The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (29 page)

38

Ella glanced at High Enchanter Merlon, seeing he was also at a loss for words as they took in the destruction they’d wreaked at the site of the Heroes’ Cemetery. Upturned earth lay in piles beside each grave, the headstones strewn like victims of a fierce wind. In front of each marker a deep hole indicated where each man’s burial site had once been. These final resting places were final
no more
.

A clutch of old men and women stood nearby with spades. Ella’s desperation had called them out of their homes. The stubborn Alturans who refused to leave their city glanced at Ella with mixed apprehension and awe.

Shani’s mention of heroes had sparked the idea.

Fifty of Altura’s finest swordsmen stood upright beside their graves. Some were recently dead—the fallen bladesingers from the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta—whereas others bore the marks of advanced decay. These warriors stood as they’d once stood in life: proud and tall, and they were undaunted by the wounds that had killed them. Each held a sword in his hand.

Ella had used the forbidden lore of the Akari to bring them all back. Every warrior’s skin glowed with activated runes, and they stared at Ella with white eyes, already filling with blood. With High Enchanter Merlon’s help, she’d raised them to once more fight for Altura in death as they had in life.

It was time to use the lore of the revenants against them.

“Why are we here?” one of the men who’d been buried in his armorsilk spoke. His voice was soft, more of a whisper. The others fixed him with their eerie stares and then looked back at Ella.

“Altura needs you,” Ella said. “The high enchanter and I have brought you back to help in our greatest hour of need. You, who fell in battle to defend us, we are asking you to fight again. We need your help . . .” Ella choked.

High Enchanter Merlon called out a single activation rune: every sword in every hand was a replica of the others, even down to the inflection of the activation sequence.

“Alitas!”
the high enchanter cried.

As the warriors’ swords lit up with fire, Ella heard shouts and crashes. She rushed to the riverbank and looked across the water to the city’s western quarter. She’d intended to run for the battlefield, but she saw she was too late. Making a swift decision, Ella dashed back to the high enchanter and snatched the flask out of his hands.

His eyes widened in surprise. It was the last essence in Altura.

Ella returned to the riverbank and cast her mind back to another river, at another time. She’d drawn from knowledge buried deep within her consciousness to build the runebridge. Her mind whirled as she thought about her falling city. Ella summoned power from deep within to calm her thoughts, and once more the lore came to her.

Ella dipped her scrill into the essence and began to draw. She drew the first rune on a flat stone, activating it to give the
symbol
form, and the second so swiftly the liquid hung in the air. She
created
the third rune, connecting it before the whole thing could fall. With each stroke Ella chanted, each symbol activated and floating in the air as she built the next. She worked in a flurry, furiously, and then she took a step forward onto the growing bridge.

Working faster now, Ella built step after step, ignoring the
tumbling
river splashing below. She climbed higher and could now see the enemy crowding the bank of the western quarter, barely held back by the defenders at the nine bridges.

Then Ella was descending back down to the opposite bank. As she stepped off her creation she looked back and waved her arm into the air.

With the swiftness of an arrow the dead heroes sped across the runebridge without pausing, glowing swords held in front of them. Fifty swordsmen—men who’d fought against the primate and served their house in the Rebellion—sped through Sarostar’s western quarter with weapons held high.

As the last warrior stepped off the glowing bridge, it faded, as if it had never been.

Miro cut down two more enemies, and then suddenly he had no more to face. Down on the wide banks of the western quarter, a new force smashed into the enemy, a wedge of glowing light
fighting
with savage intensity. The revenants . . . dissolved . . . as the blur of whirling blades tore flesh into bloody components. There was no stopping this new arrival. Miro had been in many battles, and he knew it when he saw it. Nothing could impede a force like this.

As he watched from high on Victory Bridge, the wedge of
warriors
barely lost momentum as they sped through the revenants, leaving carnage behind them, tearing through enemy after enemy, leaving nothing but smears of red. Miro almost wiped his eyes as their efficient killing brought them closer. He had never seen anything like it, not even when his brother bladesingers had been at the height of their power.

Miro and the bladesinger with him exchanged glances. Miro raised his sword above his head. This was the moment that came once in every battle; the time to throw the dice and fight on even in the face of terror.

