Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One)

by James Maxwell

  Ella prayed, perhaps this leader would save her.

  "We hobbled them a short way away, the blood was making them restless. Rashine here was just showing me his swordsmanship."

  Jehral laughed, "This should be good. Continue."

  The big man harrumphed and lifted his arms above his head again. Ella closed her eyes, willing it to be over quickly. She thought it was sad to be ending it here, like this, in the middle of the desert. No one would ever know what had come of her.

  Rashine grunted as the sword swung down. It hit the green silk robe of the High Enchantress’s dress and bounced off like it had smashed into stone. Sparks sprayed in all directions. A noise like the crack of a whip resounded through the hills. Rashine howled in pain, nursing his wrist.

  "Interesting," said Jehral. "It is a strange garment she wears. Who are you, woman?" he addressed Ella.

  "I… I am…" Ella thought furiously. How could she convince them to spare her life?

  "No matter, Rashine remove the garment and we will give it to the Prince as a gift. I will wager your sword will be sharp enough then."

  Ella slowly rose to a standing position. It took all her courage. She looked Jehral in the eye, and summoned her most commanding voice, "I am High Enchantress Evora Guinestor, Loremistress of Altura. I demand you release me, lest the might of Altura fall against you and your people."

  Jehral simply looked at her in interest. "High Enchantress? Interesting. The Prince may have use for you."

  Rashine growled, "But..."

  Jehral held up his hand, "No, Rashine. We will see what the Prince has to say about this one."

  He reached out a hand. Not knowing what to do, Ella took it. With an iron grip he swung her up behind him onto the back of the horse. The animal snorted and stirred, but Jehral patted the horse’s neck, calming it.

  From her new height, Ella could see the gruesome scene that had once been the soldiers of Altura. She saw a bladesinger, his neck sliced open and a horrified expression on his face. The body of Evora Guinestor couldn’t be seen; the templars had lived up to their promise of giving her body to the Petryans.

  Ella apologised silently for using the woman’s name. She vowed to get revenge on those who had wreaked such terrible carnage on her people.

  As the strange men rode away from Petrya and into the emptiness of the desert, Ella took stock of herself. She carried her shoulder bag still, she had the Lexicon. She had her scrill, and her vial of essence.

  But for how long?

  ~

  AS they rode, Ella realised how the High Enchantress had managed to keep much of her composure in the stifling desert heat — there was some property of the runes on her robe that greatly tempered the scorching sun. Even so, it was with pain and thirst that she bumped along on the horse behind the silent desert warrior.

  A few hours into their journey, he handed her a water bottle. She drank greedily, then handed the bottle back to him. He shook the bottle and chuckled, shaking his head. Taking a tiny sip, he returned it to his saddlebags.

  Ella decided she needed to act with strength and determination to pass herself off as the High Enchantress. She straightened her back and finally found the rhythm of the horse’s motion, raising and lowering her hips with its body. Jehral grunted an acknowledgement; she thought it might have been approval.

  "Who is this Prince?" she asked.

  "He is the leader of our group. His father is a great noble. We are shalaran, fighting men, unmarried warriors. We protect the borders of our lands from the other tribes, and from people like your green soldiers, like the warriors in white."

  "How long do we travel?"

  "Half of the sun’s passage across the sky."

  "Your Prince, will he let me go."

  Jehral laughed. "No," he said.

  There was no further conversation.

  The horses ploughed through the dunes, the sand tossed into the air like foam. Ella could now see nothing but white sand in all directions. She felt like she was adrift on an endless white sea, the sandy crests and troughs frozen in time, the waves perpetually on the point of breaking.

  She wondered how they managed to find their way — they didn’t seem to use anything like a seeker. Then she saw Jehral looking at the sun’s position in the sky, then take a bearing from a stony peak in the far distance. He altered their course slightly.

