The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (5 page)

Melovar stepped forwards.

"Please, Your Grace," another of the templars flanking him said. "Let us check first." He held out a nightlamp. "
Tish-tassine
," the templar spoke. A soft white glow came from the device.

The Primate waited patiently until they had finished. With the powers of regeneration the elixir had given him, there was little in this world that could harm him, but he had lost the patience for argument.

Finally the templars withdrew and the Primate entered the cell.

It seemed the templar from the Pinnacle had been accurate in his judgement of the old man's mental state. He was hunched in a corner of the cell, cowering awkwardly. Drool ran down the pilgrim's chin, and a feeble grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He had intense blue eyes, eyes that now squinted against the shine of the nightlamp. Ragged white hair tufted from the top of his head, and a scraggly grey beard flecked with ginger covered his chin.

He looked quite mad.

"You," Primate Melovar Aspen said to the old man. "Answer my questions or you will die a slow death."

The pilgrim looked up at him, and then hurriedly looked away. "Salvation," he muttered.

"You're from Salvation?" the Primate asked.

"Salvation. When you die. That's what you say."

"That's correct, old man. Yet answer my questions or the Evermen will grant you no peace, I assure you. What happened when you were at the Pinnacle?"

"Came to see the light. Heard rumbling sounds."

"Did you see anyone?"

"Saw a shape, like the shimmer of a hot day. A cloaked shadow. Primate, what was it?"

Melovar was growing increasingly frustrated. If the second intruder had also been cloaked, there was little the old pilgrim could know. Then the Primate saw something, hidden by the old man's body.

"What's that you're hiding there?"

The old man cowered further into his corner, but the prison guard came forward and kicked him until the pilgrim took the thing he was hiding and scampered along the wall, holding it in his hands.

"He had it with him when we brought him in," the guard said. "He won't let it go, and it doesn't look like much, so we left it with him."

The old pilgrim was once more trying to hide the object with his body.

"Bring it to me," the Primate said.

After some scuffling with the pilgrim, one of the Primate's templars brought Melovar the object. It was mostly destroyed, curled at the edges and withered like a flower left in the sun, but Melovar immediately recognised the metallic fabric.

It was a book of the Evermen. The pilgrim must have found it in the wreckage at the Pinnacle.

Primate Melovar Aspen took the book in his hands, cursing that it was so badly damaged, but fascinated nonetheless.

"Keep the old man here, see that he's fed. I don't care when I come back, or if I never do. I want him here in this cell."

"Yes, Your Grace," the guard said.

Melovar would see what Templar Zavros had to say about this.

~

A
S SOON
as he was alone again, Evrin put his head in his hands. The act had been hard to keep up, as weak and in pain as he was, yet it had come to nothing.

The knowledge he had been trying to destroy, or at the very least protect, was now in the very hands he had tried to keep it from.

The book was partly destroyed. Yet what was left might be enough.

The Primate didn't know it, but the scraps of metallic fabric he held in his hands were the key to the most powerful relic the world had ever known.

A relic Evrin must protect at all costs.

4

E
LLA
stood by the bank of the Sarsen, upriver from the Crystal Palace, soot on her cheeks and an expression of concentration on her face.

"Don't bring your wrists so close together," a woman in a rust-coloured robe admonished her. "Slowly condense the flame until you can feel it coiled tight. Then bring your elbows together. No, your elbows."

Sweat broke out on Ella's brow. She wore a red cuff on each wrist, and the pulsing colours on each indicated they had been activated. Between her wrists was a ball of fire, red with fiery heat and writhing as if possessed of a life of its own. It was strangely heavy, and Ella's arms ached with the effort.

"Get down!" Ella cried. The ball of flame shot out from between her wrists, fortunately away from her body, or she wouldn't have been alive to warn the two onlookers.

The woman in the red robe dove to the side, while the other onlooker, Bartolo, fell off his seat, the fireball barely missing him. The ball of energy hit the river with a sound like a crashing wave and water shot up into the sky in a cloud of steam.

