The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  She heard a throat clear behind her, and even as she rehearsed the words she would say, Ella smoothed her expression and turned with a smile on her face. She drew back in surprise when she saw the man who stood facing her.

  Ilathor Shanti, kalif of House Hazara, wore a costume both exotic and regal. His loose robe of black and yellow fell away at both sides, revealing a ceremonial dagger stuck into a golden belt. His hair was shorter than Ella remembered, and his sculpted beard was longer. He smiled at Ella, teeth white against his dark skin, but his burning eyes displayed emotion.

  “Ella,” Ilathor said, “I need to speak with you. Away from your brother, and away from all these other people.”

  “Please, not now,” Ella said.

  “Then when?” His brow furrowed, and his voice became firm. “When, Ella?”

  “Another time.”

  “You have said that before, and this time I will not accept it.” Ilathor shook his head, and then the anger went out of him, and he sighed. “Did you not receive my message? I have a proposition for you, if that is the correct word. I am kalif now, and I have brought my people to greatness. Agira Lahsa is becoming a city to rival any of the other houses. I can give you the life you deserve.”

  Ella covered her mouth. “Ilathor . . .”

  “Ever since I met you, I have not been able to stop thinking about you. Even amid the madness of the war, you were at the forefront of my mind. I have seen you grow, and I am awed by everything you are and everything you do.” Ella had never seen him like this; Ilathor was a stern man, and this confession must be costing him greatly.

  “Since my father died,” he continued, “I have been alone against the world. I need you. I can sense you find it hard to love, but love is a risk. The night we shared in Petrya . . . I have never experienced anything like it . . .”

  Ella looked past Ilathor’s shoulder and felt every vestige of blood drain from her face. A man in regal clothing stood behind the kalif of the desert tribes: Killian.

  Ella had never seen the expression Killian now wore. The thief from Salvation had a thousand faces. Now she was seeing him raw.

  “Is that true?” Killian asked. His eyes narrowed.

  Anguish hit her with force, like a stone dropped into her stomach, plummeting through her chest, tearing at her insides.

  Ilathor whirled as he heard Killian’s voice. Ella couldn’t register Ilathor’s reaction; her eyes were on Killian’s face.

  “I will leave you two to talk,” Ilathor said stiffly. He left without another word.

  Ella opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “Is it true?” Killian demanded. His face was close to hers. His expression was frightening.

  “Why would you care?” Ella said. “You couldn’t even make time to see me.”

  “My meeting ran over! It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “How could you vote against my brother?”

  “You’re avoiding the issue.”

  “This is more important than us!”

  Killian scowled. “What do you want from me? You want me to dedicate everything we have to Altura’s defense? There’s no guarantee they’ll make landing there. It’s the Sentinel he wants. I can’t look after you. I have to worry about the needs of all the houses. That’s what an emperor does. I can’t be seen to favor one house over another.” He shook his head, and his red locks tossed from side to side. “How could you? And now you’re asking more of me?”

  “You don’t understand,” Ella cried.

  “You’re right,” Killian said. “I don’t.”

  Miro found Ella sitting with Shani on the stairs in a secluded part of the gallery, their heads close together.

  “Ella,” he said softly.

  Ella glanced up, and Miro saw that her eyes were red. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Kalif Ilathor . . . he’s spoken to me.”

  Ella raised her voice. “About what?”

  Miro shrugged. “He wants my permission to ask for your hand.”

  Ella drew in a sharp breath. “And what did you say?”

  Miro smiled. “What do you think I said? It’s your decision to make.”

  “She doesn’t love him,” Shani said.

  Miro nodded. “Ella, I have to ask something of you, though, and if that’s the case, you aren’t going to like it.”

  “What is it?” Shani demanded.

  “Ilathor’s sailing home to Agira Lahsa tomorrow. We have yet to connect Agira Lahsa through the desert to Wondhip Pass so they can be part of our signaling system.” Miro turned his gaze on Shani. “I need Ella to go with Ilathor and see it done.”

  “Send someone else,” Shani said flatly.

