The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress

by James Maxwell

  "I will do my best. Thank you."

  "Take care, dear." Tessa’s face grew uncomfortable. "My Oerl, he wants to see you now. The room, you see."

  Ella smiled, "Thank you."

  She went up to her room and gathered her things. Tessa had mended and washed her clothes. She felt eternally grateful.

  Oerl was at the front of the inn, polishing the nightlamp that lit up the Steady Hand’s sign.

  "Mr Lowellen? Your wife said I could pay you for the room?"

  "Ah yes," he was a worried-looking man with thin hair. "Lass, my wife, when she gets something in her mind she’s hard to stop. We’ve got to cover costs though, what with fewer and fewer people travelling ’cause of the war."

  Ella tried to hush him but he seemed desperate to tell her why he had to charge her.

  "Plus there are plenty of thieves about, let me assure you of that," he sighed, a long deep tribute to trial. "Half a deen should do, lass."

  Ella handed him the money. "Thank you," she smiled.

  "Thank you, lass," Oerl said, the worried expression never leaving his face. He examined the coin before putting it into a pocket.

  Ella turned to leave.

  "Why, you wouldn’t believe it, but a man tried to pass me my own stolen money, he did. First he steals it from me, and then he tries to use it to pay his bill! The nerve!" his voice trailed off as he returned to the sign.

  Ella stopped in her tracks. "I’m sorry, Mr Lowellen?"

  "Oerl, you can call me Oerl."

  "I’m sorry, Oerl. What did you say?"

  He sighed, "Perhaps you can shed some light on it, you’re not from around here. It was two days ago. A man stayed here, a priest by the way he was clothed, though he had the look of one well-travelled, I’ll say that. I don’t know how it happened but you see I remember coins, I do. Some people remember faces, I remember coins. Anyways, when he came to leave he paid me with one of my coins. I wasn’t sure of it so I let him go. It’s a strange thing to accuse someone with. But after he left, I checked my strongbox and sure enough it was down by three coins. That was all he took, just three coins, and one of them he used to pay me. A strange episode, if you ask me." He stopped, as if exhausted by such a long speech.

  "This man, did he have red hair? Dark, and long, to his shoulders? And blue eyes?"

  Oerl stared. "You know him?"

  "He’s a thief. He stole something from me. How long ago did you say he passed through here?"

  Oerl just stared at her.

  "How long?"

  Oerl started, "It was two days ago that he left. Not yesterday morning, the one before. Left early."

  Ella gripped his arms warmly. "Thanks Oerl!"

  She ran off down the road. Glancing back, she saw Oerl following her with his eyes and shaking his head.

  ~

  TWO days! She was only two days behind him! It gave her a spring to her step, the shoulder bag seemed lighter.

  It was good to be running, and Ella soon left the small village behind her and was back on the road, loping towards her prey. She felt reckless, like a hunter finally gaining on its target. When the road curved around a field, she cut across it, leaping the hedge on the other side to get back onto the road. The road curved again, and she cut through a second field. The far hedge was taller this time, but she leapt over it.

  And careened straight into a lumbering beast made out of wood.

  35

  The life of worship is a life of paradox. We must give to receive, realise we are blind to see, become simple to be wise, suffer for gain, and die to live.

  — Sermons of Primate Melovar Aspen, 539 Y.E.

  "AH, good to see you’ve returned to us, young lady." The voice spoke in the rich timbre of the Halrana.

  The large wooden wagon Ella found herself in was being pulled by two small drudges, the simple constructs making speedy headway on the level path. The driver, evidently an animator, kept one eye on the drudges, the other on Ella.

  She was lying on top of a woollen rug in the back of the wagon. There was something hard under the rug, sticks or poles of some description. Ella quickly sat up and joined the driver, perched on a sill at the front of the cart.

  "How long?"

  "How long? Six days, you’ve been unconscious."

  "Six days! Are you serious?"

  She looked at the man. He wore a dirty brown robe, the raj hada of the Halrana faded until the hand and eye were hardly visible. He had white hair and a scruffy ginger beard, flecked like salt and pepper combined with hotspice. His eyes were blue, and they were twinkling as he regarded her.