“Attack!” Miro cried.

He ran back the way he’d come, down Victory Bridge, and leapt into the fray. He fought to emulate the surging warriors, and poured his heart and soul into his song, feeling the zenblade come alive in his hands and seeing the armorsilk on his forearms shine with brilliance.

He tore through his opponents, and he heard another song join his own. Then he was fighting among them, and for the first time he realized who they were.

With wonder Miro recognized Bladesinger Porlen and
Bladesinger
Huron Gower, men he’d seen fall in the war against the
primate
. Runes glowed on their skin as their fiery blades tore through the revenants. They were indomitable, agile, as fast as a bird in flight; Miro’s movements were slow and clumsy in
comparison
. The skills of these warriors, their lifetime of training and fighting, had combined with the lore of the Akari to create warriors beyond compare.

The revenants still fought on; this enemy wouldn’t break—they would only stop when every last one was fallen. Yet Altura’s dead heroes broke them the way a scythe cuts through wheat, dispatching them in numbers; even the horde couldn’t touch this foe.

Then Miro heard a strange whirring sound overhead.

Looking up, he saw an incredible sight. The sky was full of
dirigibles
, hundreds of them clouding the sun as they shot
overhead
. Orbs rained down from their high sides, detonating one after the other, sending bursts of flame rolling through the alleys of Sarostar’s western quarter, wiping out the surging horde, destroying revenants in numbers.

The Louan dirigible pilots, clean and sparkling in their blue uniforms, leaned out to call out to the defenders as they sped past. “The Legion is behind us! The Legion is coming!”

Taking heart, all of the defenders on the bridges surged forward to leap back into the fray. Miro roared with triumph as he cut down his enemies, and then, with a surge of joy, he realized something.

For the first time since the landing on the beaches, Miro had to search for enemies.

A knot of revenants countercharged, blocking the way forward, but then two tall black figures charged into their midst. Monsters of metal and cloth, with a thin red slit for eyes, for once they were fighting on the same side as Miro. A flail curled around a revenant, tearing it to pieces as a sword as dark as night stabbed through another. Lurching and twisting, the two Imperial avengers smashed through the cluster of enemy resistance.

Suddenly there were Tingarans in purple fighting side by side with men in green.

Pushing forward as the hail of orbs broke the horde into smaller groups, more avengers came to take the battle directly to the
enemy’s
heart. Miro searched for opponents, but the attack was too much for the enemy; the last knot broke in a burst of red liquid, and then there were no more revenants to be seen.

Miro jumped up on top of a wall and climbed to a storehouse roof. Gazing out, he saw the dirigibles and Altura’s heroes head
farther
out until they were past the city, and then past the rubble of the fallen wall. The wedge of glowing swords moved farther out, heading toward the forest, and then they were gone from sight
altogether
.

Miro felt tears running down his cheeks as he saw the dirigibles circle back toward Sarostar.

Sarostar, the city of the nine bridges, had made it through.

The Louans had come. The Tingarans had come.

As high lord, Miro’s duty was to protect his people, to keep them safe from enemies. He’d known the enemy was coming, and he’d fought beyond all endurance.

Miro slumped down, falling to his knees on the storehouse roof, and his zenblade fell out of his hands; his armorsilk went dark.

Altura had survived.

39

With renewed vigor the allies scoured the land. And this time, no one died. Altura’s fallen heroes hunted down the last of the
necromancers
and revenants until there were no more to be found. At the end, with Ella’s help, the energy left the warriors’ bodies, the runes faded, and then they were at peace again.

Ella ensured every last man was buried once more with honor. Word spread, and soon everyone knew it was Ella who, with High Enchanter Merlon’s help, had brought back the bladesingers to
fight aga
in.

Ignoring their stares and murmurs, Ella searched for Miro. She went to the palace first and found Amber. After a brief embrace, Amber directed her to the city gardens, near the river.

Ella finally found her brother talking with a Louan artificer at the place where many of the pilots had chosen to set their dirig
ibles dow
n.

Miro had his mouth open, an expression of consternation on his face, but whatever he’d been about to say, he stopped when he saw his sister.

