sluice into a special well, and when it was all drained out of him they would toss his corpse into one of the huge vats. Killian's body would provide the fuel that powered the enemy's war machine.

Perhaps he'd been too arrogant, too confident of himself. When Killian had seen Evrin on the cart with all those other prisoners, back near Seranthia, he'd followed them to this camp. He had been looking for Evrin and now he'd found him, and Killian could hardly restrain himself. It was all about to be revealed. He would find Evrin, they would escape the camp, and Killian would help Evrin with his quest, while Evrin told Killian who he really was.

His mind so fixed on his objective that he could think of little else, Killian had scouted the terrain before deciding he was ready to break into the camp and free Evrin.

The defences had been stronger than he'd expected, or perhaps he was simply unprepared. He hadn't even had a sword; it was just him and his skills with stealth, his strength and his agility.

He had clung to the bottom of a goods cart to get in, then let go when the guards were distracted by a commotion in the yard. He'd hidden behind the base of a guard tower, getting his bearings and deciding on a search order to be executed when the camp went to sleep, when he realised what the commotion was.

At the same time Killian saw the cause of the tumult, and recognised that the fleeing man in a scraggly white robe was Evrin, he'd felt a sword prick under his armpit.

So close; but not close enough.

Evrin had made it out, but his rescuer had not.

Now, after living in the camp on starvation rations; after a failed escape attempt, with three guards killed, two gravely wounded, it was Killian's time to die.

He almost wished they hadn't told him. The knowledge made Killian's last night torture. Somehow it both dragged interminably and was going much too fast for his liking.

Killian wished he could have a chance to fight, but his legs were manacled, tied by a chain to a sunken stake, and his hands were bound together. He was to spend his last night in the small hut where they put those who were destined to die.

With nothing better to do, Killian decided to work on the stake. He knew that even if he made it outside the guards would simply beat him until he couldn't think and then tie him even more tightly, and he wouldn't get far with his legs manacled and wrists bound.

Yet Killian decided to try anyway. It was better to die fighting than to give up all hope.

~

I
T WAS
nearly the middle of the night and Killian's ankles were bleeding freely as he pushed the stake away from him, and then pulled it towards him, again and again. The blood trickled down into the hole, but the moisture seemed to actually be helping, creating a loose mud. Killian's wrists were bruised and the skin was red and torn, but he kept at it, pushing, and pulling, pushing, and pulling…

He stopped, breathing heavily, and decided it was time to try to get the stake free again. He squatted down with his hands clasped around the pole and he slowly tried to stand, feeling the veins throbbing in his forehead as he pulled on the stake.

He could feel it coming! Killian groaned with effort, stifling the sound, until he finally felt the stake slide out of the earth, and he stood up to his full height.

His legs were still manacled, but he could now hold the chain in his hands. Positioned at the end of the chain, the stake now made a handy weapon. His wrists were still bound, but Killian had been a thief and an acrobat. He could still move; enough to take some of the enemy with him at any rate.