The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress

by James Maxwell

  "I let him do it." He shrugged. "If I showed them how good I really was they’d just hate me for it all the more."

  "Are you really that good?"

  The Blademaster’s voice sounded from behind them. "Yes, he’s good. And he could have been better. Perhaps even a bladesinger one day."

  Ella frowned. "What do you mean, ‘could have’?"

  "I hear you drew a sword outside the arena, Miro."

  Miro met Rogan’s stare. "I did."

  "He was only trying to..." Ella spoke up.

  "Quiet, young lady," said Rogan. "Well what of it? Why did you do it?"

  Miro stayed silent.

  "You do know word of this is going to get out, don’t you? Do you want to be thrown out of the Pens?"

  Miro still said nothing. His expression was black.

  "Look at me, Miro. Listen, I have an idea. Contrary to what you may think, I have no wish to lose another promising boy. But if I don’t punish you, they’ll punish you themselves — that’s right, don’t think I haven’t seen it. This time you might not survive the experience." He turned to Ella. "Can you keep a secret?" Ella nodded. "I thought so. Miro, there’s a salt mine in the north, and for the next three months you’re going to be working in it."

  Miro took a deep breath. "When do I leave?"

  For a long moment, Rogan stared at Miro. "You do want to stay, don’t you?” he finally said. “Miro, you wouldn’t last a week in the salt mines. But it’s good for me to know that under that stubborn surface you’re willing to do what it takes. Sending you to the salt mines is the word I’m going to put around." Ella breathed a sigh of relief, but waited for the catch. "In reality, I’m giving you a choice. Either leave the Pens today, or I’m sending you to Tingara, as a guard with our delegation to the Imperial Chorum. Who knows, you might learn something."

  Miro’s face showed cautious hope. "I’m going to Tingara?"

  "What will he have to do?" Ella said.

  Rogan grinned at her. "Looks like you’re the one with the questions. He’ll be gone for at least three months. He’ll need to serve and protect, and fight if need be, although that’s unlikely. And most of all, he’ll need to do what his officers tell him. Miro, if I get a bad report about you, there’ll be nothing I can do. You’ll be out."

  "I understand." Miro nodded.

  "Just keep with the story. You’re going to the salt mines for three months. I can place you as a normal guard with the other Alturan soldiers. They’ll just assume you’re a new recruit. Keep your wits about you and you’ll do fine."

  Ella couldn’t decide how to feel. Three months! She felt happy for Miro, becoming a soldier had always been his dream, but she couldn’t imagine being away from her brother for such a long time, with only Brandon for company.

  She looked at his face; she could tell he was happy that he would be taking a sword into the field, even if it was largely ceremonial.

  "Thank you," said Miro.

  "Just see that I don’t regret it," the Blademaster said. "When you leave today, take your things with you. We won’t be seeing each other for quite a while.

  "You won’t regret it. I promise."

  Blademaster Rogan grunted and left.

  Ella helped Miro gather his few possessions.

  "What’s the Imperial Chorum? It’s like a big meeting of the houses isn’t it?"

  "When something important is happening and requires a meeting of the High Lords, either the houses or the imperial house can call the Chorum. It’s held in Tingara, in the imperial capital, Seranthia. The Primate of the Assembly of Templars mediates."

  "Why has this one been called?"

  "No one knows."

  "Do you have to go? Actually, don’t answer that."

  He looked at her. "You know I do. If I had to leave the Pens then what would I do? When I’m a soldier and you’re an enchantress we’ll be able to move out of that tiny hut in the woods."

  "I like Mallorin," Ella said indignantly.

  "It’s not enough," Miro whispered. Ella held her breath. It was so seldom that he spoke like this. Sometimes she thought he’d buried his feelings so deeply that she’d never penetrate the wall he’d built himself.

  "We’re happy, Miro, that’s the important thing isn’t it?"

  "Happy?" Miro was pensive for a moment. "I’ll be happy when I’m a soldier and can hold my head high."

