The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (6 page)

"Bah," Bartolo said.

His expression black, the bladesinger stormed away.

Ella watched his departing back, while Shani chuckled and shook her head. Ella thought she saw something in Shani's eyes while she looked at Bartolo, but it was swiftly gone, with Ella wondering if she'd imagined it.

Not for the first time, Ella looked at the runes on the red cuffs Shani wore on her wrists. Ella felt that with time she could decipher them, and truly understand how Raj Petrya's lore functioned.

Ella's quest for knowledge had a purpose. The war had changed everything; they were now saying that the Tingaran Empire was no more, but Ella knew that what came next would be up to people like Miro, and Rorelan, and Shani. What came next could be centuries of chaos, or some good could come of it all, and the system of the world could be replaced with something new, something that allowed the houses to preserve their culture, but inside a greater framework of trade, peace, and unity. It wouldn't be easy, but Ella wanted to try.

Life in Altura, here in Sarostar, had changed forever, but what about the people of Halaran and Petrya, Vezna and Torakon — all the common people whose lives had been destroyed and who even now were being oppressed under the weight of the Black Army? Ella had to help, in any way she could.

Ella had travelled more than most, and she knew that while across the world cultures were certainly different, at heart, people were essentially decent. Most people simply wanted to prosper, to enjoy both the routine and the variety of life, and to raise a family in peace and love.

In her quest for the Alturan Lexicon, Ella had been to Altura's south, and crossed the Wondhip Pass into Petrya. She'd been to the trade town of Torlac, and gazed out at the tiered city of Tlaxor, centred in a volcanic lake. She had met Petryans, and the desert warriors of the Hazara, and she even knew someone from Aynar, the land of the templars.

Killian.

Ella fingered the small pendant on a chain that she wore around her neck. A pattern of runes had been inscribed on the back of the pendant. Once, when the correct words were spoken, the pendant could vanish, and then reappear — a lovers' trick, designed to give the gift an element of surprise. Now, the pendant was simply a piece of jewellery. It was all she had to remind herself of him.

Not for the first time, Ella wondered if Killian was the reason for the enemy's apparent inability to launch a full-scale assault on Altura. She knew in her heart that he'd gone to confront his past, but what he had found in Aynar was a mystery.

"Come on," Shani's voice brought Ella back to the moment, and Ella took her hand away from the pendant. "Let's go find something to eat at one of the taverns. Or," she grinned, "we could go and see what they're serving at the Academy. You might even run into High Enchanter Merlon. You know, is it just me, or is he not used to being argued with?"

"He's a fool," Ella said, frowning.

"He's just accustomed to the old ways. My teachers in Petrya were exactly the same."

"How about we see what they're serving in the Poloplats?"

"Ella, you know what they're serving. Same as they're serving everywhere else. A large bowl of wartime rations."

"Do you think Bartolo will come back?"

"He'll find us. He's loyal to your brother, that one, and he won't let you out of his sight for long, no matter how much his pride's been hurt. He won't leave you alone with the dangerous Petryan spy," she said wryly.

As Ella and Shani walked through a grove of the weeping trees that lined the riverbank, Ella thought again about Killian. A breeze rose, and Ella caught the incongruous scent of jasmine, reminding her of the desert, and her mind turned to another, different man.

Tall and handsome, considerate yet ruthless, a prince of his people and a born warrior — he knew Ella by another name, and he thought she was dead. The two men cycled through Ella's consciousness, completely different and yet both fascinating her in his own way.

The scent of jasmine grew stronger, and Ella suddenly stopped, gripping Shani's arm.

"How long have we been walking through this grove?" Ella said.

Shani frowned. "It does seem like a long time."

"That tree, I've seen it before." Ella pointed. "Perhaps more than once. Something's happening."

"What do you mean? Is there danger?"

The floral aroma grew stronger.

"
Jerune. Jera-mah. Ruran-muh-rah
," Shani chanted a series of runes in quick succession. Sparks formed between her wrists and a miniscule flame grew into a ball.

Then Ella turned, and all she could see was green; her vision was a patchwork of trees and leaves. She turned again; where was Shani?