“Ella,” he said.

Ella pulled him close and held him hard. “You did it,” she
whispered
into his ear. She felt wetness on her cheeks and, holding him back, she saw the glint of moisture in his eyes.

“You did it too,” Miro said.

“No, Miro,” Ella said, “it was you.”

“We lost so many,” Miro whispered.

“I heard about Beorn,” Ella said. “I’m sorry. He was a goo
d man
.”

“The very best,” said Miro. He coughed and turned away,
gathering
himself before returning to his sister.

“So much destruction,” said Ella, looking over the city.

“But we’ll rebuild. We evacuated the free cities, and we’ll rebuild Castlemere and Schalberg. It’ll take a long time, but we’ll get there.”

“You’ll do it.” Ella nodded.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though,” Miro said, “and I’m still waiting to find out.” He turned to the short middle-aged Louan woman standing nearby, and his puzzled expression returned. “Artificer Touana, why did you come?”

“Why did we come?” Touana looked confused, glancing at each of them in turn. “I don’t understand. We received your gilden, and we rushed your order through.”

“Gilden?” Miro said. “What gilden?”

“Your agent brought it to us. What was his name . . . ? He was from the free cities. A strange name. Hermen, yes that’s it. Hermen Tosch.”

Ella stared at the Louan artificer. “What did you just say?”

“Hermen Tosch brought your gilden. Quite a lot of it.”

Ella thought about her last words with the trader. Hermen had come through for them. He’d given up the wealth he’d taken a
lifetime
to accumulate, and he wasn’t even here for her to thank him.

Miro smiled as he glanced at Ella. “You have some good friends.”

“Bartolo,” Ella suddenly said. “How is he?”

“Grumbling,” said Miro. “Angry that he missed the last of the fighting.”

“Sounds like Bartolo.”

“I’m going to head back to the palace. Are you coming?”

“No,” Ella said. “I think I need some time to myself.”

“I understand. Don’t be too long. The emperor’s going to be here soon, and I’m sure he’s anxious to see you.”

Ella nodded and kissed Miro’s cheek before leaving him behind. She walked through the city and crossed Singer’s Bridge, her path taking her to the partly destroyed western quarter.

The inhabitants of Sarostar were returning in a steady stream, soldiers and civilians alike working together to pick through the bodies, some searching for loved ones and others piling revenants onto burning pyres. The battlefield was the worst, littered with
bodies
, but at least there were more enemy dead than allied soldiers: most of the fallen defenders had already been taken away.

Ella moved through the fallen, wishing she’d done more, sooner. Soldiers and citizens bowed their heads to her as she walked, but she wished they wouldn’t. All of the fallen had parents and children, brothers and sisters. They would remember this day forever.

Then Ella saw a small body, incongruous among so many
bigger
corpses. Her heart skipped a beat as she rushed forward.

Ella knelt by the little woman, heedless of the mud and blood, and for a moment she could only put her hand to her mouth and stare.

Layla’s small features made her look more childlike than ever before, yet her ruddy skin was now a sickly shade of yellow-white. Red liquid pooled beneath her body, mingling with the mud. Ella wanted her to look peaceful, but she didn’t. She looked as if she’d died in pain.

Ella looked down at Layla’s eyes, open and sightless, and as she closed the lids, she fought back a sob. She smoothed the hair back from Layla’s brow.

Ella picked Layla up in her arms and stood. The Dunfolk
healer’s
body was so light, it was as if the shell she was now had lost weight when life left her.

As Ella headed back to Sarostar with Layla clutched to her breast, she avoided looking at the deep wound across Layla’s
abdomen
. Her friend deserved better than to die on the battlefield, on the very doorstep to the forest home she loved.

Ella was dimly aware of night closing in as she climbed a bridge and walked through the city. Lights came on at some of the
windows
, but still Ella walked, the load nearly weightless in her arms, her footsteps carrying her toward the Crystal Palace.

A tall bearded man in loose black clothing met her outside
the gat
es.

Ilathor looked at the small body in Ella’s arms before meeting Ella’s eyes. “Ella,” he said gently, “she’s dead.”

