The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (30 page)

40

As the first evening stars sparkled high above Sarostar, the citizens turned out to give homage to the fallen. Carrying candles, the city folk walked in groups to stand together on the nine bridges, now scrubbed clean, the smears of red gone. Parents clutched children close, and husbands and wives held hands. The lights of the
Crystal
Palace began their evening display of colors, and the fountains shot high into the air, water reflecting the shimmering colors as it
tumbled
back to the ground.

Where riverboats once filled the green waters of the Sarsen, the river that wound through Sarostar’s heart now became filled with rafts. The wooden platforms drifted ponderously through the city before the current took them south, where the river would
eventually
empty into the Great Western Ocean. A fallen defender lay on his back on each raft, a wreath of flowers clutched to his—or her—bosom, and all were sent on their final journey in this way, whether Alturan, Halrana, Hazaran, or Veznan.

Miro spoke, and afterward he never remembered the words he said. He only remembered his people shedding tears for the fallen, their eyes raised heavenward in gratitude to know they were alive.

As Amber took Miro’s hand and led her husband back to the Crystal Palace, a man called out from the crowd.

“Thank you, High Lord.”

Miro nodded to the man as words failed him. More calls came down from the bridges, and then a sigh rose from the common people, who wept even as they celebrated the survival of their home.

“Remember this moment,” Amber said.

That night, Miro and Killian assembled a hasty war conference at the Crystal Palace. With the rulers of four houses present, as well as the emperor, it was time to seek answers to grave questions and make important decisions about the future.

The biggest questions of all remained unanswered. Where was Sentar Scythran? Was the war over?

Ilathor and Jehral debated with Miro and Tiesto. Touana looked on with calculating eyes but said little. Grigori of Vezna looked repentant. Killian tried to keep the dialogue productive. Ella was conspicuously absent.

As the arguments became heated, Miro finally went out to the fountains to think. Looking east, in the direction of Halaran and Tingara, he felt the loss of Beorn more fiercely than ever.
Drawing
his gaze, the three-legged tower nearby loomed over the Crystal
Palace
. The pyramid of quartz at the apex was now dark.

Miro saw Killian, dressed in tailored clothing of black and gray, leave the palace and come to join him outside.

“Emperor, I must thank you again for coming,” Miro said.

“We came as quickly as we could.”

“The men took heart from your arrival. I don’t think we would have won the day without the news.”

“Hearts win battles, as well as minds,” Killian said.

Miro turned to regard the new emperor. He didn’t know Killian well, but there was something likeable about him. He appeared to possess a store of wisdom despite his youth. Miro then realized the two of them were probably close to the same age. With all he’d seen, Miro felt like an old man.

Thinking about old men made Miro think about Evrin.

“I’m sorry about Evrin,” Miro said.

“He gave himself that we all might live. I now believe it was his plan all along . . . to sacrifice himself to kill Sentar. I also believe he only showed a part of himself to the world, to us, and I think he never lost the guilt he felt. How is Ella?”

“Bad,” Miro said. “We both lost loved ones. Have you spoken with her?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

Miro and Killian looked to the east, in the direction of
Tingara
together. “We should expect the worst,” Miro said. “There were
supposed
to be three of these pirate kings, and we only fought two. There was no great store of essence. Sentar himself was absent. We haven’t seen the end of it.”

“I agree,” Killian said. “With most of the Legion absent from Seranthia . . .”

Killian suddenly stopped speaking, and both men went rigid. The signal tower in front of them began to glow, the prism
sparking
from within until light radiated outward, shining with a bright, unquestionably fierce light.

Miro drew in a sharp breath. How could it be?

Someone was requesting help.

“Lord of the Sky,” Miro whispered.

“The color . . . is it . . . ?”

“Yes. They’re under attack.”

The prism was white, the color of the Assembly of Templars. The color could only mean one thing: Aynar was under attack. Stonewater would be the next to fall.

“Could it be a ruse?” Killian asked.

“Only someone at Stonewater can put out the signal from the key reflector, and only the primate knows the activation sequence. For it to be false, either the primate would have to be turned, or someone with my sister’s knowledge of lore would have to break the coded sequence.”

“What do you think?” Killian said.

Miro let out a breath. “It’s real. Evrin always told us to be wary of Sentar’s cunning. And you, Emperor?”

“It can only mean one thing: he split his forces,” Killian said. “This whole time we’ve been wondering whether it will be the east or the west, and in the end . . . it’s both.”

“Scratch it, we’ve only faced part of his army.” Miro cursed. “Can Stonewater hold for long?”

“There’s a division of the Legion there, as well as a few thousand templars.”

“You know that won’t hold them.”