Ella heard a woman's scream. "Shani!" she cried.

The colours in Ella's vision wavered, like a mirage over the desert.

Ella opened her mouth to speak the words, and then hesitated. What if she activated the sequence that projected a destructive wave of heat from her enchantress's dress, and hurt Shani? She couldn't rely on her vision. Where was her friend?

Ella spun around, trying to get her bearings. She turned to the left, and the vision of tree branches shattered.

A figure in black clothing, his dark hair held back by a circlet, came out of the green.

Ella opened her mouth to say the words, but before she could, something hit the back of her head, and her vision burst with stars.

A cloth was held to her mouth, reeking of spices, and involuntarily Ella inhaled.

All became darkness.

5

M
IRO'S
thoughts were sluggish and beset by doubt. Acting on Marshal Beorn's advice, he turned to sleep after a gruelling session trying to explain his plan to High Lord Rorelan. The High Lord simply refused to take any more strength away from the border with Petrya in the south. All three men realised that an alliance with this new house, Raj Hazara, must be attained at all costs.

Miro decided to get a few hours rest before treating again with the glib-tongued Jehral of Tarn Teharan.

His eyes were shut before his head hit the pillow. There was something he needed to do. It came to him as he drifted off. Ella could tell him about these strange desert-folk; she might even know this Jehral personally. He would… He would…

A heavy knock sounded at Miro's door, and he was instantly awake. He leapt out of bed, his zenblade activated and fiery in his hand, before whoever it was even had a chance to make a second knock.

As the fog of sleep gave way to awareness, Miro realised that whatever the cause of the commotion was, it didn't herald immediate danger. He looked to the window, where oblique rays of sunshine poured in. Early afternoon, he guessed.

Miro deactivated the zenblade and returned it to the scabbard by his bedside, then reached forward and opened the door.

High Lord Rorelan stood outside the door with Bartolo; the High Lord's hand was raised to knock again.

"What is it? Just come in next time," Miro said.

Rorelan smiled and looked pointedly at the zenblade. "With a twitchy bladesinger inside? I think I'll knock every time."

"Miro, I'm sorry," Bartolo said.

Miro had fought by Bartolo's side countless times; they had suffered through the same pains, and Miro had never seen the man so distraught.

"What is it?"

"It's about the Hazarans," Rorelan said, at the same time as Bartolo spoke.

"It's about Ella."

Miro looked from one face to the next. "What about her?"

"She's gone, Miro," Bartolo said. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I know I was supposed to be looking after her."

"Jehral and Hermen Tosch are also gone," Rorelan said. "The courier I sent to issue a summons discovered they left their lodgings not long after speaking with us this morning."

"There are signs of a struggle, near where your sister and the elementalist were working," Bartolo said.

"Is it just Ella or is the Petryan gone too?"

"Shani's gone too," said Bartolo. "I'm such a fool!" he suddenly cried and punched the wall. Bartolo winced and looked at his scratched fist.

~

M
IRO
was furious with himself. He paced the length of the simulator, one hand formed into a fist that he smashed into his palm with every second step, while Bartolo and the High Lord looked on.

After the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta Ella had attracted a lot of attention, and he should have done more to look out for her safety. The survivors called it the Deliverance, and Miro knew the news had travelled further afield than Altura. Miro's head throbbed and he rubbed at his temples, and then he shook his head, grinning without humour. Protect Ella? Control her? He'd like to meet the man who could do that.

He cursed himself for not seeing the truth behind Jehral's questions. He hadn't been interested in an alliance at all. Ella was the one the desert warrior was interested in all along; how could he not have seen it?

What would the men of Raj Hazara want with his sister? Was it something to do with the lore she had helped them to rediscover? Did they simply want someone with her skill to help them further? How worried should he be?

Miro tried to tell himself the Hazarans just wanted more of Ella's help, but he knew so little about them. Jehral and his friend Hermen Tosch had managed to capture an elementalist and a skilled enchantress. Whatever else, they were dangerous men.

Miro paced as he wondered what to do. He had vowed to never again let those close to him fall into the hands of his enemies.

