The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  “High Lord, they’re forming up out of range.”

  Miro nodded but kept his eyes on the open expanse in front of him. “Thank you.”

  Miro gazed out at the white boulders, evenly spaced to aid his ability to make decisions. The farthest marked the extent of the range of his cannon. At the extreme limits of vision, he could now see the massed ranks of the enemy.

  He wore his armorsilk, and his zenblade was in its scabbard, strapped to his back. The time for planning was now well and truly over. He would fight with the men.

  A soldier coughed, and another turned his head and was violently sick. As the sun climbed the sky, the tension affected them all.

  And then they attacked.

  With a roar the horde came rushing forward, their numbers so great that even in massed ranks their line covered the entire length of Miro’s long wall.

  “Runebombs!” Miro cried.

  The enchanters at the gaps rolled the glowing iron balls forward and then to the left, avoiding the murderous trenches hidden directly in front of the inviting spaces. As the slope began to take effect, the enchanters released.

  At first the balls rolled so slowly that Miro tensed, thinking they would stop, but then they gathered momentum and soon hurtled along, heading inexorably for the enemy.

  The horde was far enough away that men couldn’t be distinguished one from the other; it was just a long line of attackers. Then the runebombs vanished into the enemy, swallowed by the multitude, and in unison they exploded.

  The detonation was deafening, and all around Miro defenders put their hands to their ears. Great explosions of flame and sand shot into the air, and the destruction tossed bodies higher still. Miro wished he had more height; the wall was low and he couldn’t see what effect the devices had. But after frequent use and with little essence, his one and only dirigible was no longer functional. From now on he would need to rely on his individual commanders.

  The revenants filled the gaps left by the runebombs, and the horde kept rushing on. This was unlike any foe Miro had faced before; these weren’t men whose spirits could break at the inevitable devastation coming their way. Only total annihilation would win or lose the day.

  The rush of warriors reached the most distant of the white markers.

  “Cannon!”

  At every tower, Veldrin gunners opened fire, flames gushing from the mouths of the cannon as they unleashed their iron balls with a roar. If the detonation of the runebombs had been loud, the synchronized volley was thunderous. Smoke rose from each cannon, only to be blown back at the defenders by the constant sea breeze. Defenders visibly choked on the bitter smoke as the gunners at the towers launched a second volley. Miro pushed forward to stand close to the wall, peering through the smoke.

  The cannon had taken their toll, but the enemy came on.

  “Archers! Ranged volleys!”

  The Dunfolk and Alturan archers drew back and pointed their bows into the air. In unison they released, and a cloud of arrows filled the air. Miro knew most of the arrows would pierce only flesh, but a few well-placed projectiles would strike eyes and unprotected parts of the face, burying themselves into the brains of the undead.

  The cannon fired at will now, filling the air with shuddering blasts. Miro glanced back at the white-faced defenders and then out at the roaring mass of revenants. The attackers triggered the traps as they ran, the earth falling away to reveal deep spike-lined holes. Pounding feet triggered prismatic orbs buried and rigged with sensors. At every moment detonations tore holes in the enemy and brilliant lights sparkled across Miro’s vision as explosions both chemical and magical ripped through the tide of warriors from across the sea.

  Miro couldn’t believe such chaotic destruction was possible. He’d built this killing ground, but even so, the raw power unleashed shocked him.

  Yet still they came on.

  Miro reached over his shoulder and drew his zenblade as he turned back to sweep his gaze across his men. He spoke a quick sequence that sent a ripple of fire along the blade and then raised the fiery sword high.

  “Make some noise!” Miro bellowed.

  To a man the defenders raised their weapons and roared their defiance. The sound of it carried along the line from one defender to another until every man screamed as loud as he could. Even above the pounding cannon and detonations in the killing ground, the sound of the defenders carried louder still.

  Then with a gust of fresh air from the sea, the smoke cleared, and the revenants were at the last of the white markers.

  “Orbs!” Miro shouted. “Every second man!”