“No,” Killian said. “It won’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Miro said. “You’ve come here to help, and now it’s the east that needs us.”

“I have no regrets. I believe that anywhere the Empire is breached, we must go to help. When we leave, will you come?”

“Our forces aren’t what they once were,” Miro said, “but of course we’ll come. No one should face this enemy alone.”

“We must leave immediately.”

“I know.”

Killian stared up at the white light. “The Lord of the Night is at Stonewater.”

Early the next morning, the Crystal Palace thronged with activity as plans were made for the journey east. The open ground outside the palace became trodden with hooves and soldier’s boots; the
officers
and quartermasters huddled together making plans for food,
shelter
, and travel routes.

Miro watched as two groups began to form. They’d decided to split their forces. The Hazarans were by far the fastest and would ride for the Gap of Garl and Aynar. If Stonewater was fallen by the time they arrived—and that was likely, for the journey was long—th
en the
Hazarans would harass and slow the enemy, delaying them until
the secon
d, slower force could make it across Halaran and through the Azure Plains to Seranthia. This second force, comprised of
Tingarans
, Louans, Halrana, Alturans, and Veznans, would
hopefully
reach Seranthia in time to boost the city’s weakened defenses. Wherever he was, Sentar Scythran would be eager to reach the
Sentinel
.

“You know what you must do?” Killian appeared uncomfortable addressing the kalif of the Hazarans.

“Yes, Emperor. We will do our utmost to delay them until your arrival in Seranthia.”

“I thank you, Kalif. The whole of the Empire is counting
on you
.”

Ilathor nodded to Killian before walking over to speak with Jehral and a young Hazaran woman, finally mounting up on their waiting horses without another word.

Killian’s face was white, and Miro could only imagine what he must be thinking. It wasn’t a long journey from Stonewater to
Seranthia
, and they’d all seen how difficult it was to slow this
particular
enemy. Killian had traveled through the portal to the wasted land of Shar. He knew what would happen to Merralya if Sentar claimed victory against the Empire and brought his brother Evermen home.

Miro heard the rising clatter of approaching hooves, and men drew out of the way as a figure on horseback rode up. Miro was relieved when he saw Ella, her face set in a familiar mask of
determination
, but he could see that underneath she was having difficulty holding the mask in place.

Ella wore her green silk dress and held the reins of a second horse in her left hand. She looked ready to travel, with packed
saddlebags
and a knapsack on her shoulder.

“Ella,” Miro said, walking up to stand beside her horse. “What are you doing?”

“The Hazarans will need help if they’re going to delay Sentar’s army for as long as we need them to. I’m lighter than any of the desert men, and I can ride faster, particularly if I change horses. The Akari will have seen Altura’s signal, and Ada, Dain Barden’s
daughter
, promised me she would convince her father to come. Their army should now be somewhere between Rosarva and Ralanast. I’m going to find the Akari, wherever they are, and divert them to Aynar so they can help the kalif and his men.”

As Ella spoke, Miro saw Killian looking up at her with
incredible
intensity. By contrast, Ella avoided meeting Killian’s gaze altogether, keeping her green eyes firmly on Miro.

Miro hesitated. “It’s a good idea. But not on your own, Ella. Please—take someone with you.”

“No one can ride as fast as I can,” Ella said stubbornly.

“That’s not true,” a female voice said.

Turning to see who it was, Miro grinned as Shani stepped
forward
. “I can ride just as well as you can, and Bartolo’s healing fine. I’m coming with you.”

Ella opened her mouth and then closed it again, before smiling. “All right. You can come. Provided you can keep up.”

“I’ll have you know . . .” Shani began.

“All right,” Miro forestalled her. “Three groups. Ella and Shani will try to find the Dain’s forces and divert the Akari. The Hazarans will do what they can to slow the revenants. The rest of us will make all speed to Tingara. We know Sentar’s eventual goal is Seranthia. We can’t afford long good-byes, but our hopes go with all of you.”

41

Time passed, days turning to weeks and the warmth of spring
shifting
to the long days and hot nights of summer. Across the Empire, fields ripened and careworn farmers prepared for the
harvest
; young birds grew to take their first flight; and men marched day and night, everyone heading east, always east.

With summer came scents, some sweet and filling the senses with delight, others rancid and repellent.

In Altura, with the last of the revenants incinerated, the scent of smoke and burning flesh finally came to be replaced with the fresh fragrance of summer flowers. A new odor wafted
throughout
Sarostar’s
western quarter: the smell of wood shavings and fresh mortar. Soon, with time, the free cities Castlemere and Schalberg would see the same transformation.

As always, in the icy north there was no smell at all. But with the army of Akari warriors heading south, the summer heat would begin to take its toll. The Dain’s necromancers were busy.

