The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (22 page)

Bartolo and Dorian walked directly into the ambush, both with
zenblades
held out in front of them, poised to activate their
armorsilk
the moment they sighted the enemy.

It was close to midday, and the sun shone fierce rays down on the exposed mountain. Bartolo had considered using shadow but had discarded the idea; Dorian was too new, and there was no
darkness
to hide in.

Ahead, the walls at either side of the cleft loomed in Bartolo’s vision. Looking up at the mountain face, he wondered how he’d ever climbed the sheer wall. He once more pondered the strange experience with the boulder, but whatever it was, it couldn’t help him now. Bartolo and Dorian took three more steps, and still the enemy hadn’t revealed themselves.

Dorian began to chant under his breath, and his armorsilk came steadily to life, runes lighting up on his hood, his chest, his arms and legs. Bartolo couldn’t blame him, but he saved his breath, feeling the tension grow as he entered the gully.

With a series of grunts and roars, the enemy attacked.

Bartolo took only enough time to register their numbers: they were all here, and there was the necromancer sending them forward. These warriors had once been Petryans, he saw now, with swarthy skins and some wearing red, flat-topped hats. The
symbols
on their skins glowed softly, their white eyes showing eerie stares.

“Run!”
Bartolo grabbed Dorian, and they sped back down the mountain away from the warriors.

The revenants were fast, and Bartolo opened his stride, pumping his arms as he sped across the loose gravel and dodged around bigger rocks, hoping he wouldn’t stumble. Bartolo felt grasping hands on his back and whirled, cutting into a creature’s side before resuming his run. He risked a glance at Dorian and saw the younger man’s armorsilk once more dark as Dorian put everything into running.

Bartolo had laid his own ambush carefully. He sped between two huge boulders and ducked behind the rock on the left while Dorian whirled to the right.

The five recruits held their ground and took the first two
revenants
down with savage blows, sending blood and bits of skull flying in all directions. Bartolo activated his armorsilk and zenblade and charged back into the fray.

The gap between the boulders channeled the enemy, but those at the back circled around, and soon the seven Alturans would be pressed on all sides. Bartolo’s voice came strong, rising in a deep baritone as he activated the fierce heat pent up in his zenblade and fended off a frenzied series of blows from two revenants. He cut off one opponent’s limbs and tore a second revenant in two,
leaping
forward and taking off a head, rescuing Martin who was hard pressed. Dorian had his back to a rock and fought three at the same time, his wide eyes betraying his fear.

Bartolo saw Timo thrust deeply into a revenant’s chest, but it simply snarled and lashed a fist into his face, moving faster than any human. The reedy recruit fell onto his back, and the creature leapt atop Timo’s chest, grinning as it scrabbled at Timo’s body, both hands squeezing the recruit’s neck until Bartolo heard a resoun
ding crac
k.

There was fighting on all sides now. With Timo down and Dorian pressed, Bartolo and the four other recruits fought in a circle, guarding each other’s backs as they fended off lore-enhanced limbs with steel swords and courage.

Bartolo watched in desperation as Dorian’s song faltered and his armorsilk dimmed. Bartolo couldn’t leave the recruits; they were only still alive because of his whirling blade. Whenever a revenant came at them, Bartolo moved to meet it, protecting the recruits even as they protected his back.

As he fought, Bartolo looked up past the boulders and saw the necromancer, watching and guiding his minions. There were too many revenants for the Alturans to hold. Soon they would be
overwhelmed
.

Then in a flash of bright fire, the necromancer burst into flame.

Dorian spun on his heel in a move Bartolo had seen him practice a thousand times, throwing the revenants away as his fiery blade whirled in a flash of blue and purple.

Bartolo thrust into a burly warrior, but it only had the effect of enraging his opponent. Past the creature’s shoulder Bartolo saw red robes, and a coiled ball of crimson flame smashed into the revenant. Sizzling flesh blackened in a heartbeat, and Bartolo’s opponent fell.

A second ball tore through the air, sizzling with a sound like paper being torn as it bathed another revenant in liquid fire. The fireballs came fast now, and as the revenants turned to meet this new threat Bartolo leapt forward and took two heads in succession.

The last revenant moaned as two balls of flame struck it from different directions. Its skin crackled as the flame continued its grisly work, scorching the clothing to cinders and burning the flesh until runes could no longer be discerned, and then the revenant fell, just a dark lump on the rocky ground.

Bartolo lowered his sword, panting.

Petryan elementalists in red robes stood circled around the site of the battle, the cuffs at their wrists glowing.

A dark-haired woman stepped out of their midst, a red-robed elementalist with a white rope belted around her waist. She spoke a sequence to deactivate the devices at her wrists and then smiled wearily at Bartolo.

“Shani?” Bartolo said as he gasped.

“You’re far from home,” Shani said.