  All around him defenders reached down and clicked firing mechanisms into place as they threw the spherical Louan devices into the enemy. A multitude of glowing prismatic orbs sailed through the air to fall into the midst of the dark throng of attacking warriors. The thunder of the explosions combined with the roar of the cannon so that Miro wondered if any of them would ever hear again.

  Miro just wanted them to live.

  Then the revenants broke against the wall like a surging sea. The blockade was too low for battlements, but it meant the long swords of the Alturan infantry and the pole-arms of the Halrana could thrust forward with a greater reach than most of the enemy warriors possessed.

  Knowing the battle would now be led by his officers, Miro concentrated on his section of wall. Just as he had planned, the revenants were funneled into the nearby gap. As intended, the temptation was too great to resist.

  In front of the gap, an area fifty paces square vanished in an instant. The ditch was deep, as deep as six men were tall. The revenants poured into the trap and Miro knew the same thing would be occurring at all the other spaces.

  Miro saw Master Goss roll a runebomb into the hole, and as the mass of the enemy and the horde’s terrible momentum pushed more revenants tumbling forward, the device exploded.

  Then a snarling face appeared in front of the wall, and Miro began to sing.

  Ella helped another enchanter roll their runebomb into the rapidly filling hole. Around her the battle was a chaotic crash of metal on metal, roaring defenders, thunderous cannon, and flashes of bright light. There was no way to see which way the battle was going. She could see her section of wall holding, but good men were dying at every instant as the attackers threw themselves against the low wall, climbing over each other to reach up to the higher defenders.

  Ella ran, putting her back behind one of the towers as the runebomb detonated behind her. Peering around again, she saw revenants continue to fill up the now widened hole, clawing and scrambling, filled with the energy of glowing runes.

  Ella climbed up to the wall and launched bolt after bolt from her wand, losing track of how many enemy warriors fell from the onslaught. Nearby she saw Layla calmly launch an arrow into a revenant’s eye; the barbarian twitched and was still. Attackers now grabbed hold of the wall and pulled themselves up over the fallen bodies of their fellows. Swords hacked down, leaving wriggling hands abandoned on the stone.

  Soldiers tossed orbs into the wide hole, each explosion sending blood and bits of flesh sailing through the air. Still the revenants poured into the gap; Miro’s funneling strategy was working too well.

  The hole swiftly became filled with twitching, climbing figures while the enemy warriors pushed from behind to plunge into the mess. A revenant made it past, and Ella saw High Lord Tiesto rush forward with a glowing sword to take the woman’s head clean off. Another reached the tower, and Ella increased the power of her wand, even as she saw the prism dim, sending a beam of light to punch a hole in its chest.

  Soon, Ella knew, the trickle would become a flood.

  Looking to the left Ella cried out as she saw a score of tall barbarians climb onto the wall and clamber over to the inside of the defenses. A dozen of the elite palace guard shot forward to close the gap, but their strength simply wasn’t enough. More revenants scrambled over into the breach as Ella sent flurries of golden bolts into their midst, but they moved so
quickly she was having difficulty aiming. Sweat dripped down her brow, and her breathing was ragged. The pounding of her heart sounded louder than the roaring cannon on the nearby tower.

  A figure in black threw himself against the barbarians. Jehral hacked and thrust at his enemy, but Ella could see he would soon be overwhelmed. And there was nothing she could do.

  The ground began to shake.

  Trees moved, and a colossus strode forward, knocking aside defenders and attackers alike, reaching down with its arm to smash and squeeze revenants into ruinous red. A second brigade of the palace guard arrived, and together they fought to close the breach. The colossus then moved to the gap between the walls and knocked down revenants as they climbed the hole to rush forward.

  Couriers rushed along the line to take reports to the commanders. There was a moment of respite, and then Ella heard a trumpet screech: three long blasts.

  Ella’s blood ran cold when she heard the order to retreat.

  Miro knew what he was doing, and he knew these defenses were lost.

