“Where will he land, do you think? The fact that you’re here . . .”
“Ella, I don’t know. I’m here because your brother possesses a strong conviction it will be Altura, and he’s a smart man. I’m also here because Seranthia possesses the Imperial Legion, the fleet, storehouses full of prismatic orbs, and dirigibles. I’m here because Seranthia has Killian. It doesn’t matter where Sentar lands. Even if he takes his ships to Aynar and rouses the templars, he must be stopped where he is.”
“How long will we have you?” Ella asked as they strolled around the far side of the Green Tower.
“I’ll stay here until a signal lights to send me elsewhere. An ingenious idea of yours, by the way.”
Ella blushed at the compliment. Coming from Evrin, it was high praise indeed.
“Come on,” Ella said. “Luca doesn’t need me for the moment. Let me show you what we’re doing here.”
Ella took Evrin up a set of stairs and skirted Ash Building to reach the lecture halls they’d repurposed. Immediately she smelled sulfur, a terrible stench of rotten eggs that grew worse as they approached.
Inside, some knowledgeable Veldrins and open-minded enchanters mixed chemicals. Ella explained the process. They purified the raw sulfur that miners carried from the mountainous south, until it was a bright yellow powder. Miro’s men also mined saltpeter from the hills in the east. Finally, black powder resulted when they combined the sulfur and saltpeter with ground iron.
Liquid in clear glass bottles bubbled on heatplates with glowing runes. The new Veldrin alchemists loved heatplates; they said they could control the temperature must better than with flame.
“I have to say,” Evrin said, “I understand none of this.”
“Fascinating, though, isn’t it?” Ella said, her eyes shining. “Amber gave me a book from one of the masters of the Alchemists’ Guild. Since then we’ve found cures for many common ailments and learned more about the physical world than we ever understood before. Our knowledge is moving forward in leaps and bounds.”
“Is everyone at the Academy as enthusiastic?”
Ella frowned. “No, not everyone. I’d like it if the Academy kept studying these things, even after we no longer need to produce black powder in quantity. But if they won’t, I have a plan.”
“Tell me about it,” Evrin said as Ella led him back out to the open air. They both inhaled deeply, happy to be outside and away from the sulfur; the former lecture halls were all high ceilinged, but even so, the air was noxious.
“I’d like to found an academy of my own,” Ella said. “I haven’t actually said anything about it to anyone. Perhaps it’s a foolish dream.”
“No, Ella. It’s not foolish. Go on; I want to hear more.”
“It should be somewhere central. Perhaps Mornhaven—that’s where the essence is, after all—or Seranthia. I’d like to get the loremasters of all the houses together for a meeting, similar to a Chorum, with everyone from the high animator to the high cultivator present. We could bring all the Lexicons together and share knowledge. We could discover where essence’s power really comes from, and we could learn the things even the Alchemists’ Guild never knew. Who knows where the knowledge could take us?”
“It’s a lovely dream,” Evrin said. “Please don’t let it stay that way.”
Ella smiled at Evrin as she led him to the workbenches spread throughout the Great Court. She didn’t introduce him—he was uncomfortable with reverence—and he received only the occasional curious glance. Old men weren’t hard to find around the Academy.
Ella showed him the armorsilk and the new runebombs—some designed to roll, others to adhere to a wall or patch of ground and project a controlled explosion. She then showed him the catapults—purely mechanical devices—intended to throw barrels of black powder and clusters of prismatic orbs.
“We’re trying everything,” she said. “We’ve tried to get cannon to shoot runebombs, but so far it isn’t working. Do you think you could help?”
“With cannon? It’s not really my forte, my dear.”
“Whatever you’d like to do, then.” Ella smiled and gave Evrin a quick squeeze. “It’s good to have you here.”
Ella and Evrin continued talking, but the mood turned somber as they found themselves in the Heroes’ Cemetery, looking down at the rows of grave markers. Many of the heroes were bladesingers from the last war, but the graves went back to the Rebellion and beyond, to a time when there were no bladesingers, just excellent swordsmen with single-activation blades.
