The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  Even through the haze of the battle, Amber saw the cuffs at their wrists light up with fire as they linked their power in a way she’d never known was possible.

  Bright light traveled from one elementalist to the next, darting from wrist to wrist, and then the elementalists lifted their arms.

  A wall of flame rose up, spreading to fill the air along the length of the elementalists. The wall rolled forward, and through the conflagration Amber saw the elementalists step forward in unison, moving the wall ahead of them, sending it speeding ahead like the detonation wave that rushes from a huge explosion.

  The wave rolled over the revenants in a fury of heat and flame, and Amber turned her head away from the sight.

  From the other direction came the thunder of hooves.

  The Hazarans smashed into the enemy, horses crushing revenants beneath their hooves and warriors slashing scimitars into sinew and bone. A revenant ran straight onto Amber’s sword. The hilt fell from her limp fingers, and then suddenly the wave of heat reached the defenders.

  Men whose spirits had been crushed suddenly had no choice. There was only one direction they could go: away from the flames.

  It was a rout and a charge all at the same time. The soldiers fleeing the flames rushed into the mass of the enemy, and the strength of their momentum met the relentless force of the horses, crushing the revenants in the middle like a block of iron between a hammer and anvil.

  Even as she was carried with the soldiers, Amber felt a breeze on her cheeks, and then the wind picked up pace until it was a gale. The wind tore through the battlefield, blowing away the cloud of dust in one great sweep.

  There were suddenly Tingarans everywhere.

  “The Legion!” Amber heard the cry. The soldiers who’d fought in the dust to keep the helpless citizens from the enemy had finally broken free of the cloud. Now thousands of huge men with heavy armor and shaved heads fought among them. There was no order to it; everyone was all mixed in together, but for once their numbers were far greater than their opponents.

  Amber was carried up in the frenzy, unable to break free. As she was pushed, she desperately searched for Miro.

  In the distance she saw Dain Barden, gasping and panting as he sat on the ground. At his feet was the broken corpse of a gray-robed necromancer. The Dain of the Akari didn’t look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

  Finally, Amber found him.

  Miro was kneeling by a body. From his armorsilk the fallen man was a bladesinger, and his skin was white as snow, drained of all color, the blood that had once filled his veins pooling around him.

  Amber saw Miro also had a wound on his chest, but he appeared unaware of the blood running down his armorsilk in rivulets.

  “Miro,” Amber cried as she ran to his side.

  He looked up at her with haunted eyes. Amber put her hand to her mouth.

  The fallen man was Rogan Jarvish. His eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping.

  Together, Amber and Miro struggled to stanch his terrible wounds.

  64

  Ella floated in an empty void. Her consciousness was somewhere far from her body, tossed in eddies and currents like a leaf in the wind. She could barely recognize her thoughts for what they were, each disappearing before it could be properly formed.

  She remembered a cavern and a fight to the death against a creature of pure evil. Just when she’d thought she’d achieved victory, the cavern had vanished, and now she was here.

  She was dimly aware of voices, and she heard her name. One of the voices, a strong, masculine voice, was familiar.

  Killian?

  Ella tried to say his name, but then the wind came up, and she was suddenly far away again.

  She fought to come back to the place where there was thought. The swirling gusts tore at her every time she tried to press forward, and try as she might, she couldn’t return.

  Ella drifted for a time.

  Then with force, more sounds came to her. Shouts and explosions, and a colossal fall, the sound of a mountain crashing down.

  And then Ella’s thoughts shattered like pieces of glass, tumbling away with her fear. She saw a radiant light and fled to it, and with a soft sigh she once more felt peace and harmony settle over her awareness, but she’d felt this sensation before and she fought it as much as she’d fought her fear. She struggled as the ethereal wind picked up pace, tearing at the last glimmers of knowledge about who she was.

  Ella tried to cry out, but her voice was taken from her, along with her ability to think.