  Ella realized she hadn’t heard the cannon for a while, and looking at the tower, she saw the pile of balls below the cannon was gone. Squinting at the next distant gap in the wall, she saw a colossus defending there also.

  Bodies of Dunfolk, Alturans, Halrana, and free cities natives littered the ground, mingled with revenants, their runes sparking and fizzing as the energy left the corpses.

  Past the front of the wall, at the distant edge of the killing ground, Ella saw the attackers regrouping for their next imminent wave.

  “Fall back!” Ella heard the cry, taken up by the men around her. The soldiers grabbed weapons and ran.

  Ella knew the plan; she and the other enchanters had their own part to play. They couldn’t afford to let the cannon fall into enemy hands. The plan was to destroy everything. Miro didn’t want his defenders facing their compatriots, brought back as revenants.

  Ella rushed to the base of the tower and found the cube-shaped device. This runebomb wasn’t designed to roll; it was made to destroy.

  Already the wall was nearly devoid of men. Ella ignored the revenants now surging forward as she scanned the base of the wall and saw the fresh dirt marking where they’d buried barrels of black powder.

  Ella placed her fingers on the cube and spoke the activation sequence.

  She looked up at the colossus manning the gap. “Run!” she called.

  Perhaps the animator didn’t hear her. Or perhaps he decided to buy the defenders the time they needed with his life. As the enemy once more poured into the gap, the animator took his colossus to meet them.

  Ella turned and sprinted back along the road toward Sarostar. Men and women in green silk ran at her side; the enchanters had played their part. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw the scrabbling revenants break against the colossus, clawing at the gigantic construct and climbing up the legs. More enemies climbed up to find the wall uncontested, roaring their triumph.

  Behind Ella, the entire wall, at every part of its great length, fragmented in an instant as the buried explosives at the eighty-six emplacements blew in a detonation of dirt and flame.

  The blast threw Ella flat on her face, and if she hadn’t been wearing her enchantress’s dress, she likely would have been killed. She picked herself up and glanced back.

  They’d planned this carefully: Miro wanted to delay the enemy and rob them of potential new revenants. The earth had a new fissure, filled with rubble, an obstacle it would take the enemy days to clear.

  Ella ran with the last of the stragglers, looking for the blockade she knew lay somewhere ahead.

  Miro wasn’t trying to hold his defenses; he was trying to buy time. Ella knew the next part of the plan: a rolling retreat, along the road to Sarostar.

  32

  The sound of dripping filled a constant counterpoint to the whirling thoughts spinning one after the other through Amber’s head. She didn’t know if it was night or day. The only guide she had to go by was the shining green prism, filling her every waking moment with dread.

  She’d been in the cell for days, though it was hard to keep track of exactly how long it had been. She wondered how the search for Katerina, High Lord Grigori’s daughter, was going. Her heart reached out the innocent girl; Sergei Rugar had probably killed the poor child.

  Amber thought about the enchanters she’d sent north to Lake Vor. Would they come for her? She knew in her heart, though, that as soon as they saw the green light, they would rush back to Sarostar, skipping Rosarva. There would be no help coming.

  Amber raised her head when she heard a heavy clanging, followed by the rattle of keys, and then the groan of metal against metal. Footsteps sounded moistly on the damp floor of the dungeons beneath the Borlag. Bright light suddenly assaulted her.

  Amber shielded her eyes against the glare. Eventually the shining moved away from her face, and she blinked to restore her vision.

  High Lord Grigori Orlov lowered the pathfinder in his hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and his clothes rumpled; he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Just tell me where she is,” Grigori pleaded.

  Amber looked for Sergei, but for once he wasn’t present. Realizing her chance, she climbed unsteadily to her feet and approached the bars.

  “Please,” Amber said, “listen to me. You told Katerina she would be high lord after you, is that correct?”

  Grigori frowned, his forehead creasing over his wide-spaced eyes. “It’s common knowledge.”

