The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (27 page)

34

“Here they come!” Beorn roared. “Hold fast!”

The enemy finished clearing the road and immediately attacked. Miro felt his whole body tense as they rushed forward, filling the road, the attackers packed so densely that they were like a torrent pouring down a canyon.

The two cannon Jehral had brought back from the beaches boomed, and as tightly crowded as the revenants were, the blasts tore scores of warriors to pieces with every shot. The enemy ranks closed as swiftly as gaps opened, and now the gunners fired at will. Every shot told, but still they came on.

Miro had far fewer men manning a much weaker defense. He wondered how they could ever hold.

The attackers reached the deep ditch in front of the blockade, each warrior pushing those in front, sending their fellows to
certain
impalement. As they fell into the ditch, blood gushed from their mouths as the revenant warriors from across the sea fell onto the spikes. Bodies piled one on top of the other, and then they were over the ditch and climbing up the embankment. The first wave threw themselves against the sharp points of Miro’s steadfast
pikemen
, and the second wave followed suit.

The rest kept coming, and then they were over. It couldn’t be called a breach: the enemy broke the defenders in the first charge.

Suddenly revenants were everywhere, and Miro was in the thick of the fighting. Beside him Jehral swung a glowing scimitar,
lopping
off heads and limbs, while closer to the forest iron golems tore through revenant flesh. The pikemen dropped their weapons and drew swords. Miro’s reserve smashed into the revenants, but even they struggled to hold the line.

There was chaotic fighting everywhere.

Miro called on the protective strength of his armorsilk, stiffening the shimmering material, and he sent power to his zenblade, turning it blue with fire. He danced among the attackers,
slashing
through bodies and sending splashes of crimson blood through the air in his wake. He fought with tired muscles and constant
concentration
as he chanted, feeling his breath come short, but pushing down the fatigue.

Miro saw a rotting head explode in front of him, and Ella was there, her dress as bright as his armorsilk as it turned enemy steel. She gasped activation sequences in her own deadly song, sending beams of yellow light through one revenant after another.

He sensed the Alturan palace guard—the best of his soldiers—fighting beside him, and knew the battle hung in the balance. One of the soldiers in green fell, and then another. Finally, Miro’s fierce swordsmen slowly began to push back the revenants, but one of the enemy warriors held firm. Single-handedly, this warrior was turning back every attempt to reform the line.

An enchanter with a wand fell down, his hands clutched to his gushing chest. Another Alturan swordsman fell down with a cry of pain. Miro knew he needed to destroy this warrior.

Miro cut through a tall barbarian and in a single flashing image, his gaze took in the threat.

The warrior wore a blue shirt with a white trident sewn into the material. Holding a falchion in each hand—heavy single-edged swords with wide, powerful blades—he killed yet another swordsman with a crushing blow to the skull and then turned to face Miro.

Miro saw the three-cornered hat and the white eyes filled with blood. As Diemos, the pirate king of Rendar, fixed his stare on the high lord of Altura, he whirled, the twin blades casually cutting an Alturan in two, opening a space between Miro and himself. Miro felt chills along his spine as he knew he’d met his match.

Miro’s song called more searing fire into his zenblade as he leapt forward. The twin blades flashed, slicing the air, and Miro ducked and then dodged to the side. The pirate king came to meet him, and their weapons clashed, sending blinding sparks into Miro’s eyes, making him blink.

A falchion smashed into Miro’s chest, and he grunted in pain. He met the next strike with the zenblade, forced to move quicker than he ever had before, and still the pirate king was faster.

Miro managed to get a thrust into the pirate king’s chest, and his opponent roared as the sizzling steel penetrated his torso. Miro smelled burning flesh, but the blow that should have torn his opponent in half had little effect: the runes on this warrior glittered like stars in the night sky, beyond anything he’d seen on any revenant before. Sentar himself had made this one.

The two warriors ducked and sidestepped, blades cutting the air where heads had been moments before. Miro’s song came strong, but he simply couldn’t find a gap in his enemy’s defenses. The
falchions
met the zenblade time and again, and Miro felt fire in his side as a falchion struck his armorsilk and tore the material. Heat washed from both the zenblade and the falchions. One solid strike, and Miro would be dead.