  “I can’t,” Miro said. “Ella,” he implored, “we are in desperate need of allies, and Ilathor is a proud man. Now isn’t the time to refuse him. There’s next to no chance Sentar will make landing in the desert, and we need the Hazarans to agree to come to our aid in Altura. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need you to ensure Ilathor’s help. You have to go with him. You won’t have to stay long—just long enough to build the station in Agira Lahsa and continue the chain north to Wondhip Pass. You’ll also need to connect Tlaxor, Petrya’s capital. Please, will you do it—for me?”

  Shani frowned, but Ella nodded. “I understand. Of course I’ll go.”

  “Thank you,” Miro said.

  “I don’t want to spend any more time in Seranthia anyway.”

  4

  Agira Lahsa, the hidden city, was hidden no more. Ella watched as it materialized out of the hazy desert sky, rising from the sands as the swift Buchalanti ship approached.

  Ella had seen this city when it was little more than a series of blocks jutting out of the sand. Now the walls were complete, the great amphitheater rebuilt, bigger than any arena in Sarostar. An enormous archway with a tower on each side framed the paved road to the city’s entrance, splitting as it left the city, with a fork heading down to the sturdy dock and a second road wandering out into the desert.

  It was getting dark, and the palms that marked the low oases dotting the landscape around Agira Lahsa became silhouetted by crimson rays. The first stars appeared in the sky, and Ella breathed in the cool, dry air as she tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Nowhere in Merralya, not even in the icy north, were there stars like those in the Hazara Desert. They pricked the night’s curtain in ones and twos, and then in their hundreds. Soon a swath of constellations swept from one horizon to the other.

  Ilathor joined Ella at the rail. “Beautiful, is it not?”

  The six-week journey from Seranthia had been smooth, with fair weather and pleasant conversation. Ilathor never finished the proposal Killian’s arrival had interrupted, and it hung in the air between them. Ella had departed Seranthia swiftly and didn’t see Killian again.

  If he’d tried to find out at all, Killian would know she’d left in Ilathor’s company.

  “Glorious,” Ella said in response to Ilathor. She knew she couldn’t do anything to endanger the kalif’s help. If Altura called, the desert warriors’ speed on horseback meant they would be able to respond to a distress call faster than anyone except the Alturans and Halrana who would already be there.

  As the Buchalanti ship tied up at the dock, Ella again examined Agira Lahsa, awed at how much it had changed since the last time she’d seen it. Spires and minarets clustered around a series of domes, structures as exotic as the desert men themselves. She squinted against the failing light and saw a band of riders coming down from the city gate, all the figures perfectly spaced from one another.

  The riders sped down to the dock and drew up, the group halting as a single Hazaran rode forward. He drew his scimitar and held it in the air in salute. Ella smiled when she saw his lean form and long black hair, the ship’s lights glinting from the silver circlet at his brow.

  “Jehral! Come aboard, you rogue!” Ilathor called. Ella saw the warmth in his eyes that she only saw when he was with his most loyal aide.
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  Jehral slipped gracefully off his horse and was first up the gangway as the ship made fast and the Buchalanti sailmaster called out instructions for unloading.

  Jehral embraced Ilathor and then Ella. “It’s good to see you, Enchantress,” he said.

  “You too, Jehral.”

  Ella saw Jehral shoot a look of inquiry at Ilathor, who shook his head imperceptibly. “Ella is here to build a new signaling system the Alturans have devised,” the kalif said.

  “Your presence here is most welcome.” Jehral bowed with a flourish. “Shall I call a palanquin?”

  “A horse is fine with me.”

  “Always one to do anything a man can do,” Jehral said, grinning. “You’ve been missed, Ella.”

  They soon disembarked, Ilathor leading the column up the road, passing between the towers and heading into the city, raising his arm and waving as Hazaran men and women called out and bowed as he rode past. Ella smiled and shook her head. She couldn’t help but wonder whether Killian accepted the same treatment. Killian was the emperor and had the powers of the Evermen, but somehow Ella couldn’t picture Killian smiling as people bowed down to him.