  Ella needed something to ground herself. The thoughts whirled through what remained of her being, and she discarded each in turn. Then a thought came that Ella seized with the desperation of a drowning child clutching onto a rope.

  She thought of an old man with kind blue eyes, and first she concentrated on his face. When she had it firm in her mind, she felt the ethereal wind settle down. As she pictured Evrin’s face, she drew away from the light and knew she needed still more to hold on to.

  She remembered Evrin’s words. What would save her wasn’t experience or knowledge, for the struggle she faced wasn’t anything she’d ever gone through before, and it wasn’t something she could think her way through.

  Ella instead drew on her courage.

  Rather than searching the void, she searched within herself and felt a thread of power blossom from somewhere deep inside. Ella took hold of the thread and felt her awareness grow until she could suddenly hold onto more than one thought at once.

  The wind picked up as she tried to seize more from the well of power. The gust grew in force until it howled and shrieked, trying to block all thought from forming, overwhelming her with the deafening sound.

  Ella fought, but she was growing weak, and the more she became aware, the more the wind tore at her, threatening to throw her far from the golden light of peace and instead send her screaming into the void.

  Ella tried to calm her fear, but again she needed something to ground herself. She then realized what her visions had been trying to tell her.

  Ella remembered seeing herself as a child, and her mother, Katherine, by her side in a way Ella had never known in memory, but she knew in her heart was real. Brandon Goodwin, her old guardian, hadn’t just taught her manners, he’d brought her up, and many of her values were his. She saw Miro, even as a boy, telling her that sometimes the only way was to fight.

  Ella focused on the faces: Evrin, Katherine, Brandon, Miro. The wind stilled.

  She reached down inside herself and drew on more of the thread of power.

  The wind was a gale, and then a storm. As Ella’s memories came, it tore at her, threatening to rip the thread of power away from her grip. Ella knew she had to fight it with every bit of strength she had.

  Ella took hold of more of her inner power, bunching it together, hauling on the shining radiance, pulling herself down to the ground.

  Even as she perceived a strange feeling of wakefulness, Ella felt the wind come at her from all directions at once. She was in the middle of a vortex, and it was spinning her, around and around, over and again. Ella felt herself losing her way, and her thoughts began to fragment.

  She focused on more faces: Layla’s smirk, Shani’s glare, Rogan’s look of concern. She brought more people to the front of her consciousness: Amber, Jehral, Bartolo, Ilathor, Amelia, Tapel, Tomas . . .

  Ella focused on Killian. She saw the warm smile that touched even the corners of his eyes, and she heard his laugh. She wanted to hear that laugh again.

  She knew that she couldn’t let them down. She couldn’t vanish into the void or rise up into the soft golden light of peace.

  Ella used her love to bring herself home.

  The wind died down, and Ella took hold of the thread of power with the last shreds of her courage. Rather than let the wind toss her away, she accepted it. Rather than hauling on the radiance, she imagined the power inside her, a well of strength that was there to draw on whenever she needed it.
>
  And then the power was inside her.

  Ella opened her eyes. Blinking, she saw daylight pour through the open window. She was in her personal bedchamber in the Imperial Palace, lying on her back under the covers. She pushed the covers aside and stepped out of the bed.

  She cast her eyes around the chamber and saw her set of scrills lying side by side on the table, a vial half-filled with essence resting next to the tools.

  Ella felt strange. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation; it was more of a tingling that spread from the tips of her toes to the back of her neck and everywhere in between. She turned to her mirror and her eyes widened.

  Ella’s skin shone with health and vitality. Her hair—her hair!—fairly glowed, straight and lustrous, falling down nearly to her waist where before it had only just covered her breasts. She wore a sleeveless white dress that left her feet and calves bare.

  Ella caught her own eyes in the reflection of the mirror, and they sparkled back at her.

  She smiled.

  65

  Killian flew through the air to come crashing against the hard wooden wall of the burning shipyard, smashing the planks to splinters. Pulling himself shakily back to his feet, he saw Sentar Scythran walk toward him, taking his time, drawing out the moment of his revenge.

