The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  “Ella made this zenblade,” Miro said. “It’s the most powerful ever created.”

  Killian glanced down at the huge sword. “I can imagine that.”

  “As I understand it, we have two problems to deal with. One is the mass of revenants formed along the base of the Wall, forcing their way up with ladders. The scouts tell us they’re disorganized revenants, but they’ll soon open a breach nonetheless. The other is the infantry square outside the gates, the more disciplined of the two forces, led by Gorain. I have an idea, a way we might be able to neutralize one of those problems, but at a cost.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “You’re going to think it’s crazy, and it will need your help, but hear me out.”

  “Miro, just tell me.”

  Miro took a deep breath.

  He told him.

  Killian shook his head as the two men rose to walk back to the circle of commanders, but he’d agreed to Miro’s proposal. Miro wasn’t sure who was crazier—Miro for suggesting the idea or Killian for going along with it. He only hoped it would work.

  “You know this plan leaves the army without either of us to lead it?” Killian said, stopping to look Miro in the eye.

  “I know,” Miro said.

  “Who would you have lead them?”

  “Tiesto,” Miro said without hesitation.

  “Any other contenders?” Killian asked.

  “No,” Miro said.

  Killian nodded, and the circle made way for the two men to rejoin the group. “The Alturan high lord and I have put together a strategy, a way that the two of us might be able to make a difference. Whether we succeed or fail, your task is the same. You must try to break the siege, and we will do our best to ensure you have support from the inside.”

  Miro scanned the onlookers; he saw nods and heard murmurs of assent.

  “But,” Killian said, “I won’t be here to lead you.”

  Every set of eyes was on the emperor.

  “Someone must get into the city to speak to the defenders and time the attack. I am the only one who can do so, and I have my own duty to fulfill in order to protect the Empire from our foe.” Killian turned as he spoke, looking at each face in turn. “One among you must make the overall decisions if you are to have any chance of success. Miro and I will have our own tasks to accomplish.”

  Killian paused to take a breath.

  “Is there one you trust with this duty?” Killian asked.

  Miro’s eyes widened. He’d expected Killian to nominate Tiesto.

  Outside the circle, Miro saw Amber’s eyes on him. She knew nothing of his mad plan.

  High Lord Grigori Orlov of Vezna stepped forward. “I will follow Tiesto Telmarran, high lord of Halaran,” he called.

  “I will follow the high lord of Halaran,” Lord Marshal Scola said.

  “He has my vote, for what it’s worth,” said Dain Barden of the Akari.

  “And mine,” Touana spoke up.

  Killian fixed his gaze on his Tingaran marshals.

  “If it is your wish, Emperor,” said one of the big men with the shaved heads.

  “It is,” Killian said. “High Lord Tiesto Telmarran, you’re in charge. By my decree, the army is yours to command, the orders yours to give.”

  Tiesto scanned the crowd. “I thank you for your support. We will need to form up, but the city needs us, and the longer we wait here, the greater the chance we’ll be spotted by the enemy. We will attack when we hear your clarion.”

  Killian nodded. “I’ll coordinate those in the city and tell them help is on the way.” He spoke with fierce determination. “We can still win.”

  Miro nodded at Bartolo. “Bartolo, can I speak with you? I will need your help, more than at any other time.”

  Bartolo came forward. “Of course.”

  Miro tried not to see Amber’s worried expression.

  His plan was insane. But it was worth the risk.

  His zenblade was the key.

  52

  Killian took his thoughts away from the army and instead focused on what he needed to do. Miro’s plan was mad—mad! —and could lead to terrible destruction for Seranthia, even as it held the hope of victory. Killian would have to use every bit of skill from the training he’d received at Evrin’s hands. Miro’s part would be more dangerous still.

  “Well done,” Miro said.

  “With what?” Killian was puzzled.

  “With Tiesto’s nomination. They thought it was their idea.”