“No,” Ella said, “she can’t be.”

“Let me take her from you . . .”

“No!”

Ilathor’s arms dropped at his sides. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Please go,” Ella said.

Ilathor sighed. “Just remember,” he said, “I came.”

Ella nodded blankly, and Ilathor walked away, leaving her
holding
Layla’s body in her arms.

Ella had no plan, and she wondered what to do. The palace wasn’t Layla’s home. She should be with her people.

Ella left the Crystal Palace behind and walked through the city’s northern quarter, finally seeing trees up ahead. She picked a path into the forest, moving deeper into the trees.

Suddenly, there was a little man standing in front of her. His features were wizened with age, and his limbs were scrawny.

The Tartana of the Dunfolk regarded Ella with sorrow.

“Leave her with us,” he said.

Ella saw more Dunfolk emerge from the trees. The small figures came forward and took Layla from Ella’s reluctant arms. As they vanished back into the forest, Ella realized she would never see her friend again. The Tartana came forward to take Ella’s hand.

“Why did she have to die?” Ella said. She struggled to hold back the tears.

“She made a choice to stand with you. Many of my people did not. You must honor her choice. She is now with the Eternal.”

“With the Eternal?” Ella cried. “What does that even mean? Show me the Eternal. Where is he—or she or it? Show me!”

“Layla touched the world with her spirit, and now her spirit will rejoin the earth. Miss her, yes. But please do not cry for her. Remember her with a smile.” The Tartana grinned. “I knew Layla. She would like that.”

“Must it be so hard?” Ella didn’t know exactly what she was referring to.

“I know you, Ella, and I know the Eternal works within you, whether you realize it or not. You will continue your struggle because the world is out of balance. You can draw on that force whenever you feel lost or without courage. Trust in the Eternal, and you will have the strength to go on. Now, it is time for you to return to your people. We will bury her under a tree, and whenever you want, you can come to Loralayalana to speak
with he
r.”

Emotion threatened to overwhelm Ella again, but she pushed it down. “I want to speak with her now,” she whispered.

“Before you can, the balance in the world must be restored. I see something in you telling me it will be you who plays a defining role in the new order to come. Go, Ella. Remember Layla with a smile. Fight for the life she died to protect.”

Miro sat on the bed beside Tomas, watching the child sleep. He found he kept touching his son to see if he was real. Perhaps he was also reminding himself he was still alive. He looked up and saw Amber close the door behind her.

“How are you?” Amber murmured.

“Shh,” Miro said, looking down at the child. “He’s sleeping.”

“Miro, listen to me. You have to grieve. Beorn was by your side since the beginning. He was the first officer to follow you after the defeat at Ralanast. He stood by your side as you took command at Mornhaven. He helped you liberate Halaran, and he was the first man to call you high lord.”

Miro turned red eyes on Amber. “I am grieving. Can’t you tell?”

“Please, husband, don’t let this struggle change you. I’m your wife. I see all sides of you. I know you better than anyone,
particularly
those men who worship you, seeing you at the front of every battle.”

Miro opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He tried to cry but couldn’t. Amber held him close as he thought about all the men he’d lost—so many it made the war against the primate pale in comparison. He thought about the fear that had been so constant he couldn’t, even now, let it go. At the very end, he knew he’d given up. If Bartolo hadn’t fallen and Shani hadn’t needed his help, he knew he would have killed revenants until he fell under the weight of their numbers.

Miro tried, but he couldn’t let the tears come. Instead, he drew in a long, shaking breath.

“Come on,” Amber said, pulling him up. “Tomorrow we’ll give Beorn the service he deserves. The emperor is here and he wants to see you.”

As Amber led Miro away from Tomas’s room Miro tried to ignore her eyes. “The Veznans,” he said, “how did you get them
to come
?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Amber said. “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

Miro nodded, but his mind was already whirling once more. He pulled away from Amber when he saw an enchantress, a woman in a green silk dress.

“High Lord?” she said when he touched her shoulder.

Miro gave her an instruction. “The green light,” he said. “It’s time to stop the signal.”

“At once.” The enchantress nodded and sped away.

Miro put on his high lord’s face, and he went out to greet the emperor.