The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three)

by James Maxwell

  "Here," she said, opening the book at the right page.

  "Ah." Evrin's eyes lit up. "You're back, my dear. I could use your help with this. Two years and we're almost there, but I always knew the problem would be with the scratched refinery and here we are."

  "What can I do?" Ella said.

  She worked with Evrin for over two hours, only rarely understanding the things he directed her to do, yet, as always, learning all the time. She felt herself losing track of time, a frequent occurrence when working down in the catacombs, and it was Evrin who finally noticed the satchel resting on the ground at the foot of the archway.

  "Oh." He looked abashed. "Is it Lordsday already? Why didn't you say something?"

  "I wanted to help," Ella said. She smiled. "It's fine. I'll still make it in time."

  "Well." Evrin harrumphed. "So you're off then."

  "Are you sure you won't come to the wedding?"

  "Too much to do here," Evrin said. "Tell me what the food is like, though, won't you? Do you think they'll match wines? There are some lovely wines in Altura's south…"

  Ella laughed. "Just come. We'd all be happy to have you. You can't work all the time."

  "No," Evrin said, uncharacteristically abrupt, and as he turned away Ella saw through his façade as she only had a few times before. "Weddings aren't my thing."

  Ella's face fell as she remembered Evrin's story. To her it was centuries ago, but to him the loss of the woman he loved was still raw.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "At least you had someone special. Not many people can say that. Perhaps one day you'll find another." She hoped it was the right thing to say. Ella wished she had Miro's way with words.

  "For me there isn't anyone else, Ella. I betrayed my brothers for her. Yet it was she who showed me it was right." He brightened, though Ella knew it was false. "Have a wonderful time, my dear, and don't mind me. Please give your brother and his new wife my best." He reached over to touch Ella's shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "You've been a great help, Ella. I wish I had time to teach you more, but this must take priority. The world needs essence." He turned back to the apparatus in front of him. "You'd best be going now."

  ~

  ELLA took one last look at the distant peaks of the Ring Forts before turning her back, away from Mornhaven, and away from her work for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

  It was strange — here she was, working with someone whose knowledge was so far beyond her own it scared her, yet she still wasn't learning what she wanted to learn. She knew the most important task at hand was to build the machines, and she would give everything she could to that goal, but the desire had never left her to bridge the different schools of lore. Ella had started down the path: she had made Miro armoursilk that could project an illusion, and devised an enchantment that used Petrya's lore to turn the boiling water of Lake Halapusa to ice. What else could be done? Would she ever have the opportunity to find out?

  "Stop working," Ella said to herself, smiling.

  She deliberately turned her thoughts to the journey she had ahead of her. Ella hadn't told Evrin she was making the journey from Mornhaven to Sarostar alone, and the preoccupied old man hadn't thought to ask, but she was pleased she'd made the decision. She felt excited and free to be travelling, and she knew that her solitude would soon come to an end when she saw all of her friends at the wedding.

  Spring was in full force, with summer just around the corner. The sun was warm on Ella's back, and the smell of new growth filled the air. As she descended down the winding road, leaving the mountains for Halaran's fertile lowlands, Ella passed through small farming villages, feeling comforted by the signs of normal life. On a field to her right a group of men were walking down a row of vines, trimming the loose leaves and calling out to one another. She followed an arched stone bridge over a bubbling river and stopped for a moment to watch a water-powered mill grinding grain into flour. The water sluiced through the great paddles, splashing and sloshing ceaselessly.

  Ella spent her first two nights at village inns, surprised at the way the proprietors fawned over her and gratefully took her gilden. She wore travelling clothes rather than her enchantress's dress, but she realised that to these people she was a wealthy guest, with a well-cut brown dress of thick wool, clean skin and delicate hands. The food was good: hearty country stews seasoned to a dark red colour and served with plump dumplings. Each time Ella made sure to stay in their most expensive room, and earnestly thanked each innkeeper as she left.