  Killian shrugged. “Something my mother taught me. She says that if you know in advance how someone will decide, and it’s what you want to happen, then tell them the decision rests with them. They’ll appreciate the trust you place in them, even though it costs you nothing.”

  Miro shook his head and grinned. “Remind me never to sit at the bargaining table with your mother.”

  “Are you two done?” Bartolo said. “Come on. We’ve got a war to win.”

  Killian, Miro, and Bartolo left the army behind them and ran toward the city, keeping clear of the tall hills and instead skirting along the gullies and far sides, their path always taking them closer to the crashes and thuds of the battlefield.

  It was mid-morning, moving toward midday, and the three men finally took cover in a copse of trees as they regarded the gray stone of the Wall in front of them and prepared to make their approach.

  Miro and Bartolo both looked fit and lean in their green armorsilk. Killian’s eyes kept involuntarily flickering to Miro’s zenblade before looking at the man himself.

  “When you cut a tree, which way does it fall?” Miro said, evidently noticing Killian’s attention.

  Bartolo grimaced. He’d been brought in on the plan, but his expression said enough. Even so, he’d promised to do his part. Bartolo was needed to protect his friend. Killian could tell at a glance that Miro trusted Bartolo with his life.

  “In the direction of the cut,” Bartolo said. “Most of the time.”

  Miro grinned. “That’s why sometimes you need to give the tree a push.”

  Killian glanced from one man to the other. “Are you ready?”

  “We’re ready,” Miro nodded.

  “Good luck,” Killian said. “When you hear the city’s clarion, you’ll know it’s time. I don’t know how much of a difference I can make, but I promise you I’ll try.”

  “That’s all any of us can do,” Miro said.

  “Find Shani,” Bartolo said. “Trust me, she can help.”

  Killian put out his hand and shook hands first with Miro, then with Bartolo. He left the copse of trees and stepped out into the open ground. With the two Alturans watching, Killian took a deep breath and spread his arms. Chanting a series of activation sequences, Killian rose into the air.

  Wind buffeted his face as Killian climbed high in the sky, for the first time gaining a full appreciation of the struggle being fought for the city. Even now, glowing orbs rained down on the revenants below, pouring like hail from the Wall and dirigibles alike. The warriors of the enemy horde leaned incredibly long ladders against the Wall and swarmed up as soon as they were placed. The ladders were too long to be pushed back by pole-arms, and the defenders could only wait until the enemy reached the top before the struggle could begin.

  On the thin ramparts, Tingaran legionnaires fought side by side with avengers and black-clad Hazarans to cut down the enemy.

  Killian’s people were dying. Every land of the Empire was his to protect. They needed him.

  He tilted forward now and moved his arms slightly to propel his body through the air. He sped over the surging revenant army and heard the crack of muskets as some of the enemy took shots at him. He felt a small sting, barely noticeable, as a ball hit his chest, bouncing off without harm.

  Killian thought about the other man who had these powers. Where was Sentar Scythran? It was too much to hope that the injuries Sentar sustained at the free cities had removed the Lord of the Night from the struggle.

 
Killian passed over the Wall and saw eyes staring up at him in astonishment and fear. With his fiery-red hair and black clothing Killian could have been the enemy they’d all been dreading, but he’d made sure to wear his purple cloak, and the nine-pointed star on his chest covered his torso, boldly proclaiming who he was.

  The cries turned to cheers, and Killian slowed his motion to hover fifty feet over the narrow ramparts, barely wide enough for two men to pass each other and dizzyingly high. Looking down, he saw Hazarans standing side by side with Tingaran legionnaires. Avengers scanned for enemies with red glares, and common citizens fought with trained warriors. More than any other color, purple filled the length of the Wall.

  “I have returned!” Killian roared.

  “Emperor!” the shouts followed in his wake.

  Killian traveled over the city, and the call was soon taken up in the streets of Fortune and the alleys of the Tenamet. The slums and market districts roared up at him as he passed overhead.