  5

  Perhaps having the skin boiled off your bones will help you remember. People, take note, even the High Elementalist can forget his duty. You think renewing a Lexicon is difficult? Try keeping Raj Petrya secure from our enemies.

  — High Lord Apit Neffer at the trial of High Elementalist Popan Mimphet, 440 Y.E.

  IT was the time of the rains.

  The sky opened and water came out. The Sarsen grew dramatically high, its banks near bursting. It became impossible to move on the roads; only transport by ferry was possible.

  "Tish-tassine," Ella spoke the rune, and feeble light glowed from the nightlamp. It barely provided enough light for her to see. Their old heatplate was little better; water took over an hour to boil. They’d run out of coal long ago.

  Ella carefully spooned a measure of cherl into the mug, following it with hot water, filling the mug to the top. She added a dash of redspice to mask the fact she was rationing the cherl.

  She walked carefully so as not to spill any. "Here you go, Uncle," she said.

  Brandon was sitting on the porch, looking out at the rains. The sound was soothing and the air was warm.

  "Thank you, lass," he said hoarsely, taking the mug.

  "Careful or you’ll burn yourself," she cautioned.

  He had a small sip. "It’s good. Aren’t you going to have some yourself?"

  "No, Uncle, I’m fine. I had a few cups of wine with Amber, a friend from the Academy," she lied.

  "That’s good," he said. "Make sure you don’t drink too much. A lady never lets too much wine go to her head." He broke off, coughing.

  "Yes, Uncle."

  Ella missed Miro terribly. It didn’t help that Amber kept bringing his name up, talking about him incessantly. He’d been gone for over a month. Didn’t Amber have anything better to talk about? Every time they studied together she’d ask Ella new questions about him.

  Thinking about her studies made Ella frown. Over a year at the Academy and she still had to learn anything meaningful about enchantment. Amber told her she was being impatient; they were certainly learning, but Ella’s dreams of glowing swords and shimmering robes had yet to be realised.

  "Is Miro still at the Pens?" Brandon said.

  Ella sighed. "Miro’s on his way to Tingara, Uncle. He’s part of our delegation to the Imperial Chorum."

  "The Emperor," Brandon growled. "Skylord scratch his name from the heavens."

  "Uncle!"

  Brandon said nothing more, gazing without seeing at the rain. Ella had rarely seen him in this mood.

  "Uncle?" she ventured.

  "Hmpf?"

  "I need to ask you about something. I once heard the boys at the Pens saying some horrible things to Miro."

  "It’s nothing the boy can’t handle, lass. He’s tough, that one. The Pens can be hard though, I have to say. I trained there briefly. Got into my own share of trouble, I did."

  "The boys at the Pens said some things about my parents. I need to know. What really happened to them?"

  "Hmpf."

  For a long time he didn’t respond. They both sat in silence.

  "Better not to talk about these things, girl. Is there any more of that cherl about? How about we both have a mug and talk about what we’re going to do about this leaking roof."

  "We fixed the roof last spring. Tell me. I don’t think even Miro knows. Tell me about my parents."

  He sighed. "It’s not a happy tale. Another time, Ella."

  "Please." Ella held her breath.

  Brandon put down his mug. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

  "Your parents w
ere good people, Ella. Your father, he was a soldier. Well-born and educated, trained as an officer, but a soldier nonetheless." He wet his lips. "Your mother was the daughter of a minor lord. Your father was fifteen years her senior, but they were married, and you and Miro were the result."

  Ella held her breath, willing Brandon to continue. He paused again for a long moment. His eyes were half-shut, and she thought he may have fallen asleep, but he suddenly opened them again.

  "I fought with your father, nearly twenty years ago — not long after you were born. I was his sergeant, in the war they now call the Western Rebellion. We just called it the war.

  "It started when the Halrana High Lord, Peragion Telmarran, gave his daughter to the Emperor in marriage. Xenovere had a reputation for dark deeds — still does — but Peragion was eager to curry favour with the Emperor and see Halaran grow under his reign.