  As Ella's journey took her closer to Altura and deeper into Halaran's heartland, traffic on the road increased and she kept a wary eye out for brigands. With more people around she saw more visible signs of poverty. Stomachs were shrunken and fields were left fallow, the working men listless. Gone were the ubiquitous drudges of Halaran's merchants, bringing goods from one end of the Empire to the other. It was sad to see the inns using candles rather than nightlamps, and the Halrana struggling with goods on their backs where once they would have sat proudly atop a drudge-pulled cart.

  After the large Halrana town of Carnathion Ella's path took her onto the New Road, still under construction, some of it paved, some of it dirt. The New Road led to the recently-completed bridge, built to connect Altura and Halaran with the Bridge of Sutanesta destroyed in the war. It had been named Samson's Bridge, in honour of the man who gave his life to destroy the Emperor.

  Just outside Carnathion's walls Ella idly looked at a marble column at the side of the road, waist-high and as thick as a tree stump. She suddenly stopped and stared.

  This town was liberated by the allied forces of Altura and Halaran under the leadership of Lord Marshal Miro Torresante. May we never forget those who died that we are free. In the Year of the Evermen 544.

  Ella touched her fingers to her brother's name and smiled, wondering on how many of these plaques Miro's name was forever immortalised. She was eager to see him; it had been too long.

  She wondered who would be at the wedding of the commander whose name was synonymous with the fight for freedom. Who wouldn't be there? Most, if not all, of the High Lords would be there, as would Rogan Jarvish, Lord Regent of the Empire. Rogan shared the temporary leadership of what had been known as the Tingaran Empire with one other, in a power-sharing arrangement that must be difficult indeed.

  Particularly when the other man was Ilathor Shanti of Raj Hazara.

  Would he be there?

  Ella had only seen the desert prince once since the events at the Sentinel in Seranthia. Killian had made a journey he could never come back from; the orphan who only wanted to discover his heritage had sacrificed himself so the world could be safe from the Evermen. At the end, Ella had realised Ilathor was driven to achieve his ambition to the exclusion of all else. With Killian gone forever, Ella just wanted to be alone. For her that meant work, and the construction of the new machines at Mornhaven provided the perfect opportunity.

  The one time Ella had encountered Ilathor since Killian stepped through the portal was at Seranthia, many months later. Rogan had asked for Ella's help in dealing with the Tingaran loremasters, and Rogan was someone Ella could never say no to. She'd known Ilathor was in the Imperial Palace and she'd kept clear of him, but then she saw the tall prince in his elegant desert garb striding down a corridor towards her, an aide at his side. Ella knew he'd seen her, but she'd turned, and walked the other way. He hadn't followed.

  Ella sighed and her thoughts returned to the present. Her back was growing sore and she hoisted her satchel higher on her shoulder.

  Soon she would be at Samson's Bridge, with Altura just beyond, but it would be dark soon and she would need to find a place to stay.

  Ella noticed a dust cloud ahead, big enough that it must be raised by a large contingent. She was making ground on them and wondered if she should be worried, but this was the new Empire, and these lands were finally at peace. As she grew closer Ella saw soldiers in Tingaran purple and Halrana brown, marching side by side.
/>
  A standard bearer carried a tall pole with a black flag borne high above the dust. The device on the flag was a nine-pointed star, each point of the star rendered in a different colour to represent the nine houses: green for Altura, red for Petrya, blue for Loua Louna, brown for Halaran, purple for Tingara, tan for Torakon, yellow for Hazara, orange for Vezna and even the coral pink of the Buchalanti. The centre of the star was white, bordered with grey: white for the templars, and grey for the Akari.

  Ella knew this standard; she had seen it in Seranthia. She knew the arguments had been long and bitter, but Rogan had insisted that none be unrepresented. It was the symbol of the new Empire.

  Ella smiled and quickened her step. As slow as they were, she would catch them soon, and there was only one person who could be on his way to Altura carrying that banner. She ignored the curious glances of the soldiers as she made her way through the column. A tall man, his hair nearly entirely grey, led the group, his back straight and bearing proud.

  "Rogan!" Ella called.

  He turned at her call, and in the afternoon light Ella could see his smile.

  "Enchantress Ella!" Rogan said. He held up his arm. "Men, halt!" Soldiers from across the Empire came to a standstill at Rogan's command.