He sensed the battle around him even as he fought. The
revenants
began to surge forward, but with Miro occupying the indomitable pirate king’s attention, the defenders took heart and rallied, pushing the enemy back once more. Bodies formed obstacles on the ground, making it difficult for Miro to dance out of the way of the pirate king’s twin blades.

Blood turned the dirt to mud, and as Miro blocked an overhead cut from the red-eyed pirate king, he slipped.

Time slowed as Miro fell down to his knees, his zenblade
falling
from his grip. He raised an arm and blocked a glowing
falchion
with his naked armorsilk, grunting as the falchion struck with nearly enough force to break his arm, knowing that to cease his chant would be to die. The second falchion sizzled as it carved the air, in a direct line for Miro’s neck. There was nothing he could do about it.

A newcomer in blazing armorsilk entered the fray and charged into the pirate king of Rendar. Taking the warrior by surprise the newcomer launched a flurry of blows at Diemos’s head and chest. Miro picked up his zenblade and cut at the pirate king’s legs, but his opponent deftly jumped out of the way.

Miro could see the fighter was a bladesinger, but he couldn’t see his face, and even for a bladesinger this man was fast. Each blow of the whirling falchions was met with a blocking zenblade, and Miro looked for an opening in the flickering steel and sparks but couldn’t risk harming the bladesinger.

Miro heard the man’s baritone and knew who he was.

Bartolo.

Miro cut overhead at the pirate king from behind, yet still a falchion met his zenblade. Miro pushed down, and it was now a match of strength on strength. The pirate king held off Bartolo with a single falchion. With a crash like lightning, Bartolo struck home, directly into the revenant’s heart. Miro continued to push, and the pirate king’s arm relaxed for the barest instant. In a flash Miro brought his zenblade back and forward once more, swinging in a direct line for the neck. The pirate king moved out of the way, but Bartolo met the movement with his own blade.

Bartolo’s zenblade smashed into the pirate king’s skull, shearing it in half. The revenant slumped down to his knees and fell face first into the mud.

“We need to pull back!” Bartolo cried.

Miro saw that the attackers were gaining the upper hand.

“Retreat!” Miro shouted.

He and Bartolo fought to give the fleeing defenders space. Iron golems were suddenly by their side, and as the golems held the line, Miro and Bartolo turned and ran.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Miro saw the golems fall one by one, swamped by the attackers. Then the river of warriors surged ahead. Miro put every thought to running, leaping over bodies as his breath ran ragged. He scanned the road ahead, looking for
the ne
xt blockade where Tiesto waited, but the blockade was a distance away.

The enemy would reach them first.

Miro glanced at Bartolo and saw the fear on his friend’s face. Bartolo pointed ahead and shouted something, but his words were lost in the din.

The two running bladesingers rounded a corner.

Miro saw figures in red robes. As he ran through the line of elementalists, feeling the breath of his enemies hot on his heels, a wall of fire rose up behind them.

Miro stopped when he reached safety behind the
elementalists
and turned, gasping and wheezing. He watched as fire took the revenants, hearing the terrible sound of sizzling flesh. It took time for the attackers to pull back from the flames, and in that time
hundreds
burnt to ash.

Miro grabbed Bartolo’s arm and pulled him forward, clasping his arms around his friend’s shoulders. “Where have you been?”

“Busy.” Bartolo grinned. “Shani wanted a holiday at the beach, but instead I found you.”

Miro scanned the red-robed elementalists.

“Behind you,” Bartolo said.

Miro whirled and saw Shani, her hands in the air and an
expression
of concentration on her face as she guided the flames. He waited until her arms slumped at her sides and she deactivated the cuffs at her wrists, before pulling her into a rough embrace. “Petrya! You came!”

“No, Miro,” Shani said, shaking her head. “There’s only a few of us. I left the high lord in Tlaxor.”

Miro felt disappointment like a blow, but his gaze took in forty elementalists, and he knew they’d lasted another day.

One more day, bought in blood.

Ella had a bowl on her knees as she washed blood from her hands and neck. She heard a throat clear and glanced up.