  "Our last Emperor, Xenovere IV, was a man of peace, dedicated to preserving the balance of the houses under a fair essence agreement. Xenovere V is different. He is a ruthless, cruel man.

  "A year after the marriage, High Lord Peragion stopped receiving word from his daughter. When he enquired about her, the Emperor initially lied to him. The truth was that he had beaten her in a sudden rage. She died."

  Ella put her hand to her mouth. "That’s horrible."

  Brandon shrugged. "The truth came out. Peragion couldn’t forgive himself. Our High Lord, Serosa, answered our ally’s call and we went to war against the Emperor."

  "What happened to my father? What about my mother?" Ella tried to conjure an image but there was nothing. She felt remote from it, like she was hearing about someone in a history class.

  Brandon took another sip of cherl and swallowed before continuing. "The war was long and bitter, and Serosa and Peragion would never have surrendered. But back in Sarostar a lord named Tessolar had managed to convince the other lords the war was futile, and it was better to surrender sooner while we still had some strength.

  "Serosa was betrayed by Tessolar, and both he and Peragion were captured. Tessolar made himself High Lord of Altura and immediately initiated peace talks. The Emperor demanded a group of Alturan and Halrana officers as a bond before negotiations could begin."

  Ella felt a shiver run up her spine. She almost wanted him to stop.

  "The officers were captured at Mornhaven, in eastern Halaran; part of the negotiations. Your father was one of them. Your mother heard about your father and she came to try to free him. She was unable to. I won’t tell you what happened, but he was killed by the Emperor’s executioner, Moragon, along with many other brave men. Tessolar still proceeded with negotiations. Your mother… she became ill. She died of grief."

  "Was I there?" Ella said in a small voice.

  "Yes, my dear, you were there. You were just a baby. Miro was a tiny boy. I’m sorry, my little one; it was so hard on the both of you; Miro especially. He still has those nightmares."

  "He’s in pain. I can see it in him."

  "So can I, lass. So can I."

  The intensity of the rain grew. Puddles grew into pools. Ripples collided into each other with each drop that fell.

  "You were a sergeant?" Ella couldn’t picture the aged figure before her holding a sword or facing armies in battle.

  Brandon smiled. "An old sergeant, even then. Hard to picture? Brandon Goodwin was my name. Old Brandon, they call me now." He sighed, and Ella could hear the rattling in his chest.

  "The way they say it now the Rebellion was a lost cause. Tessolar came to power amid growing fear of the outcome of the war and worry about the Emperor’s retribution if we lost. Tessolar helped to end it quickly, and now they praise him for a peace-maker."

  Brandon coughed, and when he resumed his voice was hoarse. "That’s not how I remember it. Not at all. We were so close to having all of the houses united against the Emperor. So close! Serosa kept saying that all we needed was one decisive battle. And it all came to nothing. The Emperor punished us, killed our soldiers, rationed our essence, and now Altura is a shadow of her former self."

  Brandon’s mind was obviously living those days, nearly twenty years ago. His lips smacked on dry gums and he fell silent. Fearing he’d fallen asleep, Ella rose and used what was left of the hot water and the last teaspoon of cherl to make a mug, taking it quickly over.

  "Here, Uncle. Please, tell me more about my mother?"

  Brandon took a slow sip, sighing in pleasure. "She was a beautiful woman, like you, my child. Her hair was darker but just as long. She was clever and resourceful, and you probably get your intelligence from her."

  Ella tried to picture her. She closed her eyes. There was a fragment at the edge of her memory. Then it passed.

  Brandon’s head fell down. Ella thought for a moment that he may have fallen asleep, until she saw a tear trickling down his cheek.

  "I don’t know if I can blame Tessolar. War is a terrible thing, girl, and no one in living memory had seen a war to rival this one, a major war of the houses. It was just minor disputes before, with the imperial legion sorting matters out, and the Primate of the Assembly of Templars mediating a peaceful solution."

  Thunder boomed out. Ella shivered.