  The column of riders headed directly for Ilathor’s new palace, through a series of grand arches to a sandy circular area with a central fountain. Grooms ran forward to hold their horses’ halters. Ilathor leapt down and crouched to kiss the floor at his feet. “I have returned!”

  Ella exchanged glances with Jehral, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Come, Ella,” he finally said. “I’m sure you are tired from your long journey. Follow me.”

  Broad steps led up through more arches to an expansive area of stone, the columns spaced far apart and rugged desert palms lit up by torches on the far walls. Ilathor’s new palace was as grand as the Crystal Palace but infinitely different, made to gain maximum exposure to breezes, with gardens and fountains in the center and mezzanine levels at all sides.

  Passing a column, Ella’s mouth dropped open when she saw the marble inlaid with precious stones: turquoise, amber, obsidian, and rose quartz. Shining silk carpets lined the inner squares. The spilling water in the fountains could only be powered by Louan lore. It all must have cost a fortune.

  Ilathor’s eyes sparkled when he saw Ella’s reaction. “Ella, I must leave you now,” he said. “My tarn leaders and I have much to discuss; they will be anxious to hear about the Imperial Chorum.” He hesitated. “Please, will you think on what I’ve said?”

  The kalif departed with a flourish, and Jehral touched Ella’s shoulder. “Enchantress Ella, I would like you to meet my sister, Zohra.”

  A young woman came forward to stand by Jehral’s shoulder. Her hair was a rich, deep black and her eyes had the smoky amber color Ella had only seen among the Hazarans and some of the Veldrins. Zohra was as lean as Jehral but blossomed with youth, and Ella felt suddenly self-conscious, knowing she was travel stained and pale skinned when compared with Zohra’s flawless olive complexion. Zohra had high cheekbones and a wide, full-lipped mouth, but it was her eyes that were striking. Ella knew men would fall for those eyes.

  Ella smiled, keen to make a favorable impression on Jehral’s sister. “It is a pleasure.” Ella bowed and touched her fingers to her heart, lips, and forehead, but it was clumsy compared with Zohra’s graceful curtsy.

  “Enchantress,” Zohra said, “you must be weary from your journey, and I am sure you wish to get out of those clothes. Chambers have been prepared. Please come.”

  “I will see you later,” Jehral whispered.

  Zohra led Ella up some stairs to a set of chambers at the side of the first mezzanine level. True to the rest of Ilathor’s palace, Ella’s chambers were beyond even those she’d seen in the Imperial Palace in Seranthia, with an antechamber, a receiving room, a dining area, a dressing chamber, a bedchamber, and two baths.

  “Jehral has told me of you many times,” Zohra said. “He is very fond of you.”

  “And I, him,” Ella said.

  “Kalif Ilathor Shanti is also very fond of you.”

  “I am flattered by the kalif’s attention,” Ella said, uncertain what else to say. “I didn’t meet you the last time I was in Agira Lahsa . . . ?”

  “I am young,” Zohra said, with a small smile and a shrug. “I have only just reached my nineteenth birthday. Among my people, an unmarried woman of rank is kept from the men until this age, when we are allowed to serve the men. Already some have asked my brother for my hand.”

  On uncertain ground, Ella said, “Are there any among them you care for?”

  “No,” Zohra said, “and Jehral will not force my hand. For that, I love him. Here are your chambers. Rest tonight and tomorrow. Tomorrow, in the early evening, there will be a banquet.”

  Ella touched Zohra’s arm. “I’ve come here to do something important and it can’t wait. I’d be honored to join you at the banquet after I’m done, however.”

  Zohra shrugged. “As you wish,” she said.

  The next morning, Ella woke tired, yet anxious to leave Agira Lahsa and make her way to Altura. There was so much work to do there, yet Miro had her far from her home, doing something any enchanter could do.

  Ella dressed in a plain, functional dress and roamed the palace until a steward found her and asked if he could help. Ella felt relief when he fetched Jehral, who strode up to Ella with a smile on his face.

  “Eager to get to work, Enchantress?” he said, noting the satchel at her shoulder.