“Bladesinger Huron Gower,” Ella said softly as she read a marker, as if to speak too loud would indicate disrespect. “I wonder who he was?”
“A brave man, no doubt,” Evrin said, “who died for his homeland.”
Ella surprised herself with the relief she felt that Evrin was here. There was no one she could share her fears with: Miro was worried enough as it was; Amber was far away in Vezna; Shani was back in Petrya lobbying the high lord. Ella had felt friendless and alone.
“Evrin,” Ella said as she looked at the graves. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose the ones I love. I couldn’t bear it if I lost Miro or Amber or Shani, or someone else I love.”
“We all must die some time, my dear. Contrary to what many believe, it’s how we face life, not how we die, that is the important thing. People never remember how someone died. In a way, it’s not important. When they tell each other stories about a lost friend’s life or catch a scent that reminds them of a face, they aren’t thinking of death. They’re bringing a piece of that person back to life, if only for a time.”
“What do you think happens when we die?” Ella thought about Katherine, her mother, and Serosa, her father. Where were her parents now?
“Honestly? I don’t know. Personally, I like the Dunfolk’s beliefs the best—that we’re all connected, and nothing is destroyed, only changed. When a tree falls and decays into the ground, it feeds the life around it. When a tree is burned and smoke rises into the air, it’s absorbed by raindrops or gathers on the wings of birds. Nothing is ever lost.”
“I like that,” Ella said. She looked around the Heroes’ Cemetery, and beyond, to the green fields, the winding river, and Sarostar’s western quarter. Fragments of her mother were in those blades of grass and in that swirling water. Part of Ella’s mother was in Ella herself.
“Don’t be afraid,” Evrin said as they turned away from the graveyard and began to walk back up toward the sandstone buildings of the Academy of Enchanters. “Face your fears like you always have, and everything will be well.”
Ella nodded and felt Evrin’s words soothe her frayed nerves. They were both silent for a time before Ella voiced something else that was on her mind.
“Evrin, do you know of any specific weaknesses in the Evermen? Something that could be exploited in Sentar’s powers?”
“Weaknesses? Eventually loredrain will conquer even Sentar, but he must possess a great deal of essence by now.”
Ella pondered. “The alchemist whose book I have . . . he said something to Amber and Miro. He believed the Evermen have a weakness, but he wasn’t certain. His last words were, ‘Remember, everything is toxic, it is the dose that makes a thing a poison.’ Something like that. Does it mean anything to you?”
Evrin shook his head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
“Could you . . . could you teach me something about the things you taught Killian? I might see something.”
“Of course.” Evrin hesitated as they walked, and then took Ella’s arm. “Now there’s something I must tell you.”
“What is it?”
“For much of my life I’ve kept secrets. I’ve hidden who I was, and I stayed silent as the people of Merralya came to worship those who once enslaved them. I now believe I was wrong. Only when armed with the truth can people make the right decisions. I want to tell you the truth now, Ella. I no longer enjoy keeping secrets.”
Ella looked at Evrin with concern. “What is it?”
>
“Just before I left Seranthia, a woman came to the palace. She is a former . . . acquaintance . . . of Killian’s.”
“Acquaintance? Who is she?”
“I hear she is his former lover.”
A tight feeling gripped Ella’s chest as she remembered Killian’s story. “Carla?”
“Yes,” Evrin said. He looked quizzically at Ella. “You know her?”
“I know of her.”
“He was joyful to see her. I knew you would want to know, and I can’t stand here with you and not say anything.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ella said. She tried to believe what she was saying. “Come on, we’re here at the Green Tower.” Ella tried to smile. “Now let’s find you some lodgings.”
The middle of the night saw the frantic activity in the Great Court calm somewhat, though the occasional enchanter or Veldrin hurried from one building to another, perhaps to find a tome in the libraries or to fetch essence from the dwindling reserve.