  The heat was oppressive. She longed for water. Any moisture that might once have been in her mouth was long gone. A wind started to blow, the air hot and dry. It took the tops off the dunes in a line of white spray, blowing the fine sand through the air. Ella was forced to cover her mouth with a corner of the robe after it kept entering her mouth, getting into her eyes. She raised the robe’s green hood over her head and used it to protect herself.

  After a time, they started to encounter strange formations of rock, sprouting out of the desert like bizarre plants from soil. Some of the shapes reminded her of mushrooms, others of animals or trees. One had an incredible mass balanced on a tiny stem. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t broken.

  Jehral handed her the bottle again. "Finish it," he said. "We are almost there. If the Prince orders you killed, you might as well be well-watered."

  Ella eagerly accepted the bottle and drained its contents. There were only about two mouthfuls but she instantly felt rejuvenated.

  They rounded a long formation of stratified rock, and suddenly Ella could see signs of settlement.

  There were perhaps a score of black tents, each nearly indistinguishable from the other. Ella could make out the figures of men moving about. One of the tents in the middle was perhaps twice the size of any other, it had gold cord entwined about its ropes and was fronted with what appeared to be a carpet.

  Surely this couldn’t be the residence of a Prince? Perhaps they were at a way stop to gather water?

  "We have arrived," Jehral said.

  The six warriors straightened in their saddles and slowed their pace to a prancing canter. The desert men in the camp looked up as the newcomers approached. Ella saw that some had dark eyes, but others’ eyes were blue or green. Their skin was a universal dark bronze, smooth and unlined. They all wore billowing black clothing above high boots. They were all men.

  The other riders peeled off to the sides as they rode in, answering greetings from their friends. Rashine stayed with them.

  Jehral came to a halt outside the largest tent. He leapt lightly to the ground and then lifted Ella from the waist, setting her down with surprising gentleness.

  "Wait here," Jehral said. "I will see the Prince now."

  "I will guard her," said Rashine.

  "That won’t be necessary," said Jehral. "Where can she go?"

  Rashine scowled. "She has powers. I will guard her."

  Jehral sighed but didn’t argue. Rashine took Ella by the arm, gripping her, hard. She kept a smooth face, not showing any sign of discomfort.

  Two guards at the door of the tent moved the sides apart as Jehral approached. He nodded at them and entered.

  Ella waited outside, ignoring Rashine. There was something about the big man she didn’t like — he seemed to have some kind of vendetta for her. Perhaps he had been slighted when she hadn’t gracefully allowed him to remove her head from her shoulders.

  She tried to listen intently but the tent muffled the sound. Looking around, she saw the camp had been carefully chosen, situated away from the wind in a position where it would receive the most shade from the sun’s rays.

  Some of the warriors looked at her curiously as they passed. Her shimmering green silk robe covered with silver runes certainly drew attention. She felt an unfamiliar tugging and turning she found Rashine rubbing her pale blonde hair between his fingers, looking at it curiously.

  "Remove your touch," Ella said in an ominous voice.

  Rashine jumped and plucked his hand away, and then frowned when he realised he had shown weakness.

  "What is in this bag?" he pointed to her satchel.

>   Ella shrugged, "The tools of my trade."

  ~

  JEHRAL strode out of the tent, looking at Rashine, and then at Ella. "The Prince, he will see you now."

  "She is dangerous," said Rashine.

  "Are you saying the Prince can not take care of himself?" Jehral said.

  Rashine grunted. "Take her bag."

  Ella held her breath. The Alturan Lexicon was in her satchel. So much had been lost to recover it, and she still desperately needed to renew it. Her thoughts constantly turned to Miro, imagining his armoursilk fading as some horrific creature impaled him with its sword.

  "I’ll make sure the Prince gets it," Jehral finally said. He looked at Ella expectantly.

  Ella gave Jehral the bag, at the same time pulling away from the big man’s grip and walking towards the tent on her own. As she stepped onto the carpet she looked down. She realised that what she had taken for yellow in the weave was actually gold thread. It had been woven through the highest-quality silk, shimmering and luxurious. Ella realised it was the finest carpet, better than any she had ever seen. The material lining the ropes of the tent was also real gold. It lent a strange combination of opulence and austerity to the surroundings.

