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

by James Maxwell

  Tomas needed her. Miro needed her.

  True to its name, the Parklands was a district of sprawling manses and public gardens. Amber ran past a brightly lit park, and then two large manors, each at least four stories high. There was another park on her right, this time large and dark enough to hide in.

  Amber put on an extra burst of speed as she dug her left toe into the ground and made a hard right turn. She ran past large clumps of bushes and groves of trees. When she sensed the trees were between her and the soldiers she made a left turn, and when she jumped over a small canal, she turned right again.

  Finally she passed a series of flowerbeds and then a long hedge. She threw herself into the hedge and held still.

  Her breath came in heaves, and she fought to slow the rise and fall of her chest. Sweat dripped down from her brow and her heart galloped in fits and starts.

  Amber listened intently. She heard the voices of men calling out to each other. One of the soldiers came close at one point; she could see his form silhouetted against the light of the distant avenue. He turned and walked away.

  Amber stayed hidden in the bushes until exhaustion overtook her.

  Sleep overcame her senses, and she didn't stir until dawn.

  32

  MIRO woke with the dawn, hearing groans and moans around him as the male citizens of Wengwai, young and old, also woke and realised this was likely their final morning.

  The deep horn blasted in one long note, the deafening sound emanating from the tall tower called the Eye, making Miro's stomach tremble in strange ways. No one would be sleeping now.

  Miro looked out from the walls. The dust cloud had settled, and now for the first time he could encompass the incredible multitude below. The enemy commander had brought his siege weapons forward, he saw. Any moment, they would attack.

  Miro looked along the line of the wall. The battlements were perhaps twenty paces deep, and the wall was long, encircling the entire city. Miro had experience at holding a long line; there weren't enough Gokani soldiers to man these walls.

  He looked back at the city. The next inner wall was perhaps five paces deep. If the Elector of Gokan, or whoever was leading the defenders, was wise, he would pull the men back to the next wall at the first sign of trouble. The attackers would be forced to leave their siege towers outside the main wall, and the line of defenders would be stronger with a smaller area to cover.

  Miro snorted. What was the point of tactics, facing so many, so disciplined, and so prepared for a siege? The city was doomed.

  Wengwai's round towers were situated at regular intervals along the walls, and Miro glanced at the closest. He wondered what effect the huge cannon placed atop each of the towers would have.

  How could he discover who led the horde?

  The ground began to tremble, and gazing from the height of the wall, Miro saw the great army, miniscule as ants, start to march.

  He looked at the Gokani soldier beside him, a young lad, barely more than a boy. He was terrified. Wetness appeared on his legs, but he didn't seem to have noticed.

  Miro allowed his own fear to feed his rage. Why did people wage war? Weeks ago the Gokani had been trading and farming, falling in love and raising families. In the north, three nations had been destroyed by the horde. Two nations remained: Gokan and Veldria.

  This continent was as large as his own, and it was about to be overrun.

  The enemy marched forward with strange, jerky movements. Miro couldn't see their faces, but he could see that some held swords, while others held axes. A few held muskets, the stick-like devices he'd encountered when they'd fallen prey to Commodore Deniz and his men. There were also men with clubs and staves, and strangely, there were women in the ranks.

  Many in the horde were dressed in furs and skins, with horned helmets and ragged beards; these must be the barbarians from Oltara and Muttara. Others were clad in fine clothes. It made no sense; the different peoples were mixed up together; usually people of the same nation would fight together. Few wore armour.

  The cannon on the tower near Miro boomed, and a puff of smoke rose into the air. The shot was like the first drop of rain in a storm, and the cannon all around opened fire. The noise was deafening. Miro held his hands clapped to his ears and watched the devastation below.

  Every strike was a hit; the gunners couldn't miss. With incredible force the huge balls of lead struck the plains below, flurries of dirt and pieces of men flying into the air in their wake. Each ball tore a gouge in the sea of men like a scratch on a painting.

  Miro expected some of the enemy to break, but not a man did. They simply closed ranks and continued to move forward in tight formation.

  Near the front of the sea of men were eight tall siege towers, their frameworks built from strong logs lashed together. The towers rolled on huge wooden wheels and consisted of wooden boxes placed one on top of another, with the topmost box having a hinged door at the height of the walls. Miro could see each tower was filled to bursting with men.

  The towers lumbered forward, each about five hundred paces from the next. Behind them Miro could see clusters of trebuchets, scores of them, rolling forward with the soldiers. At this range they would devastate the walls. The attackers carried thousands of ladders, incredibly long to reach the top of the wall. The cannon boomed again and again, but there were too many targets.