  “Your enchantress destroyed my essence, but there will be more,” Sentar said. “There is always more essence as long as there are bodies to feed my vats. My army is but a distraction. What does a god need with an army? None of you can stand against me—not Evrin Evenstar and not you. All alone I can dominate your species. The humans are mortal, yet we, Emperor—we are immortal. And you chose to throw it away!”

  Killian looked frantically around the docks for a weapon. Every rune on his body was nearly faded. He spotted a steel sword resting on the planks. The head of the Tingaran soldier sat nearby, fixing Killian with his pain-filled stare.

  “You’ve failed, Emperor. Only you had the power to stop me, but it was always an uneven contest. What do you know of the Evermen? I have lived for over a thousand years. What skill do you have? Only what Evrin Evenstar could teach you in a comparative second. You were never going to defeat me. It was always a foregone conclusion.”

  Killian spoke an activation sequence as he leapt forward and shot a weak ball of flame from one hand. Sentar laughed as his warding hand fended off the blow. Though more than half the runes on Sentar’s body had dimmed, it was a puny strike.

  Killian rolled and flame struck the wooden planks of the dock where he’d been a moment before. His fingers brushed the Tingaran’s sword, but blue fire enveloped him. Once more he felt himself picked up. Once more he was completely under Sentar’s control, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Sentar walked forward as he flicked his wrists and turned Killian to face him. Killian’s back arched, and his head tilted back as his feet left the ground. The blue fire brightened, and Killian screamed with pain as his clothing again began to smolder.

  Killian’s pain diminished as Sentar ceased his chanting to speak, but Killian knew that in moments the agony would return in force.

  “I’ve had my fun,” Sentar Scythran said.

  Killian’s feet returned to the ground, and he collapsed onto his back, powerless to do anything about his own helplessness or even to brace his fall, the pain in every part of his body so strong he could barely think.

  “Now it’s time for you to die. Know this, Emperor. I will grind your people to dust. When I am finished with you, this world will be next.”

  As Sentar loomed over him, Killian turned his head, refusing to meet Sentar’s icy gaze. He instead looked past the Lord of the Night’s shoulder.

  Killian’s eyes went wide.

  Ella stood behind Sentar Scythran. Yet she had changed.

  She was . . . different.

  Ella’s pale blonde hair shimmered nearly to her waist, parted in the middle, but at her left temple there was a fiery swath of red, a streak that began at her crown and cascaded down along the entire length of her hair.

  She wore a plain white sleeveless dress, devoid of decoration, and her feet were bare. Yet though her dress was unadorned, her skin was covered in faint silver symbols, fresh and intricate, coating her neck, arms, legs, and feet.

  Frowning at Killian’s stare, Sentar whirled. For once, the Lord of the Night was without words.

  “You’re no god,” Ella said softly. “You never were.”

  Sentar’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

  “You were simply lucky,” Ella said. She spoke calmly, as if instructing a child. “An ancestor of yours survived the touch of essence. I know it wasn’t you who survived, for survival takes incredible strength.”

  “It’s not possible.” Sentar was rocked. His mouth gaped open as he struggled to make sense of it.

  “I know,” Ella said, each syllable deliberate, and the evidence was there for Sentar to see.

  Killian climbed unsteadily to his feet, and Sentar didn’t stop him.

  “There is a difference between power and strength,” Ella said.

  “You’re human, Sentar,” Killian said. Sentar swung his head to face him.

  “We all are,” said Ella.

  Sentar screamed, and it was a sound of such anguish that it split the air like thunder.

  “One more thing,” Ella said.

  She spread her palms, and Killian saw a myriad of tiny symbols, runes shining with glittering silver.

  “The emperor here wasn’t the only one taught by Evrin Evenstar.”

  Sentar spat commands one after the other as Ella began to chant. Flecks of moisture erupted from his mouth as he snarled each activation sequence, an expression of hate distorting his face. He brought his hands forward, and twisted veins of blue fire shot out, but Ella’s red fire was there to meet it, and the two streams of magical energy entwined, igniting the air between them.