Once again, she had lost it.

"You're terrible," said Shani, the woman in red.

Bartolo picked himself up off the ground, making a show of dusting himself off.

"Don't worry, bladesinger, your pretty silk blouse is still nice enough to wear to the dance," Shani said.

Bartolo paused, mid-way through pushing back his curly dark locks and smoothing his tiny moustache. He opened his mouth to retort when Ella interjected.

"What am I doing wrong?" Ella asked.

Shani came over and looked the young enchantress up and down. Ella wore her green silk dress, and she was slimmer and slightly shorter than the woman in red.

"You're too weak," Shani said, squeezing Ella's upper arms. "You're too accustomed to having big burly men like this oaf here do your dirty work for you. You make the zenblades and give them to others to wield for you — that's the enchanter's way, isn't it?"

"That isn't fair," Ella said.

"Well, let me tell you, being an elementalist isn't like that. Blessings, girl, I don't know why I'm bothering with you."

"Perhaps because she's the only one preventing them from locking you up for the duration of the war," Bartolo said. He'd taken his zenblade out of its scabbard and was making a show of looking down its length, examining it for marks.

Shani had arrived the previous week; the scouts had found her in Altura's south, scratched and starving, her dark skin instantly giving her away as a Petryan.

Her arrival had caused consternation among the commanders. With the Wondhip Pass blocked, the Petryans weren't supposed to be able to cross over into Altura. Yet Shani had surprised them, for she was happy to show them the precarious mountain path she'd taken, and yet another way between the two lands was made impassable.

High Lord Rorelan didn't trust the elementalist, and had wanted to keep her under guard for the duration of the war, but Miro had wanted to give her a chance, and had found surprising support from his sister.

Ella had to be honest with herself — she had never met an elementalist, and was eager to discover more about their lore. Rorelan didn't seem to agree, but Ella knew that, with essence running desperately low, it would take more than conventional warfare to defeat the Black Army. They would need to be creative rather than rely on force alone. She had so many ideas, but convincing High Enchanter Merlon to allow her to test them was proving to be more difficult than the lore itself.

At least Ella could learn something about Raj Petrya's lore, and she had been surprised to discover that her quest for knowledge had led to the growth of a real friendship.

"Bartolo," Ella said. "Shani has joined our cause. She's unhappy with the direction her house is taking, and —"

"Listen to you," Shani snorted. "'Unhappy with the direction my house is taking
,'
" she mimicked. "You mean my brother and my nephew were murdered in front of my eyes — tortured to death. The gilden I've saved over the last ten years was confiscated for
'
war funds
'
. Oh, and my High Lord's a sadistic warmonger. Yes, Ella, I'm
'
unhappy.
'
"

Bartolo looked away, and Ella placed her hand on Shani's arm, but the Petryan shrugged it off. "I don't need your pity," Shani said. "I just want to help my people. And kill my enemies. It pays to be strong."

Ella frowned when she thought about Shani's comments. Was she really weak? The Petryan was certainly as opposite to her as two women could be. Where Ella was slight, Shani was statuesque, her red robe belted with a white rope and filled out with the curves of her breasts and hips. Ella's eyes were a startling green, her skin pale, and her hair a light gold, the colour of sunshine. In contrast, Shani's skin was the hue of amber, her hair wild and dark and her eyes smoky and intense. The Petryan lined her eyes with some kind of coal-coloured paste, giving her an undeniably exotic appearance. Ella thought Shani was beautiful, but she would never say that to her friend's face.

"I'll try to save you some to kill," Bartolo said. "Enemies, that is."

"The way you handle that sword, perhaps you'd better leave it to me," Shani said. "You're far too pretty to be waving something so sharp around, who knows what could happen?"

Bartolo opened his mouth and then closed it again. Shani usually got the best of their exchanges.

Miro may have been opposed to locking Shani away, but that didn't mean he was going to take a risk with his sister. He'd admonished Ella to keep an eye on the elementalist, and then assigned Bartolo to keep an eye on them both. High Lord Rorelan was content with this arrangement; Bartolo was a bladesinger, one of their best, and even an elementalist was no match for a bladesinger, so they said. Ella wondered how true that was.