  “I don’t have much time here,” Ella said apologetically. “I have to get back to Sarostar.”

  “Don’t worry, I understand. What do you need?”

  “Do you have a high point in the palace? Somewhere with a commanding view of the desert? Perhaps a lookout or a watch tower?”

  Jehral nodded. “The astronomical observatory. It is the perfect place. I can show it to you. What else do you require?”

  “At least two of your elders. I have to explain to them how the lore functions.”

  “Of course.” Jehral clicked his fingers, and a steward came scurrying forward. “Please show the enchantress where to find the observatory. Ella, I must get back to discussions with the kalif, but I’ll make sure the elders find you. Rest assured, we know how important this is.”

  “Thank you,” Ella said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You would achieve your task, with or without me,” Jehral said. As he walked away he turned and looked over his shoulder and grinned. “You always do.”

  The steward led Ella up a winding windowless staircase to the observatory, the tallest tower in the palace. It was open to the sky on all sides but covered with a domed ceiling, a wide slit in the dome showing a strip of blue sky. As Jehral said, it was perfect.

  Ella was relieved. She knew her work would progress much faster without having to construct a tower: the lore depended on a fair line of sight. She took a pyramid of quartz from her workbag: a primary reflector that could be activated rather than a link in the chain. Ella then removed essence, gloves, and a scrill for fusing the reflector in place, and set to work.

  The observatory was lit on all sides by the fierce afternoon sun by the time Ella was finished and had completed her tests. The Hazaran elders—the keepers of their lore—were quick to grasp the way the reflectors functioned. At any rate, they would only need to know the activation sequences to call for help. If another house called, the color that sparked within the pyramid-shaped prism would say enough.

  With a relieved sigh, Ella thanked the elders and put her tools away as they left.

  Only then did she remember the banquet.

  “Scratch it,” Ella said under her breath. She was playing two roles at once: enchantress and diplomat. She couldn’t let one suffer for the other.

  Another steward encountered Ella at the bottom of the steps leading down from the observatory tower. “Ah, Enchantress, we’ve been looking for you. The kalif awaits your presence.”

  Ella groaned and glanced down at
her plain clothing. With a sigh, she followed the steward through the palace to a raised terrace overlooking the bustling city below. Even from this height Ella could hear the cries of the hawkers in the streets, though the sound was partly drowned by men’s laughter and the clinking of plates and glasses. She wished she wasn’t late; all eyes would be on her.

  A long banquet table stretched to fill the terrace. Servants poured red wine and whirled away with empty dishes. As she approached from behind, Ella saw Ilathor’s broad back while Jehral sat at his right hand. On Jehral’s other side a woman turned and Ella caught Zohra’s eyes on her. Ella smiled in greeting, but Zohra didn’t smile back.

  The steward indicated the empty seat at Ilathor’s left hand. Evidently this was where Ella was supposed to sit.

  Ilathor and Jehral stood as they noticed Ella’s arrival, and she blushed when the rest of the Hazaran men followed suit. Seeing their elaborate costumes, with the men looking regal in black and yellow silk and the women beautiful in sweeping pale dresses, Ella wished she’d taken the time to return to her chambers to change, even at the risk of being further late. Here she was, hot and sweating, coming straight from the endless observatory steps.

  “May I present Ella Torresante of Altura, the sister of the high lord and an Academy-trained enchantress,” the kalif said. “We owe her everything, for she helped us regain our lore and take back our rightful place among the houses. We owe our conquest of Petrya to Ella, and I ask that everyone make her welcome.”

  Ella smiled, feeling her cheeks flush as she took the seat proffered to her while the men resumed their places. The kalif rattled off a series of introductions, with Ella nodding so many times she felt like a puppet on strings, knowing she would never remember any of the names.

  The man to her left, a heavyset tarn leader with curled moustaches, spoke as if resuming a heated discussion. “As I said, Kalif, we have finally achieved stability. If this force comes from across the sea, what use would they have for the desert?” He turned to Ella. “Perhaps, Enchantress, you could shed light for us?”