  "No, I am not serious. You’ve been passed out in the back of my wagon for about an hour, and that’s the truth. What were you doing, leaping hedges like that? One moment I’m peacefully plodding along, the next moment a slight piece of sunlight comes crashing into my poor drudge. He’s never going to feel the same way again!"

  The man pointed at one of his constructs. Ella could almost swear it carried an injured pose as it hobbled along.

  "Now, I’m supposing you live somewhere around here. Where to? Hope I haven’t carried you too far?"

  Ella thought rapidly. The drudges were by no means fast, but they were a good sight faster than her walking speed. "It’s quite far actually." She cleared her throat. "I’m going," she pointed, "there."

  The old man’s eyes followed her arm, to her finger, to the distant peaks of the Elmas. "To the Elmas? What in the Lord of the Earth’s name for? Don’t you realise there’s a war going on?"

  "I have family. They live on the other side of the Wondhip Pass."

  "In the lands of Petrya? Dangerous place there, for a girl like you."

  "No it isn’t," Ella risked. "You just think that because you don’t live there. If you grow up there it’s fine."

  He regarded her incredulously. "Whatever you say, it’s no business of mine. It happens I’ll be going in that direction for a time. Care for a ride?"

  "Are you sure? That wouldn’t be too much trouble? Are you certain that," she gestured with her head to the drudge, "he won’t mind?"

  The man laughed — a rich and hearty sound. "No, young lady. I don’t think he will."

  Ella felt quite comfortable perched next to the old man. She’d already been unconscious in his presence and he’d shown she was safe from harm, besides which, he seemed quite a jovial sort.

  "I’m Ella," she said. "What’s your name?"

  "I’m Evrin, Evrin Alistair."

  "That doesn’t sound like a Halrana name."

  "Good! That means my father was telling the truth when told my mother he was an outlander."

  Ella chuckled. "So where was he from?"

  "You ask a lot of questions don’t you! The curiosity of youth, I suppose. He was from the lands far to the west, across the water from Altura."

  "Across the water. Yes, I’m sure he was." Slightly miffed, Ella was silent for a moment. No one lived across the water to the west! Still, if he didn’t want to talk about it then that was his right. "You’re a merchant?"

  "Well, you could say that."

  "What’s your cargo?"

  "A little of this, a little of that. It’s wartime and almost anything can be a valuable cargo now, for those brave enough to make the journey. Tell me, how did an Alturan girl come to have family in Petrya?"

  "Umm… I’m from the last village, Rowen. My mother’s sister met a man from across the pass. He’d come to look for… trading opportunities." Ella stopped at a harrumph from Evrin. Was he laughing? "What?"

  "Nothing, nothing," he said. "Just got something caught in my throat, that is all. Please, continue."

  "So she went back with him and they were married. I spent a lot of time there as a child, so I’m going back there now."

  "Ahh, I see," said Evrin. "What town was it, this town across the pass?"

  "It was a small village, just a collection of buildings really. In the middle of nowhere. You wouldn’t have heard of it." Ella paused, thinkin
g furiously. "Mintown, I think it was called."

  There was another harrumphing sound from Evrin. Ella looked at him suspiciously.

  "Sorry, sorry," he said. "I’m in need of a little liquid, that is all. Is that beer I see in your satchel?"

  "Would you care for some?"

  He turned slowly, a twinkle in his blue eyes. He looked like some kind of grizzly animal, with his ginger beard and sun-darkened skin. "Oh, yes. Yes, indeed."

  They shared one of the large bottles of dark beer. Then, at Evrin’s suggestion they followed it up with the second. It made Ella feel slightly warm and light in the head. Evrin grew jovial and began to sing — rather than speak — the activation runes to control the drudges.

  "I have a secret to tell you," he confided to Ella. "I’m a drudgesinger. It’s like a bladesinger but more powerful."

  Ella chuckled and almost went to tell Evrin that her brother was a bladesinger, but caught herself in the last instant. She was a village girl from Rowen, she reminded herself.