In Petrya’s north the Hazaran riders’ noses were filled with dust and dung; with their horses traveling night and day there was little else to fill the senses.

In Seranthia the scent was fear. Stonewater must have fallen by now, and Aynar, the land of the templars, with it. Those who’d disbelieved the Alturan high lord’s words now said they’d believed him all along. The shadow of night hung over the Imperial capital.

Fearful eyes looked out at the walled tower standing on the tiny island barring Seranthia’s harbor. The Sentinel waited.

At Stonewater, the spiritual heart of the Empire, a man in elegant black clothing clutched the stone wall at his side as he fought the buffeting winds to climb the last few steps to the summit of the mountain.

He scowled as he took in the worn decorations where once intricate designs displayed scenes of beauty. The steps themselves were rounded and broken; in his day the marble had been crisp and lustrous. Soon, he vowed, he would restore Stonewater to its
former glo
ry.

Finally, Sentar Scythran reached the summit, seeing the circular flat space crowning the mountain. He walked forward to stand in the middle of the plateau, high above it all. His crimson hair shone in the light, but the sun touched neither his ice-blue eyes, nor the streaks of black hair at his temples. He inhaled deeply and felt his spirits soar for the first time since he’d returned to Merralya.

The memories came flooding back. He remembered
standing
with his brothers, formed in a circle in this very place as they
discussed
the war with the humans. Pyrax Pohlen had suggested guarding the knowledge kept here with a barrier. Sentar spoke out against the idea, to suggest that the humans could win the war filled him with disgust at his brothers’ cowardice. Yet Varian Vitrix agreed with Pyrax’s suggestion: the vault, the temple-like chamber at the top of the mountain, kept many of their secrets. They took a vote, and the Pinnacle came into being.

The Lord of the Night now glared at the ruins of the vault, just a pile of fallen stones. Now the greatest works of lore would never be remembered.

But when Sentar Scythran brought his brothers back, things would be as they once were. They would restore Stonewater: the slaves would work night and day until it was more glorious than ever before. Together they would build new wonders, and with breeding humans kept captive, supplies of essence would be guaranteed. Once more they would open the way to new worlds, but this time it wouldn’t be to go into forced exile. The next time they entered another world, they would be ready. Merralya would fall, and then world after world would follow. Perhaps another, more compliant race would come to provide fuel for the war machine. Nothing would stand in their way.

Sentar felt determination settle over him as he stood high on the summit of the solitary mountain that was Stonewater. He gazed out at the town of Salvation, a place he’d decided to leave standing. Most of Aynar’s population had fled north, but many stayed to bask in his glory. Sentar now had priests and templars at his beck and call, and a few demonstrations of his power ensured everyone knew who their god was. He had taken back his rightful place.

In time, he would work to ensure only the dead were allowed to serve. But for now, it felt good to be loved.

His eyes again flickered to the ruined structure that had once stood at the summit of the mountain. Sentar’s scowl slowly faded, for when his brothers returned, they would build as well as destroy. They would erect vats in every city of the Empire; they would breed the humans in numbers, and they would have a constant supply of essence and an endless source of revenant slaves.

He’d learned from Shar. Never again would he be in a position where there were no more bodies for the vats.

As he slowly turned and drank in the view, Sentar caught sight of approaching figures, climbing up the last few steps to meet him. An older necromancer in gray robes led four templars, with two tall revenants bringing up the rear.

Sentar smiled and walked over to the templars.

“Kneel,” Sentar commanded.

Three of the templars, all in white robes decorated with a black sun, fell to their knees. An older templar whose robe was lined with gold trim remained standing.

“Why do you not kneel?” Sentar inquired.

“I am the primate. And you are no god,” the plump old man said.

“Then why are you primate?” Sentar sneered. “I am the Lord of the Night! Who do you worship now?”

“We don’t worship; we ponder. We teach. The force that makes us know right from wrong doesn’t come from outside—it comes from within. It is something we humans have developed, and
continually
strive to understand.” The primate’s eyes saddened. “It took us too long to learn this.”

Sentar lunged forward and gripped the primate around the neck. The three templars whimpered and cowered, but even with Sentar’s hand on his throat, the primate simply rested his weary gaze on Sentar.

“You had your chance,” Sentar said to the primate. “Renrik,” he spoke to the necromancer. “Toss your knife at the feet of our three friends here.”

A short dagger clattered to the stone. The three kneeling templars looked down at the knife with fear before returning their wide-eyed gaze to Sentar.

“Now, there’s just one knife, and there are three of you,” said Sentar, glancing down at them with his hand still clutching the old primate’s throat. “Whoever ends this one’s life first can live and serve me. The rest of you . . . well, you’ll see.”