Like a dog scratching at a wound, Miro's mind returned to the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta, and the last time he had seen Amber. He had nightmares about it, dreams where he was cutting through the press of the enemy, slashing through warrior after warrior, seeing her auburn hair and green dress vanishing into the endless ranks of the Black Army. No matter what he did, he couldn't get closer to her. He screamed her name, but she never turned around. And she was always going in the wrong direction, away from safety.

Away from him.

He had lost so many friends in the war. Blademaster Rogan, the man who taught Miro to fight. Tuok, the soldier who taught Miro the ways of the world. Ronell Kendra, the bladesinger who finally conquered his fears, fighting to his last breath. Varana, the gentle Halrana woman who only wanted to be loved, and who Miro had left behind in the doomed town of Sallat.

Miro had promised himself that the next time he saw Primate Melovar Aspen, it would be at his enemy's demise. He had promised himself that never again would he leave someone he loved to face his enemies without his protection.

He stopped his pacing. "I'm going after them."

"Miro, let me go," Bartolo said.

"You are not going," Rorelan said. "Miro, you know you have responsibilities here, and," he continued, "we have, what, four bladesingers left besides the two of you? Bladesinger Bartolo, I forbid you to go also. You will be needed for the war effort."

"High Lord, it was my fault!" Bartolo bristled. Bladesingers were considered free agents, generally able to make their own decisions about how best to serve Altura.

Marshal Beorn rushed into the room, stopping when he saw Miro. "Lord Marshal, we're under attack. A force is testing our defences in the woodland to the east, near the Halrana border. We need you."

Miro turned to High Lord Rorelan, and then to Bartolo. He threw up his hands. "Bartolo, go after them. Look after my sister."

"Lord Marshal, I forbid…" Rorelan began.

Miro fixed Rorelan with a stare. The Alturan High Lord met his gaze, and then faltered. "He's going," Miro said.

Bartolo put out his hand, and Miro gripped it in return. "I will find her," Bartolo said. "I won't let you down."

Miro nodded, at a loss for words. He watched his friend dash out of the room, and then grimly followed Beorn, to discover what the enemy were up to this time.

6

N
O
man or woman without desperate business wandered the corridors of Stonewater during solace. In these two darkest hours of the night, farthest from both dusk and dawn, the priests were silent, noise was forbidden, and even the patrolling templar guards halted their pacing, standing still and meditative during this time of contemplation and prayer.

The stationary nature of the guards made Sabithe's task that much easier. He crept along the gallery, moving from column to column, using them to hide his form, and fought to keep his breath even and quell the raucous beating of his heart.

Sabithe was a priest, and had little experience of danger. He'd grown up in a sleepy village in the south of Aynar, sheltered by the loving care of his parents, both tailors and regular attendees at the temple. When Sabithe had reached the age where he started to attend, and saw the way the priest earned the respect of the townsfolk — no matter their age or station — he had instantly known what he wanted to be.

He had scored high marks in all of the temple's examinations, from arithmetic to grammar, but where he had most excelled was in theology. Sabithe didn't exactly understand how all the events in the Evermen Cycles could be related to the simple life of the townsfolk, but he had a strong sense of morals, of right and wrong, and a deft mind that could turn an argument, and change a man's mind without him realising he had ever thought differently.

The priest of Sabithe's village had sent him to Salvation, in Stonewater's shadow, to study under the wisest men and women of the Assembly, drawn from all over the Tingaran Empire. The young priest thrived in the competitive environment — the late-night discussions of free will versus destiny, or when it's right to lay down the sword and when it's right to fight. He was destined for great things, they said; for the senior echelons of the templars; but then the philosophy of the Assembly changed, and Sabithe refused to change along with it.

Sabithe believed there were times when it was right to pick up a sword, and he knew in his heart when those times were: in the defence of one's self, or one who could not defend themselves; to protect the flow of goods from marauders, so that there was more wealth in the land and fewer went hungry; to keep more swords out of the hands of those who would put them to evil ends; and to put the sword back down, just to show it could be done.