  "How does it work?" Ella asked, unable to hide her curiosity. "Is it a difficult thing, controlling them?"

  "Controlling them? Of course! It’s because they don’t want to be controlled. The left one is called Tortoise, it’s because he’s always slower, which makes the cart veer to the left. The right one is called Geezer. It’s because his joints creak like an old man’s."

  Ella laughed. "No, really."

  She looked over at him. He had a stone tablet on his lap. It was glowing softly, lit up with the runes. She could name a few, but others were incomprehensible to her. The matrices were quite complicated, but she was sure that with time she could figure some of them out.

  "Well, here goes then. This tablet is the controller. A controller is linked to a construct, or to multiple constructs. These small symbols are the runes, and the groups of runes are called matrices. You will see them both on the tablet and on the drudges."

  "Matrices?" said Ella. She had to be careful here. "That is a matrice?"

  "No, no. One of the groups is called a matrix. The plural of matrix is matrices. Groups of matrices. Understand?"

  "I think so," Ella said. This was hard. She was terribly curious but she had to pretend she had no understanding of lore whatsoever.

  Evrin continued. "The runes that are lit up are the ones that have been activated. Activated means they are doing something, or they are prepared to do something. To activate a matrix we speak its activation sequence. Watch."

  He gestured to the left construct, Tortoise. "Forahl-an-ahmala."

  A series of runes on the tablet began to glow silver.

  At the same moment the construct kicked out with its front legs. It snapped forward with its head, lunging from side to side. If it was an animal, it would have snarled. It would be devastating to anything in front of the drudge.

  Evrin shrugged. "A useful trick, to use against anyone with an eye to stealing cargo. Now. Some of the sequences are based on touch, others a spoken activation sequence. Others yet use a combination. Some don’t require the controller at all. I’ve heard an incredibly skilful animator once controlled an iron golem with voice alone. I haven’t seen anything like that myself, of course, but I imagine it would have been something like the song of your bladesingers. Only perhaps even more complex."

  Ella could believe it. She’d heard of some controllers having as many as ten thousand matrices. She felt a new respect for the animator’s art.

  "What about the rate of lore-drain? How long will a single essence charge last?"

  "Lore-drain?"

  Ella cursed herself. "It’s just a term I picked up somewhere. It means how many uses can be had from it once it has first been constructed doesn’t it?"

  "Yes, it does. It depends on the construct. It actually has little to do with the strength of the creature and more with the agility and complexity. So a big lumbering drudge doesn’t use much, while an iron golem, a complex fighting machine, uses a lot."

  Ella nodded.

  Evrin turned. "Have you had friends at the Academy of Enchanters, Ella?"

  At the mention of the Academy, Ella started. "No, no. Nothing like that."

  Evrin shrugged his shoulders and settled back in his seat. Ella decided to wait a while before asking any more questions about animating.

  36

  Open your eyes, and all is revealed.

  — The Evermen Cycles, 18-29

  "BLADESINGER Miro. Please, take a seat," Blademaster Rogan indicated a chair.

  Nodding in acknowledgement, Miro sat down and faced the Blademaster. Next to him sat Marshall Sloan. Miro guessed the Marshall had been appraised since his initial debriefing.

  "Have you taken refreshment?" Rogan said.

  Miro nodded.

  He had gone straight to the Blademaster with news of the Veznans’ subversion to the Black Army’s cause. It hadn’t gained him the reception he had thought it would. He had been told to say nothing to anyone, and then been called to this clandestine meeting.

  He still bore the scars of the experience, both inside and out. The cultivators’ defences had been formidable; he had been lucky to escape. It had come down to a pitched skirmish on the outskirts of Rosarva. Not one of his Veznan pursuers had lived to tell the tale of the black-clad bladesinger with the ghostly blue sword.

  Most of all he couldn’t believe the truth of what they were fighting. They were all pawns. Nothing but pawns! Men were dying in their thousands day by day. Towns and cities were burning, bodies being piled up and buried in mass graves.