The three kneeling men exchanged glances, and then there was a mad scramble as they fought each other for the knife. The youngest of the three elbowed one of his fellows in the face and then punched the other in the gut. He grabbed the knife and from a kneeling position, he thrust into the belly of the struggling old man in Sentar’s grip.

Blood spurted out from the wound, staining the young
templar’s
white robe. The red liquid slid off Sentar’s own clothing, unable to cling to the fabric.

“Now, use the knife on your fellows,” Sentar said as the primate writhed and moaned. “Be still!” he said to the dying old man, whose twitching was making it difficult for Sentar to maintain his hold.

After another scrabble filled with grunts and moans, the other two templars were dead. With a heave of his lore-enhanced muscles, Sentar lifted the wriggling primate higher and then tossed him into the air.

Renrik had seen this all before, but the young templar was
awestruck
as Sentar chanted and called forth elemental air from his hands, whirling the primate above all of their heads. Finally Sentar threw him sailing over the edge of Stonewater’s summit, tossing the old man from the mountain without bothering to watch him fall.

“Who am I?” Sentar demanded as he dusted his hands.

The young man in white robes bowed down to the ground in a satisfying way as the dripping knife fell out of his hands. “You . . . you are the Lord of the Night.”

“That is correct. What am I?”

“A god.”

“Excellent. You can live. Your first order is to clean up th
is m
ess.”

“At once, Nightlord.”

“Renrik, come with me.”

The exercising of his power gave Sentar a sense of satisfaction, banishing his disgust at the sight of what the humans had done to Stonewater with their misuse and neglect. Sentar walked to the border of the plateau and felt the wind tear at his shirt as Renrik joined him at the edge.

“Do you think they fell for it, Renrik?” Sentar asked the leader of his necromancers. Sentar smiled; he was in a good mood. “Are they leaping around this Empire with no plan of where to
go nex
t?”

Renrik played with the circle of bones around his neck as he spoke. “Who can say, Nightlord?” Renrik said. “We’ll only know when we reach Seranthia.”

“Divide and conquer,” Sentar said. “Divide, and divide again. Splitting our fleet was as a stroke of genius, was it not?”

“It was, Nightlord.”

Rejoining the second naval force had also given Sentar a chance to recover from his battle with Evrin Evenstar, though he didn’t say it. The voyage had been long, but it had been time used well. He was ready.

Sentar had built lore into his ships that kept them cool and prevented the revenants from rotting away, even as they sailed past the Hazara Desert and into the Gulf of Aynar. Unchallenged, he’d disembarked the revenants close to Stonewater while the fleet, now much swifter with loads emptied, set sail again for Seranthia.

There hadn’t been much of a defense mounted at Salvation or Stonewater. The templars and Tingaran legionnaires had fought with desperation, but in the end Sentar was victorious, as he knew he would be.

“We now enter the next phase of the plan,” Sentar said. “I want you to lead the army—all of the warriors we have here at
Stonewater
—north. Take the king of Nexos, Gorain, with you. He is a capable general and a strong fighter; few can stand in his way. Your goal is to draw them to you. Lay siege to Seranthia. Tie them up. While we’ve been fighting here, the fleet will have rounded the cape and will now be awaiting my arrival on the eastern coast. I will defeat their navy, open the portal, and bring my brothers home. This emperor will have to choose between defending his capital and trying to prevent me reaching the Sentinel. The humans are nearly done as a force. Only we will prevail.”

“As you will it, Nightlord.” Renrik bowed.

Sentar Scythran once more gazed out at his new lands. He would wipe the human-built city of Seranthia from the face of the world, but Stonewater would form the heart of the new order.

The thought of standing in this very place once more with his brother Evermen filled him with excitement. They would
acknowledge
that Sentar had been right all along. They would know they had been correct to put their trust in him to guard the portal. Sentar would be supreme, even among his kind.

“One force for the west,” Sentar said. “By now, Altura is
conquered
. One force for the east, led by you, my trusted Renrik. A third and final force for Tingara’s harbor and the portal, led by me. Divide, and divide again.”

“Yes, Nightlord.”

“Renrik, I must ask you: Will the Akari, who were once my people, join in the fight against me? Or will they serve again?”

“They will side with the Empire, Nightlord.”

Sentar frowned. “Against me? Even in the face of inevitable defeat?”

“Those necromancers who would follow are already with us. But I have a plan, Nightlord. There is one in their number I have turned to our cause. The Akari will be neutralized.”

“Excellent, Renrik. You are ahead of me for a change.”

“It is my will to serve.” Renrik bowed.

“And Renrik?” Sentar frowned down at the plain. “Those
shining
lights offend my senses. Send some men to those towers; knock them all down.”

“I will see it done.”