  “Emperor!”

  The news of the emperor’s arrival traveled like wildfire throughout the city. The defenders on the ramparts took heart and threw back the latest charge with renewed vigor. The cowering citizens left their barricaded homes to share the news.

  The jubilant voices carried to the Imperial Palace, but Shani shrugged them off; she had bigger things on her mind.

  Shani sat on the side of a bed, and once again she pulled back the covers to reveal the body of the young woman with pale golden hair.

  Ella lay comatose.

  Shani wiped tears from her eyes as her gaze took in what had happened to her friend.

  When the morning tide had brought Ella’s body in to the docks, some people recognized her enchantress’s dress and pulled her out of the water. Then others arrived and said they’d seen her at the harbor the previous night, miraculously walking on water.

  They’d told Shani the story with wide eyes. Everyone not fighting on the Wall had witnessed the destruction of the huge cargo ship, though none had realized its significance. Even so, the people at the docks knew Ella had done something to make a blow against the enemy, and they decided to take her body to the palace. Shani had met them and carried her limp form back to her rooms.

  Ella was near death.

  Under the covers, Ella wore just a sleeveless white shift. Shani once more ran her eyes over her friend’s skin. It was uniformly tinged a sickly blue color. Even Ella’s face was blue, and Shani kept touching Ella’s cheeks to see if she was frozen. But the blue wasn’t from the cold.

  Shani and Rogan had pieced it together, and as an elementalist, Shani knew what it was.

  Shani set the covers back down and resumed stroking Ella’s cheek. She didn’t know what else to do. She knew she should be back at the ramparts, fighting alongside Ilathor, Jehral, and her fellow elementalists, but she couldn’t leave Ella. Not like this.

  Shani heard running footsteps, and suddenly the door crashed open. Her eyes shot up as she saw the last person she expected to see.

  Killian, emperor of Merralya, stared at her with frightened eyes.

  “What happened?” Killian cried. He rushed to Ella’s side. “I heard. How is she? What’s wrong with her?”

  Shani considered her words before turning to Killian, who nearly quivered with pent-up emotion. “Killian, you need to listen to me. When we were with the Akari, she was affected by poison an Akari traitor put in her essence. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t know for sure until Rogan told me this morning.” Shani met Killian’s pain-filled eyes. “No one affected survived. No one.”

  “I don’t understand. They said something about Sentar’s essence . . .”

  “She did it, Killian.” Shani sighed. “She destroyed Sentar’s store of essence. Ella knew it was dangerous, but she also knew she was dying. Last night, she went out, all alone, and she did it. He can’t open the portal now.”

  “Why does her skin look like that?” Killian placed his hands on Ella’s forehead and cheeks. “Is she cold?”

  “It’s essence poisoning,” Shani said. “Where essence touches the skin, it turns it blue.”

  Killian’s face went white. “Essence poisoning?”

  “Ella destroyed a ship filled with essence. I know the signs. We can only assume it came into contact with her skin.”

  Ella’s chest was barely moving. Killian put his ear to her lips. “She’s breathing.”

  “For now.”

  “How is she here? How can she still be breathing? What will happen to her?”

  “I don’t know,” Shani said simply. “I’m sorry, but I don’t expect her to live.”

  Killian straightened, his face twisted with anguish. “It should have been me.”

  “She was dying even before she destroyed Sentar’s essence,” Shani said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  Killian leaned forward to brush his lips across Ella’s forehead. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, so that Shani could only just hear him. “I should have been there.”

  Shani heard a sudden blast. It was the city’s clarion, sounding the call to arms. Shani wondered at the sound: they were already fighting for their very survival. “What’s happening?”

  Killian couldn’t take his eyes off Ella. Shani read the expression of a man in terrible pain.

  Killian visibly shook himself. “We have to go,” he said. “Shani, I need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “I need you to come with me to the Wall. Help me gather the other elementalists. We need you. I’ll explain it to you on the way.”