Evrin stepped out onto his private balcony and sighed. Had he done the right thing in telling Ella about Carla? Was it better she didn’t know?
He looked out at the Great Court and wondered if he was even needed.
Evrin was depressed.
Without his powers, what could he do against Sentar? He’d brought this horror on the world by keeping the people ignorant of the truth. He should have known the relic would never stay hidden; the Sentinel was too great a mystery.
The relic was impervious to harm, as was the statue itself, although somehow the essence in the pool had melted the surrounding wall like butter. The Sentinel was now walled up, but it was only a bare measure of protection from cannon, orbs, and Sentar’s own power.
And what did it matter if the portal stayed closed, if Sentar conquered the Empire on his own?
Once Sentar had the world under his boot heel, he could take his time about opening up the portal. Only Killian could challenge Sentar.
What use was an old man?
12
The burning sun shone fierce rays on the yellow expanse of the Hazara Desert. A growing wind blew sand off the rolling dunes, sending it flying through the air. The sand caught in hair and clothing; it entered noses and mouths, ears and throats. Jehral pulled his headscarf up to cover his nose and mouth, leaving his eyes exposed to the coarse grains.
He’d taken to leading some of the regular patrols personally, and without being asked, he concentrated on the rugged coast. Day after day he led his men along the cliffs and coves, camping under the stars at night, watering horses at scarce oases. His men were tough shalaran, unmarried warriors. They made no complaint, though some spoiled for a fight and questioned his persistence to his face.
A rider made his way up the column, overtaking the men behind Jehral to draw up alongside his leader.
“Salut, Jehral,” Rashine said.
More big than tall, Rashine rode his horse like an old man on a donkey, legs flapping to the sides. He made a formidable warrior, but his thoughts were slow. He tugged on his earring as he spoke, holding the reins with his other hand.
“Rashine,” Jehral said. “What is it?”
“How long must we continue following this coast? There is nothing here.”
Jehral looked to the left, scanning the deep blue ocean even as he replied. They were following a long escarpment, with the breakers below the cliffs barely audible.
“Until I say otherwise, Rashine. That is how long.”
“The men grow impatient.”
“And I grow impatient with the men. We are not rabble. We are Hazarans in the service of our kalif. I do not lead by consent. I lead because I have the trust of the kalif.”
“There is nothing here. The land is empty. Nothing but sand and rock. Little water. No enemies.”
“Enough, Rashine,” Jehral growled. “If you prefer, we can settle the question of leadership the old way.” Jehral rested his hand on the hilt of the sword at his side.
“No, Jehral.” Rashine blanched. “I bow to your wisdom.”
Rashine dropped back and Jehral sighed. He couldn’t keep them much longer on this endless patrol, but the sea frightened him. Jehral once more swept his gaze across the whitecaps scattered throughout the once endless Great Western Ocean. It was as barren as the desert. More so.
Perhaps it was time to go home. Jehral’s wife would have a bath waiting when he returned. Ah, but then he would have to listen to her nagging about how long he’d been away. The longer he patrolled, the worse she would get, but while he was here, he could delay the inevitable just a little bit longer.
One more day, Jehral decided. Lord of Fire, all right—perhaps two.
“There is something below the cliff ahead,” the scout reported. He coughed as he wiped sand from his lips and shrugged. “It is probably nothing.”
“Show me,” Jehral said.
He kicked his horse into a canter, lunging up a dune and feeling the soft sand give way beneath his gelding’s hooves. Cresting the ridge, he shielded his eyes against the glare as he descended the other side.
The cliffs were jagged and broken, and Jehral could make out a thin strip of sand following the coast. He saw nothing.
“Where?” he called out to the scout.
“Up ahead. I was close to the escarpment or I would not have seen it.”
As their path took Jehral and the scout closer to the cliffs, the sound of the horses took on a satisfying rumble as the ground became more solid. Behind them the column made faster headway, catching up as the scout reined in only twenty paces from the sheer cliff edge.