  "Just Ella," Ella laughed when she came close. "It's good to see you."

  "Just Ella is good for me," he said. "I've never been one to stand on ceremony."

  "Where's your family?" Ella said.

  "Right here," Ella heard a matronly female voice.

  Ella hadn't noticed Amelia and Tapel beside the tall soldiers. Amelia placed her hand over her heart in the Halrana manner while Tapel gave a mock bow.

  "I can't get away from them," Rogan muttered.

  Rogan had aged, Ella could see. There were more lines and creases on his face than ever. By contrast Amelia's golden hair was still the colour of wheat in the sun. Tapel, Rogan's adopted son, looked dirty even in his fine clothes, and Ella guessed it likely he'd intentionally mussed up his mousy brown hair.

  "You're looking well," Amelia said. "Not a young girl anymore, are you?"

  Ella blushed. The few times she'd met Amelia the woman had a habit of quizzing her about her love life.

  "We might as well make camp here," Rogan said. "It's as good a place as any."

  As the dust settled Ella turned to try to catch a glimpse of Samson's Bridge ahead. Suddenly she felt herself lifted as Rogan picked her up in a bear hug. It was so uncharacteristic that she almost shrieked.

  Married life must agree with him.

  ~

  ELLA felt nervous. She stood outside Rogan's command tent, where she knew he would be conferring with his aides and marshals. She had announced herself to the guard, who finally exited and nodded to her, holding the opening of the tent wide for her to enter.

  Rogan sat at a table with four men Ella didn't know. One was in Louan blue, another in Tingaran purple. The third was in the brown of Halaran and there was even a man in the red of Petrya.

  "I'm sorry," Ella said. "I don't mean to take much of your time. Rogan, may I speak with you for a moment?"

  "Of course, Ella," Rogan said. He nodded at the men and they each bowed in their own way, first at Rogan, then at Ella, before filing out of the tent.

  As soon as they were gone Rogan sighed, and Ella saw him slump. "I wish I'd never let your brother talk me into being regent, Ella. I knew it would be hard, but… Lord of the Sky. Here, take a seat."

  There was a bottle of Louan red on the table, and Rogan poured himself a liberal glass. He raised an eyebrow to Ella but she smiled and shook her head.

  "I try to keep the worst of it from Amelia but it's dangerous there. The east is different. The people there need a stronger hand, a firmer touch. They're used to leaders like Xenovere and Moragon. Even the Primate. Men who rule by fear and faith. I'm just an Alturan soldier."

  Ella felt honoured that a man like Rogan Jarvish would confide in her, but at the same time she felt worried for him. He was the strongest man she knew.

  "There's a man, a mason. Not a templar. I don't think anyone will be following one of them anytime soon. Bastian, his name is."

  Rogan took a long draught of the wine, and then topped up his glass again.

  "Ella, your brother thought it would be best to tell the world what Evrin told us at the Sentinel. I'm not sure if he was right. I'm sure Miro thought it was the right thing, but the people of Tingara and Aynar are devout, and without the Evermen to follow they feel lost. Even we still call out to the Lord of the Sky. We're lucky he was," he smiled, "is, one of the good ones."

  Rogan wiped his hand over his face. He looked exhausted.

  "You can't simply change centuries of tradition and belief in an instant. Bastian says there's a conspiracy. He says the war was Emperor Xenovere's fault and we've simply blamed it on the Primate to discredit the priesthood. This 'revelation' about the Evermen is yet another attempt to take power away from the Assembly of Templars."

  "People are stupid," Ella said.

  "Yes, but people have power. And they're listening to Bastian, Ella. There have been riots. Nothing we can't deal with, but I worry about what comes next. The army is holding together, but even some of my men aren't sure what to believe."

  Ella reached out and squeezed Rogan's hand. "Don't worry," she said. "You'll think of something. You always do."

  "I hope your faith is justified," he said, smiling thinly.

  Ella took a deep breath. "What about the Hazarans? Are they helping?" It was dangerously close to what she came here to ask.