Shani stood with her arms crossed in front of her breasts, frowning down at her. Ella set the bowl down and leapt up to hug her friend.

“All that blood. How are you holding up?” Shani questioned her, holding Ella at arm’s length.

“As well as any of us,” Ella said.

“I found Bartolo at the pass. The signal’s gone through, and I brought some friends, but I’m sorry there aren’t more of us. I sent another message to the high lord but there’s nothing more I can do.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ella said. “You came. That’s enough.”

“Lord of Fire,” Shani said as she let out a breath, “how do you fight the dead?”

Ella sighed. “With hope and fear. With courage and death.”

“Bartolo says your brother was almost killed.”

Ella sucked in a breath, biting her lips, but tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, Ella, I’m sorry. Miro’s fine. I don’t know when to shut up sometimes.”

“There must be something more I can do,” Ella said. “I feel so . . . powerless.”

“What was that thing they fought? Bartolo said it wasn’t like any revenant he’d seen before.” Shani shook her head. “Two
bladesingers
, Bartolo and your brother . . . Ella, I’ve never seen
better
swordsmen. Yet that thing . . .”

“Sentar was the first to ever animate a corpse. He knows the lore better than anyone.”

“Don’t worry. The Hazarans will come.”

“Even if Ilathor comes, do you really think they’ll be enough?”

“Killian will come too. He won’t leave us to hold alone.”

“I’m not so sure. We didn’t leave things on the best terms. Shani . . . Evrin told me Killian now has a woman in the palace.”

“A woman?” Shani raised an eyebrow. She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. I know who she is. Her name is Carla, and Killian loved her long before we met.”

“You don’t know the truth of it . . .”

“I know,” Ella interrupted. “Evrin’s dead, by the way.”

Ella heard her own desultory tone as Shani’s eyes showed her concern.

“I’m sorry about Evrin. Let’s just focus on survival, shall we? Don’t worry, Ella,” Shani said. “I know you. You’ll think of
something
.”

35

The days grew longer and the air became warm and humid, night and day. Spring growth pushed through the forest floor, wildflowers filling the empty spaces and littering the landscape with color. The wind picked up, sending clouds in from the ocean.

Thunder rumbled overhead as the heavens turned gray.

It was the time of the rains.

Water poured from the sky in a flood, filling the air so it was hard to breathe. The winding road thickened with mud, making the going tough for defenders and attackers alike. It clamped down on the fires of the elementalists and wet the black powder. More than once a planned detonation became a fizzled failure.

Miro’s defenders had performed miracles over the last weeks. His men fought and died, holding from one blockade to the next, felling trees, digging ditches, destroying each defensive wall in detonations of earth and flame as they retreated to the next. Each
rearward
action took place in the last breath, with the blockades blown in mighty explosions just as they were overrun. The valiant struggle left bodies piled high.

At each stage, wherever possible, the corpses of the Alturan and Halrana dead were destroyed rather than letting them fall into the enemy’s hands. Often those wounded who couldn’t run clutched runebombs with dying hands and lit fuses of powder kegs held between their knees, sacrificing their lives rather than allowing their dead selves to fight their comrades. The winding road from the free cities to Sarostar was a river of ash and blood, steel and mud.

Now they were at the seventeenth blockade, the last before the open ground and the final defenses at Sarostar.

Ella felt she was permanently wet. Her hair was tangled with filth and dirt, and she knew every defender felt as fatigued as she did. She now walked with heavy steps as she collected the dead defenders from the last bitter engagement. Shani worked beside her as they gathered the fallen and piled them in a ditch. Already the logs underneath were burning fiercely, despite the dripping rain. This was the worst part of Ella’s job. She understood the need, but she hated it nonetheless. She and Shani, as well as the other enchanters and elementalists, were charged with burning the dead defenders.

At all costs Miro wanted to avoid adding to the enemy’s strength. More than anything, he wanted to prevent his men
having
to fight their compatriots.

Ella looked for more bodies and then she stopped, fists
clenching
at her sides.

“What is it?” Shani said, coming over.