  53

  Ella didn’t know where she was.

  She stood on a path made of neatly fitted stones. The path stretched ahead as straight as an arrow until it vanished into the hazy horizon. The air felt hot and heavy, weighing down on her, and looking up, she saw the sky seethe with storm clouds, shifting hue from gray to red, plunging down to greet the land but shooting back up again as if shying away from making contact.

  Ella frowned in puzzlement. How had she come to be here? She heard a rumble but knew it didn’t come from the clouds, and turning around she saw that behind her the path continued back in the opposite direction, but shadows danced on this horizon, shadows that launched streaks of flame into the air and erupted with smoke.

  A second sound carried forward from the shadows: the clunk of marching boots, and Ella felt a surge of fear when she saw the flash of steel as spears and swords poked through the flame.

  The shadows were moving along the path, picking up speed as the thunderous footsteps grew louder, heading inexorably forward, toward Ella.

  Ella’s heart began to race. She knew that the enemy was approaching. If they caught her here, she would die.

  Ella began to hurry forward, glancing back over her shoulder with every few steps.

  In all directions the horizon blurred, impossible to focus on. An angry purple haze coated the land, as if seeping up from the ground itself. Ella looked for features, anything to break the monotonous landscape, but saw only a rocky, barren wasteland.

  Her footsteps were heavy, and she felt tired, but she hurried fearfully on. Her hair fell in front of her face, and she pushed it away, her eyes widening when she saw golden tresses tumble through the air, though she’d only touched her hair with the lightest caress.

  Looking back, Ella saw with relief that she’d outdistanced the enemy. They were still there, at the limit of her vision, back behind her, but the detonations weren’t as loud now, and she could no longer hear the marching.

  She wondered how she would ever get out of this place.

  Ella pinched the skin on the back of her hand and grimaced. Wherever she was, she could still feel pain. She looked at her bare arms and then down at her body. She wore a plain white dress, sleeveless and short, and her bare feet moved silently on the smooth paving stones.

  Ella squinted ahead again, shading her eyes from the glare, though there was no sun in the sky. To the left: there was something there, bes
ide the road. It was a building of some kind.

  Checking to confirm her pursuers were still far behind, Ella progressed along the road until she drew close to the structure. She decided to investigate.

  It was a wooden house, more of a shack really, with crumbling steps leading up to a rickety porch. A post outside the house proclaimed its name.

  “‘Mallorin,’” Ella said, reading the sign.

  Ella stood at the bottom of the steps and gazed up at the house. Then she heard a voice from outside the building, and looking to the rear, she saw trees clustered around a muddy pool.

  Ella crept around the side of the house until she could see.

  A little blonde girl sat on her knees at the edge of the puddle, a scooped bowl in her hand. She submerged the bowl in the water and then lifted it out. She grinned.

  “Come along, tadpoles,” the little girl said. “Your pool’s drying up, and you need to get to the river.” Ella watched the muddy girl climb to her feet, holding the bowl carefully in her hands as she began to walk. “Don’t jump, it’s a long way down.”

  Ella spotted movement in the nearby trees. A woman stood watching, hidden by the forest. She had ivory skin and wore an embroidered dress, with jewelry at her throat. The woman smiled as she watched the little girl, though tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Ella looked back over her shoulder as she heard crashing sounds and the shouts of men and cries of women. She couldn’t stay here long: the thudding explosions were again louder, and once more she could hear marching boots.

  When she returned her gaze to look forward, both the woman and the child were gone.

  Leaving the side of the house, Ella walked over to once more stand at the foot of the steps. She hesitated, knowing she should leave, but she felt she was searching for something, and she began to climb.

  Reaching the top, Ella crossed the porch and pushed open the thin door to look into the house’s interior.

  Three chairs stood around a table, though only two were occupied. An old man sat with the same little girl, and each had a plate and knife and fork in front of them.