“Look.” The scout pointed. “There, at the base of the cliff. It isn’t a rock.”
Jehral squinted against the sun.
Rashine pulled up beside him. “It is nothing,” he said.
Jehral’s sharp eyes saw a crumbling ruin of some sort, brown in color and half-in, half-out of the breakers washing over it with each surge of the tide.
“We will investigate,” Jehral said.
“How do you plan to get down the cliffs?” Rashine said.
Jehral fixed Rashine with a level stare. “We climb.”
He left half his men to guard the horses and had the remainder strip down to trousers only, removing the loose white over-garments made to ward off the worst of the sun’s rays. Fetching coils of rope from the baggage animals, Jehral then led his designated climbers to a broken low point in the cliff.
“Tie the ropes together,” Jehral instructed as he looked for somewhere to fix the end. By the time the tying was complete, he’d spied a promising promontory of rock.
“We will descend one at a time,” Jehral said as he fastened the rope around the rock. “Rashine and you two, help me pull on the end of the rope to test it.”
Finally satisfied, Jehral tossed the coiled rope over the side of the cliff. It would be long enough.
“I will go first,” Jehral said. “Wait for the count of one hundred, and then the next man will follow.”
“I will be next,” Rashine said. He may have been a grumbling fool, but he was a brave fool.
Jehral took a deep breath and then, without thinking too much about what he was doing, began to descend. At first it was easy, but then his arms began to tire and his sword got in the way. The muscles in his shoulders strained, and his bare chest scraped across the rock. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he tried not to look down and was almost surprised when he reached the bottom and his feet once more touched solid ground.
Eight more men followed while Jehral watched from below. Soon a chorus of advice rolled up from the watchers at the base of the cliff.
And then one of Jehral’s men fell.
With a cry he plummeted from high on the cliff, his body twisting and limbs flailing at the air. He hit the rocky ground with a sickening crunch only half a dozen paces from the onlookers.
Jehral cried out in shock, calling a warning far too late. “Keep an eye on the next man! Warn me if he looks like he’s falling.
” Jehral hurried forward and crouched at the body. He combed the long dark hair from the swarthy face. “Alhaf,” he murmured, “I am sorry you had to die like this.”
Jehral took Alhaf’s body under the armpits and dragged him away from the base of the cliff, arranging the limbs on the hard sand of the beach. The rest of Jehral’s men made it down unscathed, but each blanched when they saw the body.
“We will take Alhaf’s body home with us,” Jehral called, “and he will be buried with honor. Let us now see what his sacrifice was for.”
Jehral drew his sword, and his men followed suit. He once again marveled at the symbols painstakingly drawn along its curved length by Ella’s own hand.
“Come,” he called.
They traveled along the narrow beach while the breakers roared beside them. The cool wind smelled of salt and took the edge off the fierce heat. Jehral rounded a corner of the cliff, and there it was.
He stopped in his tracks as he beheld the remnants of a once mighty ship. Jehral’s heart thudded in his chest. “Please, let it not be,” he whispered.
Jehral reluctantly placed one foot in front of the other and sensed the same trepidation in his men. “A leader leads from the front,” he reminded himself and picked up his pace.
The vessel must have been huge when intact. The curved beams of dark wood could only have come from mighty trees. Splashes of color here and there showed where the exterior had been painted in garish hues.
The part of the ship in the water was crumbled and in disrepair, though the sides were still high. Knowing nothing about ships, Jehral could only guess how long it had been here.
The front was still mostly whole.
“Be on your guard,” Jehral called.
He reached the ship and walked to a gaping hole in its side. Rashine elbowed him aside and peered in.
“Ahh!” Rashine cried, drawing back.
Immediately the desert warriors tensed, bared swords at the ready.
“What is it?” Jehral said. He stepped forward, summoning his courage as he poked his head into the hole.
The ship was crammed full of bodies.
The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) Page 10