  "They're surprisingly good at dealing with the Tingarans," Rogan said, "perhaps because the Tingaran officers prefer not to deal with us Alturans. I suppose that's not surprising, given our past. But since Prince Ilathor left, the Hazarans have been more difficult to lead. They're not interested in following a foreigner, no matter what their Prince says."

  "Prince Ilathor left?" Ella said. "I thought you were both joint regent?"

  "He did." Rogan turned his piercing gaze on her, and Ella remembered he was not an easy man to fool. He could probably see right through her. "His father, the Kalif, is ill, and he was called back to Agira Lahsa."

  "So he won't be at the wedding, then?"

  "No, Ella. He would have been on his way home when we received the news, and I'm sure he has bigger things to worry about. Not only are we trying to find a new Tingaran High Lord, if Ilathor's father dies he'll be the new Kalif. Marshal Beorn's back in Seranthia trying to hold things together, much as he'd like to be at your brother's wedding. I don't envy him."

  "I see," Ella said. She didn't know whether to be relieved, or disappointed.

  "I'm sorry if you're disappointed, Ella."

  "I'm not disappointed. I'm excited. We're going to the wedding of the two people I love most in the world."

  "Ella?"

  "What?"

  "Prince Ilathor. He's a hard man… He would be a difficult man to love."

  "Thanks, Rogan," said Ella. "I know."

  3

  GUESTS and well-wishers came to Sarostar from far and wide for the wedding of the now famous Alturan Lord Marshal, Miro Torresante, the man who kept hope alive through the darkest days of the war, and his childhood love, Amber, an enchantress of the Academy.

  The wedding would take place on the banks of the Sarsen, below the Crystal Palace, where people who had journeyed from all over Merralya could watch from one of Sarostar's tall bridges. There would be music at the palace fountains to start the day, followed by a river parade of flower boats. Four Alturan bladesingers would lead a procession of the elite palace guard, while the ceremony would take place exactly an hour before sunset, when the Crystal Palace began its evening display of colours. The ceremony would be followed by the performances of acrobats and musicians scattered throughout the cobbled streets of the Poloplats and Woltenplats. With feasting and ale, the revelry would continue into the early hours of the morning.

  The guests were a roll-call
of the most powerful people in the Empire. They arrived in the city with their retinues until every inn and guesthouse in Sarostar was filled to bursting.

  High Lord Tiesto Telmarran came with the Halrana High Animator, Salvatore Domingo, along with a retinue of handsome dark-haired soldiers in brown.

  Jehral, Prince Ilathor's right-hand man, arrived with a score of terrifying Hazaran horsemen in black and yellow.

  High Lord Rorelan and High Enchanter Merlon would of course be attending, as would the Tartana of the Dunfolk, whose arrival was perhaps the most exciting of all, with children skipping along behind and hiding from the mischievous glowers the wizened old man gave them.

  Sailmaster Scherlic came via Castlemere, regretfully docking his Buchalanti storm rider the Infinity and setting foot on land with a shudder.

  Ameet Ptolmec, the new High Lord of Petrya, arrived with a dozen elementalists in blood-red robes, while the High Lords of Torakon and Loua Louna came together in a display of unity. The isolationist Veznans typically declined the invitation, sending their regrets.

  Then one came who surprised everyone.

  Dain Barden Mensk of the Akari arrived with a small personal guard of tall, blonde-haired, pale-skinned warriors. The ice-dwelling men and women strode through the streets of Sarostar proud and tall, with weapons of all description at their sides, from war hammers to broadswords. People drew back into doorways, whispering as they passed, looking fearfully for decaying revenants; fortunately the Dain had the presence of mind to bring none with him. The Dain looked uncomfortable in thick grey clothing and silver furs — much too hot for spring in Altura. Ill at ease in the city, he was quick to retreat to his lodgings.

  ~

  ON THE day of the wedding, chiming music filled the air and the scent of flowers wafted on the warm breeze. Inhaling the fragrance, Ella looked out from the fountains and up at the multitude of people who lined every bridge, watching the happenings below. The fountain display had been mesmerising, timed to an orchestra of fifty musicians, and food had been served. Guests were mingling; the ceremony would soon take place, and a sense of anticipation hung in the air.