  “Has Sergei Rugar told you how he feels about one day following a woman? Has he shared with you his ambition to become high lord himself ?”

  Grigori held up his hand. “Please, enough of your lies. If you tell me where my daughter is, and she is unharmed, I will send you back to your people. Much as I would prefer to see you rot down here, I will make this pledge. Amber Torresante of Altura: Where is my daughter?”

  “I don’t know!” Amber said. “Your trusted lord marshal isn’t what he appears to be. He’s done this to discredit me and my people’s call for help while also ensuring a woman can never rule House Vezna. You have to understand . . .”

  “What’s going on here?” a strong masculine voice said, and Sergei strode into the room, flanked by two of the palace guards. “Oh, it’s you, High Lord.”

  “Sergei, your methods are not achieving results,” the high lord said.

  Lord Marshal Sergei looked at Grigori and then at Amber. “I am doing my best, High Lord. She’s been fed nothing but water, and even then . . .”

  “Starving her is not enough to restore my daughter!” Grigori shouted.

  “Don’t you think if I knew where she was, I would bargain with you?” Amber pleaded.

  “Enough!” the high lord cried. He rounded on Sergei. “You’ve made her uncomfortable, nothing more. Alturans are known for their obstinacy. I want you to make her skin crawl. I want you to make her beg you for mercy. If you can get results without visible damage, more the better. But I’m asking you to find my daughter, Sergei, or perhaps your own head will roll.”

  The high lord was the bigger man, and he emphasized his points with a jutting finger prodded into Sergei’s lean chest. The blonde-haired Veznan blanched, and when the high lord paused, he nodded.

  “As you wish, High Lord,” Sergei assented.

  Grigori Orlov stomped from the room, taking the palace guards with him. Sergei and Amber were soon alone.

  “I hoped he would be content with imprisonment,” Sergei said. He shrugged. “I am sorry, Lady Amber, but I am going to have to make you scream for appearances sake. It’s nothing personal.”

  Amber felt fear send cold fingers up and down her spine.

  Sergei disappeared for several minutes.

  Amber called out for help and looked for a weapon. She rattled the bars and thought furiously, but this dungeon was built to hold stronger captives than her.

  All too soon Sergei returned with one of the dungeon guards by his
side, a different sort than the proud palace soldiers, with a bare chest and big calloused hands. Terror surged through Amber’s body as the guard looked her up and down and gave her an evil grin.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Amber whispered.

  “I’m afraid I do,” said Sergei. “Open the cell,” he instructed. “Take her out there, to the interrogation area.” He inclined his chin in the direction of the green light.

  Amber struggled against the guard, but it was no use. He carried her, kicking and writhing, and forcefully laid her down on her back on a hard wooden table. Her wrists were yanked together behind her head; she felt iron hoops conveniently located near her wrists and ankles, and the guard made swift work of tying her down. Amber’s chest rose and fell with every heaving breath, and she cried out.

  “Yes,” Sergei said, “that’s good. Scream so they all can hear.” He looked down at her. “We’re going to need to hear more than that, though. The high lord is no fool.”

  “Is she dead?” Amber said.

  “Why, whomever do you mean?”

  “Katerina. The high lord’s daughter. You don’t seem the type to kill a child.”

  Sergei glanced toward the heavyset guard. “Nice try, young lady. Now, it’s time for you to tell me where she is.”

  “Don’t even bother pretending,” Amber said, feeling rage and terror course through her in equal measure.

  “As stubborn as you are, the high lord’s right about one thing. It wouldn’t be wise to mark your flawless skin. It will be smarter to make you scream—and answer my questions—while leaving your body untouched. If Altura ever survives this enemy from across the sea, it will be much easier for us to invent some story to explain your death.”

  He ran a fingertip down Amber’s cheek, and she flinched.

  Sergei chuckled. “I’ve never held someone captive before. Particularly such a beauty. You know, I’m actually starting to enjoy it.”

  “My husband will gut you like a fish,” Amber said.