  The guards made way for her and she entered the tent.

  It was surprisingly spacious. Ella could have lifted her arms above her head and still not touched the ceiling. The interior had been divided into smaller areas. Where she stood was the largest, with more private chambers to the sides and the rear. Cushions littered the corners of the room, along with low tables. The carpets lining the floor were even finer than those outside. With a start Ella realised the light came from nightlamps, the best quality, made by Alturan enchanters.

  Ella breathed in through her nose. It was cool and comfortable. There was a pleasant odour to the air, sweet and pungent; ahead of her, she heard a strange gurgling sound. As her eyes adjusted to the soft light she saw the figure of a man leaning against some cushions, holding a piece of flexible hose to his lips. As she watched he removed the hose and exhaled a stream of blue smoke, an expression of pleasure on his face.

  His face was beardless, his skin smooth and unblemished. He wore his hair very long, past his shoulders, tied back behind his head with a golden clasp. He wore an earring of amber and gold in his left ear and around his neck was a chain of gold with a curved turquoise triangle. With a shock, Ella realised he was her age, perhaps only a year older.

  In front of him was a low table with cushions on the opposite side. He gestured. "Please, take a seat."

  Ella wasn’t sure how to respond. He was a prince after all. She touched her fingers to her lips and forehead in the Alturan manner, bowing her head.

  "It is my pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I am Evora Guinestor, High Enchantress of Altura."

  "Yes, yes. So Jehral tells me. Will you not sit down, young lady? Or are you preparing to enchant me?" he smiled.

  Blushing, Ella sank to her knees, unfamiliar with how to seat herself on the cushions. She eventually settled. The Prince simply smiled.

  He took another long draw on the hose, the bubbling sound coming from a glass vessel on the ground. He blew the smoke into the air.

  "If you were a man, I would offer you the waterpipe," he said. He then shrugged, "But you are not a man."

  Ella didn’t know how to respond.

  He looked up at her, suddenly revealing a steady, intelligent gaze and piercing eyes, half-green and half-brown. Contrasting with his smooth dark skin, it gave him an exotic appearance. He was undeniably handsome.

  "You see, women in our lands are not allowed to ride horses. They do not smoke, or curse, or fight."

  "What are they allowed to do then?"

  "They raise the family, teach the young ones, they feed and clothe us."

  "Why are you telling me this? Will you let me go?"

  He simply raised a finger. He did it with such aplomb, so used to authority was he, that Ella fell silent.

  "Your people, we know they are very quick to talk. Quick to anger. My people prefer to think long and hard before we follow a particular path. Be patient, High Enchantress Evora, there is purpose to my dialogue."

  He took another draw on the waterpipe. His chest rose, and then fell as he exhaled. He looked at her.

  "Before the decay of our culture our women had another role. They were the custodians of our lore," he looked into the distance. "We raised storms to confuse our enemies. We led them over cliffs. Our horses came thundering out of nowhere. One moment, there was nothing. The next, a thousand, ten thousand riders came out of the dust," he sighed. "But that is no more. The in-fighting amongst the tribes has seen to that. Only a few women remember, and their knowledge is fragmented. Do you understand, High Enchantress Evora?"

  "I… I think I do."

  "That is good. Your coming here, it is a sign." His eyes gleamed. His voice was compelling. "It has always been my dream to see my people united, to see us come once more to our former glory. It is no chance that brought you here. Will you help us?"

  Ella felt she was in unfamiliar waters. This man expected her to somehow rediscover their lost lore. How would such a thing be possible? There was a war going on. Her people were dying. She needed to renew the Lexicon. She needed to get away!

  "If I help you, will you let me go? Will you guide me back to my people’s lands?"

  "Yes, yes. Of course. So you will help us. Good, I am glad."

  He called out, "Haruth!"