Bartolo looked around him. Aside from Timo, the recruits had escaped with cuts and bruises, but his men were alive. Bartolo knelt and put his fingers to Timo’s neck, but the sightless gaze said enough.

“Men,” Bartolo started, but he had to stop, coughing. “Men,” he tried again, “some of you know my wife, Shani, an elementalist of Petrya.”

The recruits exchanged glances. Dorian dropped his zenblade and looked at his shaking hands.

“They’re pleased to meet you,” Bartolo spoke for them. “On the mountain . . . That was you?”

Shani grinned. “We’re not just wielders of fire. They call us
elementalists
for a reason. We saw a man in green armorsilk up on the cliff. He looked like he could use a hand.”

As Bartolo panted, Shani’s smile suddenly shifted to a frown. She came forward until she was directly in front of her husband and glared up at Bartolo’s eyes. “You were out of your depth,
bladesinger
, and you know it.”

“I had to . . .”

“Shut up,” Shani said. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Shani put her arms around him, and as Bartolo felt her warmth close to him, he knew she was right. The arrival of the Petryans had saved all of their lives.

But even so, Bartolo had been right to try. He decided to save that discussion for another day.

“How?” Bartolo said.

“Our patrols found the ruins of Hatlatu. We tracked
them her
e.”

“Are there more Petryans . . .?”

“No,” Shani said, “it’s just us.”

“The tower!” Bartolo suddenly pushed his wife away. “We need to raise the tower!”

“We saw it,” Shani said. “It’s on the other side of the pass. We were about to bring it back up when we saw you and came to help.”

Bartolo instructed the recruits to stay with Timo’s body and
followed
Shani and her fellow elementalists back up to the pass.

They swiftly found the three-legged tower, and after casting in wide circles, they finally found the prism, buried in a pile of rock, with green light seeping through.

Bartolo was exhausted, but he didn’t rest until the tower was back up, with the signal shining fiercely. He felt relief flood through him as, looking into the southern lands from the mountain, he saw a satisfying wink of green light answer.

“They’ve called?” Shani said.

“Yes,” Bartolo said. He took a deep breath. “We have to hurry. They need us, Shani. They need all of us. Will your elementalists come to Altura?”

Shani hesitated. “Yes. I don’t care what the high lord says. I’ll force them to come if I have to.”

Bartolo gazed from the pass at the green forests of Altura.

He was exhausted.

But rest would have to wait.

28

Black smoke poured in two great spires from the coastline. The last refugees had left long ago, and now the free cities, built mostly of wood from the nearby forests, burned with a raging fire that wouldn’t cease until every building was ash.

In the aftermath of the naval battle, a single ship limped to shore. The
Infinity
had lost a mast and was holed in three places, but it seemed Scherlic had kept his ship together long enough to break free from the clutches of the enemy fleet. He’d somehow managed to raise enough sail to outdistance the armada and make it to shore.

As Castlemere burned, Miro raised a reddened gaze to watch the ship. He stood on the beach, listening to the breaking waves contrast with the breaking timbers of Castlemere’s falling
buildings
. The smell of burning wood filled the air; even the sea breeze couldn’t banish it.

The
Infinity
came steadily closer as Scherlic brought his
crippled
ship to where clear water met the line of deep blue. Miro’s eyes took in the broken timbers and fallen sails, holes in the sides and
shattered
prow. Scherlic’s proud ship was a shade of her former self, yet even so, the shadow of night had sought to claim her, and she’d survived—the only vessel to do so.

A figure in green leapt off the side of the ship, and the man began to swim with strong strokes to shore. As soon as the
bladesinger
left the
ship, Scherlic turned the vessel, and the
Infinity
limped
farther
down the coast. Miro waved, but his arm finally dropped to his side; he wasn’t sure if the sailmaster waved back.

Miro watched as the bladesinger swam for shore. The man in green shook his head and stood when he reached the shallows,
staggering
forward before making better headway. Miro walked into the water to help him out, clasping his hand and putting his arm around the man’s shoulders.

“Well met,” Miro said. “You survived.”

“Lord of the Sky, I don’t know how.”

“Come, I’ll take you back to the encampment. We think they’re going to commence their landing tomorrow.”

“I tried, High Lord, but I couldn’t see any ship being specially guarded,” the bladesinger said. “If Sentar has essence aboard one of his ships, he isn’t doing much to protect it. He sacrificed his own to destroy us. We took his flagship, and he simply moved to another.”

The smoke from the burning city rolled over the killing ground as Miro took the bladesinger in a wide circle, skirting the red flags and leading him past the thick wall. The smoke-red eyes of the defenders followed them as they headed deeper into the
encampment
.

“Commodore Deniz?” Miro asked, holding his breath.

“Fallen,” the bladesinger said. “I watched the fight through a seeing device. Deniz killed one of the commanders, a man whose flag was red with blue crossed swords, but fell himself, along with Bladesinger Willem.”