Ella stood over an older man with a round face and balding head. His eyes were closed as if he were sleeping, but his hands clutched a terrible wound in his belly.

“Fergus,” Ella whispered.

Shani gripped Ella’s shoulder. “You knew him?”

“A little,” Ella said. She wiped water from her cheeks, tears
mingling
with the rain.

“Go,” Shani said. “Let me do this.”

“No,” Ella said. “I’ll do it.”

Ella crouched and hooked her arms under Fergus’s armpits. She heard a groan, and she nearly dropped him in surprise.

“Shani!” Ella cried.

Shani ran forward.

“He’s alive!” Ella said. She set her mouth with determination. “Help me with him.”

Together they dragged the weakly moaning man back through the defenders. Shani disappeared while Ella examined the gash in Fergus’s stomach. Blood slowly seeped out between Fergus’s fingers. The wound looked mortal.

Shani appeared a moment later with two men in white robes and a stretcher. Ella recognized the garb. Even the priests were doing their part.

“Here . . . that’s right; we’ve got him, Enchantress. We’ll take him from here.”

Ella followed Fergus the ferryman with her eyes as they carried him away. She returned to her work, searching for more bodies, but at last there were no more. All were in the hole, burning to ash.

“I don’t think we can last much longer,” Shani said.

“I know,” said Ella.

They both looked at the huddled defenders, not even trying to fight the rain, some sleeping even as droplets stung their cheeks. There were so few of them now. Miro had called up all the men from the defenses at Sarostar, and these were all that were left. How many revenants had they destroyed? Surely the attack couldn’t
keep going
?

The scouts said they’d started discovering piles of revenants left back along the road. The defenders sometimes fought an enemy who simply dropped, becoming still as the light left the runes,
sometimes
crumpling as rot sunk in too much for the lore to
function
. It was their only sign of hope, yet they all held onto it.

“Where is Sentar, do you think?” Shani asked.

“It would be too much to hope he’s dead. I don’t know whether to be thankful or afraid that we haven’t seen him.”

“Their tactics have lost their edge since the death of the warrior your brother and Bartolo killed. Have you noticed?”

There were supposed to be three kings from across the sea, and they’d only defeated two, but nonetheless, Ella thought the
necromancers
must be in control now. Their strategy seemed to consist of hurtling forward, then regrouping, then throwing their revenants forward again.

“They’ll wear us down anyway,” Ella said.

“Ella, have heart,” Shani said. “We’ll get through. All it takes is one heroic act and we may still be saved.”

“They’re all heroes already,” Ella said, casting her eyes over the defenders.

“Every last one of them,” Shani murmured.

Ella suddenly looked up. “I have an idea.”

Shani broke out in a smile, the first Ella had seen in weeks. “Good. That’s the Ella I know.”

“Keep Miro safe,” Ella said. “I have to go. I might not be back for a while. Be safe!”

“I’ll do my best,” Shani said wryly.

Ella grinned and felt her friend’s eyes on her back as she broke into a run.

Back toward Sarostar.

Miro waited with Beorn, who flicked water from his beard. Nearby Jehral’s eyes were closed; he was either resting or praying, perhaps both. Tiesto’s shoulders slumped with exhaustion. A few paces away Bartolo stood with a bladesinger, Dorian, the youngest of their number.

Together they formed a core at the very front of the
blockade
. Behind them the men’s eyes were lined with desolation and
weariness
, but Miro fought to stand tall and be a rock his men could count on.

They stood firm as once more the enemy charged.

“For freedom!” Miro cried as he held his zenblade over his head. His men gave a ragged cheer, and then the enemy poured into the ditch.

Once more scores of revenants fell willingly onto the spikes
lining
the base of the ditch, and their fellows climbed over their fallen. Once more Miro held the line as he sang with a voice hoarse from shouting, seeing fire light up his zenblade as he threw himself into the fray.

The defenders held, but the enemy kept piling up behind their own number, pushing those in front forward into the
whirling
blades. The rain fell in a continuous stream, mingling with the blood that cascaded down Miro’s armorsilk.

The defenders held while the enemy charged, and charged again.