  The two streams of fire collided, and the burning air in the middle pushed first toward Sentar, then toward Ella, and then back toward Sentar again.

  Ella’s expression was calm as she chanted, but Sentar’s was wild with rage. First one, then another symbol on Sentar’s palm began to fade. Ella’s voice rose in pitch and intensity, and she added more streams of blue energy to the air in front of her. She pushed with her arms, sending Sentar’s feet sliding along the dock.

  Ella’s body began to glow as her runes shielded her from the searing heat. She glowed brighter and brighter until Killian couldn’t look on.

  Sentar’s runes darkened one after the other, and his black velvet shirt began to smoke. The cuffs at his wrists started to melt, and the chain at his neck sizzled against his skin. Ella pushed forward again, and the central zone of superheated air moved inevitably closer to the Lord of the Night.

  Sentar screamed.

  Killian picked up the sword.

  He recalled Miro’s instruction. Miro said that when the time came, he couldn’t hesitate to strike.

  Killian leapt forward, and as the last of the runes on Sentar’s body darkened and Sentar’s hair caught fire, Killian struck with all of his strength, thrusting into Sentar Scythran’s back.

  Killian pushed and felt the last of the Evermen’s lore leave his body along with his life. The blade met little resistance and emerged from Sentar’s chest.

  Ella’s hands dropped.

  Killian pulled out the sword, and Sentar Scythran cried out one last time, a gasping wheeze that exited his body along with the dripping blade.

  The Lord of the Night crumpled, his eyes staring wide, dead before he hit the ground.

  Killian lowered the dripping sword, red with blood, and crouched at Sentar’s side.

  The Lord of the Night’s eyes were wide and unblinking. Otherwise, the dead stare hadn’t much changed.

  66

  Miro woke and groaned as he felt pain in his stomach. He tried to free his hands, but they were trapped by another’s grip. He writhed around until he heard a soothing voice.<
br />
  “Shh,” Amber said. “You’ve been wounded. Don’t try to move.”

  “What . . . ?” Miro said, looking wildly around him.

  He was in a bedchamber with the familiar marble floor and slate and timber walls of the Imperial Palace. An open window let in a steady breeze. It was evidently nighttime.

  “It’s over,” Amber said soothingly. “You’re safe. You’re in the palace.”

  “How long?” Miro said.

  “Two days.”

  Miro suddenly shot up and tried to throw off the covers. “Rogan!”

  Amber pressed down on his arms. “Miro, listen to me. He’s very badly wounded. They’re saying he might not make it. Right now he’s being tended by the emperor’s best healers, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “I have to see him,” Miro said.

  “You will. But they don’t want any interruption right now, and you need to rest. He lost a lot of blood, and they’re trying to save his life. You’ve lost a lot of blood too.”

  Miro sank back to the bed, his limbs feeling weak and mind thick. “How . . . ?” he began and then coughed and cleared his throat. “How am I here?”

  “The Petryan elementalists arrived at the battle. They burned the revenants. Lord of the Sky, I’ve never seen anything like it. They blew the dust away, the Legion regrouped, and we hit the enemy. I found you with Rogan.”

  “I remember,” Miro said. His dark eyes were shadowed.

  “You were trying to help Rogan, but you were wounded yourself. Bartolo and Tiesto helped me bring the two of you back here.”

  “And the enemy?”

  “The Petryan infantry arrived at the city soon after. They’d marched after receiving Stonewater’s distress call. Sentar Scythran left necromancers in Aynar to build more vats and raise more revenants. The Petryans freed Stonewater and Salvation, clearing the land as they marched for Tingara and Seranthia.”

  Miro’s eyes went wide. “Sentar!” he once more tried to sit up.

  “He’s dead. We have his body, and we’re showing it to the people, letting them see that one of the Evermen can die just as easily as any other human.”