Shani turned to Ella again. "Let's start again, shall we?"

Ella nodded.

"There are two cuffs, one for each wrist. They aren't the same, and it's very important that you put the correct cuff on the correct wrist."

"Or?" Bartolo asked.

"Or you're dead."

"And you think I'm the one waving something dangerous around?"

Ella glared at Bartolo. "Go on, Shani."

"My robe has runes that protect me from the elements, but only from the lightest touch. A direct fireball will kill me just as easily as it will kill anyone else. Are you sure your dress is as protective as you say it is? I can lend you my robe."

Ella smiled. "It is. It's what we do best."

"Ignore what she says," Bartolo said. "Lend Ella your robe, Shani. Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and watch."

"Bartolo." Ella glowered. "Shut up."

Paying no attention, Shani went on. "The cuffs, when activated, can be made to draw moisture or heat from your surroundings. How depleted the cuffs then become, and how successful you are, depends on three things. First, there's obviously the scale of the magic you're trying to perform. A wall of fire requires more energy and more control than a tiny flame. Then there is the amount of control the elementalist has. A small spot of heat is more easily controlled than a wave of water, and more control not only requires more physical strength, but also more judgement and activation sequences to shape the outcome."

Ella listened to Shani intently, digesting the information and storing it alongside what she had learned about enchantment, animation, and illusion.

"Finally, one of the biggest factors is how much heat is in the air, or how much moisture is nearby. Sometimes an elementalist builds a fire or goes near water to make the magic more effective."

"Is that why we're doing this here?" Ella gestured.

The place where they worked was close to the river, located in a path of direct sunshine, near a bower of weeping trees. Shani didn't know it, but she had chosen the place where Ella's friend Amber had married Igor Samson, one of the Academy masters, with Ella standing at her side.

Thinking about Amber always made Ella feel sad, and then she thought about her brother. Miro had loved Ella's friend, and tried to convince himself she was dead, and there was nothing he could do; but Ella sometimes saw him staring into the east, his fists clenched at his sides, and she knew he was thinking about Amber.

"That's right." Shani removed the cuffs from Ella's wrists and confidently attached them to her own, "we've chosen this place because it's warm, and because there's water nearby. It's cold at the moment, and there's still ice melting in the Sarsen, but…"

The elementalist spoke some words, and a tight ball of flame appeared between her wrists. Where Ella's flame had been wild and unruly, the fire Shani had called forth was tight and almost perfectly spherical.

"Try to hit this with your sword, bladesinger," Shani said.

A lone hawk wheeled in the distance, scanning the earth for prey. With a flick of her wrists and a pushing motion from her body, Shani released the fireball towards the bird. Like a small, fiery sun it flew through the air, searing it with a sound like paper being torn, before colliding with the hawk in a burst of sparks and cloud of ash.

Little flickers of residue fell slowly through the sky, and Ella looked for the remains of the bird to plummet to the ground, but there was nothing left of it.

"Shani, that was cruel," Ella said.

Shani shrugged. "You should see what they use in Petrya for target practice."

"Birds don't fight back," Bartolo said, "and you overcooked it. You'll never get a man at this rate. I think we've found something you really do need to work at."

Shani looked at Bartolo and smiled, giving him her full attention for the first time.

She walked towards him, swaying her hips and dipping her hand in the cool river water. Then Shani suddenly stopped, and Ella heard her chant under her breath, before the elementalist made a sweeping motion with her arms.

A wave of water leapt from the river, higher than Ella's head, before coming down to fall with a mighty splash.

Directly on top of Bartolo.

Immediately the bladesinger was drenched to the bone, and with winter barely over, the water was cold. Freezing.

"You were saying, bladesinger?"

Bartolo was up like lightning, and his armoursilk suddenly blazed. The water fell away from him and he placed a hand on the hilt of his zenblade.