  Miro seethed inside. Now that he knew the culprit, he wanted nothing more than to lay the truth out to the lords and commanders and point the swords of their armies in the right direction. He knew it wouldn’t be that simple though, not with the houses all allied against them. With the cultivators joining the cause of the Black Army there were now four raja against two. They didn’t stand a chance.

  "So the Primate has discovered a new secret. It’s something to do with essence. Is that correct, Miro? And he’s using it to turn the High Lords to his cause?" Marshall Sloan said.

  Miro frowned. "As I said to Blademaster Rogan, he has created some new substance from essence. He calls it elixir. Where essence creates magic, elixir destroys. And where essence is a deadly poison, elixir gives powers of rejuvenation. The Primate is giving the High Lord’s a simple choice — to join his cause and gain these powers, or he will conquer their house and use this substance to permanently destroy their Lexicons and all their lore with it. I saw him give it to the son of the Veznan High Lord. It drove him mad, mad enough to kill his own father. And it does give abilities. I saw him slice Moragon’s hand and it healed in front of my eyes."

  "Hmm. It seems a little far-fetched," Marshal Sloan said, watching Miro carefully.

  Miro sighed, "At least, that’s what you think Prince Leopold will say, isn’t it?’

  "Well grasped," the Marshall said. "That is the truth of it. Don’t worry, I believe you Miro, though the Skylord knows how we are going to get out of this mess."

  There was one piece of information that Miro had not dared to mention. He couldn’t believe it himself; he didn’t see how it could be possible.

  For his whole life he’d had the same dream. A man held him. Miro was powerless to stop him; there was no strength in his arms. The man held a knife to Miro’s throat, its razor sharp blade glistening. Miro felt terrified. He could never forget the man’s face.

  And now he’d seen the man in the flesh.

  Primate Melovar Aspen.

  Miro looked from one man to the other. "The High Lords are the cause. They are trapped, promised eternal life and then twisted by the addiction of the substance the Primate gives them. They cannot escape the cycle. The Primate is their only source of the stuff."

  "Yes, yes. But practically speaking, from a military sense, we have four houses allied against us. The Halrana High Lord is obsessed with taking back Ralanast. But to be honest, we won’t hold Halaran itself
for more than a month."

  Miro was shocked to hear the leaders talking in this way.

  "The enemy soldiers though," Miro said, "some of them are just following orders. If they knew…"

  "Yes, we’ve thought of that. But we don’t know how far it spreads, how deep the taint runs. Does it run to the lords? The officers? We know enough now that we can protect ourselves from the templars. But to eradicate this poison from the other houses could be a task that is simply beyond us."

  "What are we planning to do, then?"

  "Prince Leopold and High Lord Legasa have ordered a full-frontal assault on Ralanast. They want to take back the city and push the enemy out of Halaran."

  "But… But that’s suicide! The Veznans will start pushing from the north any moment. The Black Army in the east grows larger every day. If they push us from this position any force attacking Ralanast will be cut off from the Ring Forts. It would be a massacre. We would lose our entire force."

  Blademaster Rogan sighed, "You always had an excellent grasp of tactics, Miro."

  Miro could see the defeat in the Blademaster’s eyes. He remembered how relentless Rogan had been in the Pens. The training had honed him like a fine weapon, both his body and his mind. Yet it seemed the man had given up.

  "Miro," Marshal Sloan said. He looked equally tired, his skin grey with fatigue. "You were at Seranthia when we discovered that the Halrana Lexicon had been stolen. We’re hiding it from the men, but many of the constructs’ runes have completely faded. Half of the ironmen, a third of the woodmen, even many of the golems and the colossi — are now useless. Barring some miracle, the Halrana will cease to be effective as a force in another week. For the Halrana, it’s now or never."

  Miro put his every being into the conviction in his voice, "I understand that, I really do. But please, don’t throw away Altura’s best as well. Our runes are still bright and our armies are still strong. If you attack Ralanast now, you’ll weaken our flank. If we hold the flank, our chances are next to nothing. If we don’t, there is no chance at all."