  One of the guards poked his head inside the opening. "Yes, My Prince?"

  "I need a messenger. Someone fast. Marhaba. Send him in, quickly now."

  He turned back to Ella. She had no idea what was happening. "Now, tell me of your people."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Is it true you are ruled by one man, a High Lord?"

  "Yes. He administers our realm, along with our lords. He works closely with our High… with me. We trade our artefacts with other houses, and oversee the training and deployment of our armies."

  "Salute! May I enter, My Prince?" a voice came from outside the tent.

  "Enter," said the Prince.

  A small, wiry man entered. He had a leather thong over his head, and a patch covered one eye. It gave him a rakish appearance.

  "Marhaba, I need you to go to my father. Tell him, I need the prize. Can you remember that?"

  "Yes, My Prince. You need the prize."

  "Excellent. Thank you, Marhaba."

  The man bowed and left the tent.

  "Now, where were we?"

  The Prince continued to ask Ella question after question about Altura and the other raja. She answered him as best she could. She found that although he knew little of life outside the desert, he had a quick intelligence. He probed her about intricate elements of court life, and she found herself having to think hard in order to respond. His voice was warm. She decided she liked him. He saw things in simple terms. He was candid, and expected others to be open in turn.

  Eventually he asked her to leave.

  "Jehral will fit you with a dwelling. It will be humble compared to what you are used to, I am afraid."

  He had become quite impressed when she’d told him of the High Enchantress’s role in Altura. He seemed to think it was a form of nobility.

  "I will summon you again, Evora Guinestor."

  Ella nodded and stood, then went to the entrance of the tent, where one of the guards was holding the fabric open for her.

  "Oh, and High Enchantress?" Ella turned. "My name is Ilathor Shanti. Prince Ilathor Shanti of Tarn Teharan."

  Ella nodded again and left the tent.

  49

  With a guiding light, all obstacles can be overcome.

  — The Evermen Cycles, 16-18

  AMBER picked up a withered apple and turned it over. She thought about its juicy flesh. The sweet taste. There were two on the wooden table.

  An old woman hobbled up to the table and picked up the second apple. She ch
omped on her gums and handed a coin to the vendor.

  The same coin would have bought a dozen apples, not too long ago.

  Amber reached into her apron for a coin. She felt a tugging at her elbow. A young boy, no older than seven, stood looking at her forlornly. He held a coin in his hand.

  Sighing, she handed the boy the apple and moved on through the markets of the Poloplats.

  As she did so she looked at her hands. They were blistered and calloused. Worn like her heart. Like her spirit.

  She worked as an enchantress from an hour before dawn until sunset, and then she had a short break before she began work at the collective. This gave her just enough time to get some food for her and Igor’s supper. As a master, he was even busier than she was.

  "Amber Samson!" she heard a voice. Turning, she saw Lorna Donwright, Enchanter Corlen’s wife, standing with her two young boys. Amber frowned when she heard the name. Her name. She still wasn’t used to the change. Her expression darkened even further when she saw that Lorna carried a bag of fresh vegetables. She even had a piece of meat!

  "Lorna," she said.

  "Well, how are you? You aren’t looking too well. Are you eating properly? You and Igor are always welcome at our table, you know that."

  "I am fine, Lorna. Just fine. Just worried, that is all."

  Lorna nodded with sympathy. Somehow rather than being kind, the gesture served to further irritate Amber.

  "My Corlen, he said Igor left early today."

  "He did?" Amber said.

  "He said it was strange."

  Amber shrugged. "I have to go, Lorna," she said. She didn’t have the energy to be polite.

  She turned and left, hurrying from stall to stall, finally settling on some cabbages and two small rabbits some boys had caught.

  She knew Igor would need a meal. She didn’t know how she could hate him on one hand, and on the other she tried to do her duty by him. There was also one other unresolved matter. Something she needed to talk to him about.

  Trepidation like a stone in her stomach, she headed for home.

  ~