Miro remembered Deniz describing Farix, the pirate king of Torian. The captured necromancer said there were two more of these so-called kings. Miro knew Deniz was a skilled swordsman, yet Farix had bested a bladesinger as well as Deniz.

“Here,” Miro said. “Rest. Then go to High Lord Tiesto
Telmarran
. He will have orders for you.”

Even as Miro mourned the loss of Deniz and the Veldrin and Buchalanti sailors, his mind turned to the coming struggle. Soon his men’s courage would be sorely tested as they watched their friends killed and fought enemies who refused to die.

This was the worst time: the waiting. Miro knew that the longer he could hold, the more time there would be for help to arrive from the other houses.

Yet every day bought from now on would be a day bought
with bloo
d.

Miro and Beorn pored over a map of the rugged coastline as they waited to hear from Tiesto.

“They’re not stupid,” Beorn said. “They’ll make landing either here”—he pointed at a place on the map east of Castlemere—“or here.” He marked another place west of Schalberg, between the two cities. “My gilden’s on the latter. Better beaches, shallower water.”

“Do you think they’ll have landing boats?”

“Who can say?” Beorn shrugged. “We’ve never fought a foe like this before. If we were fighting regular soldiers, of course I would say yes, but revenants?”

Miro voiced the one concern he didn’t have a strategy for. “What are we going to do about Sentar Scythran?”

“I’ve told the men to concentrate their ranged fire on him, to try to weaken him. You never know; a lucky shot might get through.”

Miro snorted.

“We’ll have to put our trust in the Lord of the Sky,” Beorn said.

“Are you saying we have to have faith, or do we hope Evrin Evenstar has something planned?”

“Both.” Beorn grinned.

“High Lord?”

Miro and Beorn looked up as one of Miro’s palace guards entered the command tent, a civilian at his side.

“What is it?” Miro asked.

“High Lord, this man comes from Sarostar. I think you should hear what he has to say.”

Miro saw a solid man with thin hair combed over a bald pate.

“High Lord,” the newcomer said gruffly, “I come from
Bladesinger
Bartolo.”

Miro’s eyes shot up. “Bartolo? Where is he? Dorian’s also
missing
. Where are they?”

“There . . . there’s been treachery. Some men tried to prevent our signal getting through to the lands in the east.”

Beorn cursed.

“What? Tell me what happened?” Miro demanded.

“Some Tingarans swapped the real prism for a false one.”

“Jehral,” Beorn said. “He said he fought some Tingarans near the river. Now we know what they were doing there.”

“Treachery,” Miro spat. “I didn’t even think of it.” He pounded a clenched fist into his palm.

“Don’t blame yourself—none of us could have known.”

“But we could have guarded the towers.”

“Guarded every single one of them?” Beorn snorted.

“High Lord,” the bald man said, “Bladesinger Bartolo, he got it back up. The call went out. He went to check on the station at Wondhip Pass, and he sent me here.”

“Scratch it,” Beorn muttered. “All this time, wasted.”

Miro sighed. He didn’t have support from the Louans, from the Veznans, from the Petryans, Hazarans, Toraks, or Tingarans. The Buchalanti had done their part, and the Veldrins; now it was left to Altura and Halaran to hold back the tide alone.

“High Lord, may I fight?” the bald man said.

Miro tried to smile. “We won’t turn you down. What’s your name?”

“Fergus.”

“Fergus,” Miro said; the name was familiar. “Go and find a
sergeant
: one of the officers with a double-striped
raj hada
. Tell him to give you weapons and armor. Good to have you.”

“Thank you, High Lord.”

Fergus departed, but he’d only been gone a moment when High Lord Tiesto of Halaran entered.

“Miro, our scouts have been watching from the coast, and the dirigible pilot confirmed it. They’re going to commence landing
at da
wn.”

“Where?” Beorn asked.

“The beaches west of Schalberg,” Tiesto said, coming forward to point at the place on the map Beorn had previously marked. “These defenses aren’t exactly hidden. They’ll make their landing far from here.”

Miro’s gaze returned to the map. If he could hold them at the beaches, they might still emerge relatively unscathed.

“Is there anything you need?” Miro asked Tiesto.

“Are you still going to be in the sky? I won’t have your vantage, and once the battle starts . . .”

Miro nodded. “I’ll be up in the dirigible. We’ll coordinate, and I’ll signal you if need be.”

“I don’t know how you can stand being up in that thing,” Be
orn sai
d.

“I’d rather be up there than down here wondering what’s going on,” Miro said.

“Don’t worry, Miro,” Tiesto said. “If I can, I’ll stop them.”

Miro was pensive for a moment. “All right,” he finally said. “We all know the plan. Tiesto, you have the command. Stop as many as you can on the beaches. Be ready to fall back to our strength here. We’ll be ready for you.”

“I’ll leave now,” Tiesto said.

“Good luck,” Miro said.

“And you.”