  "No, war on this scale was devastating. Plains flooded. Peasants dying in their tens of thousands. Famine and disease running wild. Dead bodies bloating in the sun, left unburied. Whole divisions consumed by the worst weapons our lore could devise.

  "I once came across a town, a small village really, on the edge of Torakon. A builders’ village, the locals only interested in getting their license to build. There were tall cathedrals devoted to the Lord of the Earth, impossibly high, their lore allowing them to build taller than you or I would think possible.

  "A brigade of elementalists had been routed. Though Torakon was their ally, they had passed through this town before us."

  Brandon paused, and tilted his mug at his mouth, but it was empty.

  "They had played with the townsfolk, Ella. Tortured them. At first we thought it had been to find the essence, but that was when we found the children."

  Ella wished he would stop.

  "Scores of children. They are mad in the head, those Petryans. They used the elements on them. I saw a girl, she couldn’t have been older than five, taken by elemental water — drowned on land. Another child had been filled with elemental air like a balloon until he exploded into tiny pieces. His head stayed intact. Another child had been burnt to a pile of ash. Such a tiny pile."

  Ella thought she would be sick. "Please, Uncle. Please, don’t tell me these things. I just want to know who killed my parents."

  "Your parents were killed by the Emperor, girl." Brandon gestured around, at the weak light cast by the nightlamp. "And here we are. We’ve been on essence rationing ever since. Now the Emperor’s called a Chorum, and who knows what evil we can expect next."

  ~

  ELLA entered the small house, closing the thin door behind her. Brandon still sat on the wooden porch; he had asked her to leave him there, alone in the darkness.

  She leaned heavily against the wall and slid slowly down until she rested on the floor, her head on her knees.

  Her mind was in turmoil, thoughts running back and forth in her head. On the one hand she felt guilty for dredging up such painful memories; on the other she felt angry with Brandon for holding so much back for so long.

  It was a comfort to know that her father had been a man of honour; a man who had fought for a cause. Brandon hadn’t said, but she sensed that her mother had loved her father, and that she had been loved in return.

  Who knew what would have happened if High Lord Serosa had never been betrayed by Tessolar; if Serosa had forced his decisive battle? Perhaps the other houses would have joined them in rebellion against the Emperor, and she would now be laughing with her parents, Brandon promoted to some comfortable position.

  It was pointless to worry about what could have been.

  Ella’s thoughts turned to Miro. She d
idn’t know how she was going to do it, but she would force a confrontation between him and Brandon. He needed to hear what she had just heard for himself.

  Poor Miro! He thought his parents had some guilty secret and didn’t have the courage to ask and find out the truth.

  Sitting against the wall, emotionally exhausted, Ella began to slip into sleep, thinking about her parents, about the past.

  In that stage between wakefulness and sleep, Ella’s memory cleared for the briefest instant. She felt the soft touch of her mother, heard a gentle lullaby.

  ~

  ELLA woke from horrible dreams. Men with faces of fire were throwing children about Sarostar. The Sarsen in her dream had been replaced with a river of molten rock, the fiery lava overflowing the banks and burning its way through the town, buildings and people exploding in its wake; sounds of screaming.

  The rain had stopped some time in the last few hours. She had fallen asleep leaning against the wall. Her back ached from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. She stood and it made a sound like a cracking whip.

  Stretching, she looked about. She had forgotten to deactivate the nightlamp and if anything it looked fainter than ever.

  Ella went to the door and peered through the window. She could see Brandon still sitting motionless in his wooden chair, the empty mug of cherl beside him.

  "Uncle Brandon," she muttered, opening the door.

  She turned to shake him awake. There was something strange about his body, about the stillness of his form.

  "Uncle Brandon?" Ella shook him, first gently, then with insistence. "Uncle Brandon!"

  The old man stayed seated, motionless.

  Brandon Goodwin, soldier of Altura, who had fought his way from one end of the Azure Plains to the other, was dead.

  The rain started again.

  Ella’s sobs were inaudible above its patter.

  6

  What’s in a boneman?

  What’s in a drudge?

  Pretty little pictures