Miro saw Dorian go down as a revenant thrust a wicked spiked club into the young man’s face. An enchanter in a green robe took his place, but then he went down too.

Men were falling everywhere.

“We must fall back,” Beorn gasped.

“Guard my back,” Miro said. He swiftly turned and waved an arm at the Petryan elementalists.

A wall of fire sprang up, but this was weaker than ever before. Miro looked on in horror as the revenants continued to run
forward
, even through the flames.

Their skin blackened and sizzled, but still the attackers pushed on. Miro knew the final blockade was lost.

“Back!” Miro cried. “Back to Sarostar!”

Unable to launch a coordinated retreat, the defenders simply turned and ran. This time there were no powder kegs or runebombs to slow the enemy. Men were cut down as they ran, and slowness meant death.

The running defenders cleared the forest, and now Miro saw the broad wall ahead. Behind it the tops of the highest buildings poked up.

This was Miro’s city, his home.

There was no killing ground of hidden devices in front of the curved wall, simply a wide open space. It was strange to be running in the open. It felt like an eternity since Miro had last been able to see for a distance ahead of him without his vision being blocked
by tree
s.

The iron gate stood wide open while the fleeing defenders poured through to find safety behind the walls, each man climbing up to fill the ramparts. But as he shot a glance over his shoulder at the pursuers, Miro saw that those bringing up the rear wouldn’t make it.

“I’m going to make a stand here,” Miro panted. “Get to the defenses.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Beorn said.

“Someone has to lead them!” Miro shot back.

Miro stopped and turned to face his enemies. Soldiers around him followed suit, and now the horde poured out of the opening road, forming a wide line. Miro caught Jehral’s eye and nodded in the direction of the wall, but the Hazaran shook his head and also turned to face the enemy. Bartolo waited in fighting stance with Shani by his side. Tiesto roared with battle rage. As the mass of glowing revenant warriors filled the open space, no more than fifty men waited to hold them back.

Miro heard the thunder of hooves behind him, in the direction of the gate.

A trumpet blasted, and as he spun around, the first thing Miro saw was a big yellow banner with a desert rose. Flames filled the air, surrounding Miro and those with him with flickering fire, but he felt no heat, and the inferno caused no harm. The enemy warriors began to slow their mad charge and Miro saw necromancers in their midst, calling the attackers to order, fearful of the raging flame, though Miro knew it was illusory.

A tall bearded man on a great black stallion led a wedge of countless men on horseback, riders pouring one after the other through the gate. This was a battle on open ground, the kind the desert warriors of House Hazara liked best.

With relentless speed, thousands of horses galloped forward, and the black-garbed men on their backs waved their scimitars above their heads and whooped.

They struck the horde with a sickening crunch. Immediately, the necromancers saw the danger and tried to turn their revenants back into the more defensible ground between the trees. As the
Hazarans
struck hard and wheeled around to strike again, the
revenants
rushed back to the road in a flood. The leader of the desert warriors expertly turned his men after the second charge. The flames around the fifty defenders vanished as quickly as they’d appeared.

Kalif Ilathor Shanti pulled hard on the reins, and his stallion reared back, hooves clawing at the air. He formed his men in a long line between the fifty defenders and the trees, but for now the ground was clear, and the revenants didn’t charge again.

“Back to the gate!” Miro cried.

With the Hazarans guarding their backs, Miro led his men through the open gate, the riders following them through. Finally, as the heavy iron gate closed shut, and three strong bars of iron were put in place in the slots, Miro lowered his sword and took a slow, shaky breath. He couldn’t believe he was alive.

The kalif of House Hazara had answered his call.

Ilathor leapt off his horse and ran forward to embrace
Jehral
. “Lord of Fire, man, every time I see you, you look worse than
the las
t.”

“It is good to see you too, Kalif.” Jehral grinned.

“Kalif,” Miro said.

Ilathor walked forward, meeting Miro’s gaze. “High Lord?”

Miro pulled Ilathor into a rough embrace and leaned forward, speaking close into the man’s ear. He whispered hoarsely, and felt wetness on his cheeks as he looked past Ilathor’s shoulder at the multitude of proud horsemen who’d come to his aid.

“Thank you.”