  "Concentrate on the siege towers!" a voice called, relayed from one guard post to the next. The cannon opened up on the siege towers, one scoring a lucky hit, when Miro heard a sound that stopped the entire battle.

  "Halt!" the voice boomed in the air like a thunderclap, impossibly loud.

  The surging force below stopped in its tracks, only a hundred paces from the walls. Cannon rumbled but then petered out. The siege towers stopped rolling. The defenders on the walls held their breath.

  Miro saw a single figure walk forward through the horde. Though they pressed together shoulder-to-shoulder he walked alone, with a clear space around him. He drew inline with the towers and walked past them, until he was in front of the mass of men.

  As distant as he was Miro only saw a tall figure, in a black shirt and trousers, with hair the colour of blood.

  Miro watched in awe as the man looked up to the top of the wall. The man spread his arms at his side, and rose into the air.

  The defenders gasped, the sound audible to all, as every one of them watched the figure in black rise until he was level with the wall, and then higher, his body high over the horde below. The defenders' heads tilted back until he stopped, and then he was looking down at them, floating easily.

  He was clad in soft black material, perhaps velvet, rich and tailored to his slim form. His long sleeves opened at the wrists; silver sparkled at his cuffs and from a stone around his neck. He gazed down at the defenders with evil, ice-like eyes, a sneer of condescension on his face. The hair was pulled severely back from his brow and blood-red, with strange lines of black at his temples.

  "Lord of the Sky, protect us," Miro breathed.

  The man's lips parted, and when he spoke his voice was somehow amplified, so that it carried to every last defender, every last woman and child. His first words sent a chill down Miro's spine.

  "My name is Sentar Scythran," he said, in a tone as dead as the grave. "I am the Lord of the Night."

  Miro closed his eyes. His worst nightmare had come true.

  "I am your new ruler, and I will conquer your land, as I have conquered the north. Stronger men have failed. Braver men have failed. You will fail."

  The young recruit near Miro moaned with fear.

  "Surrender your city now. You have no chance. Surrender your city and I will give you your reward."

  "We'll never surrender!" a voice cried, and an arrow shot into the air. Perfectly aimed, its razor point flew faster than a bird.

  The arrow bounced harmfully off the Lord of the Night, splintering into fragments as it hit his body.

  He carried on without interruption. "When
I take this city you will all be killed. Every last man, woman, and child will die, as I visit the same fate on you I have visited on realms much more powerful than yours. Your strong men and women will join my army, while the old, the young, and the weak will become fuel for my endless hunger. Fight and I will kill you all, and laugh as I do."

  The floating man in black clothing paused, allowing his words to sink in.

  "Surrender," Sentar continued, "and I will spare your precious Guild, your Elector, and your council. I will still kill the rest of you, including your disgusting babes and your snivelling children, but you may take comfort knowing that your leaders will continue the memory of your civilisation. When the blood drips from your veins and your mate screams your name as the flesh melts, it is comfort you will sorely need."

  Even through his horror at the man's words, Miro recognised the tactics. Knowing the city of Wengwai would never surrender, Sentar was attempting to divide the city, creating resentment between the common people and the leaders.

  It was a strategy designed to weaken the defenders, and from the expressions Miro saw on the men around him, it was working. Yet it told him something.

  It told Miro that for all his power, the one who called himself the Lord of the Night did not find taking the city a simple undertaking. The thought gave Miro the determination to fight, even as another part of him argued.

  Perhaps he was simply in a hurry.

  A crack signified a musket shot but like the arrow, the ball bounced harmlessly off the man in black's floating form. A second musket fired, and then a third. A volley of the weapons fired simultaneously, the shots bouncing off the Lord of the Night like hail.

  These people had no lore. They were facing an army led by one of the Evermen. They didn't have a chance.

  Sentar looked over the defenders, lip curled in a sneer. "I have my answer. Prepare to die."

  He floated slowly to the ground until he returned to his feet at the head of his huge army. He raised an arm and the warriors below cried out in one voice, a sound of rage and triumph. It was eerie, the synchronicity of their cry, and of their movements. Miro had led men into battle on more than one occasion, he knew how men behaved, and this was not normal.

  "Cannon!" Miro heard the cry.

  Sentar waved his arm forward, and the army surged ahead, covering the final hundred paces in seconds. Ladders rose up to lean against the walls, while the defenders waited until they were filled with climbing men before pushing them away with pole-arms. The siege towers rolled inevitably forward.

  Miro drew his sword as a ladder touched the top of the wall in front of him. A Gokani came rushing forward with a pole-arm and shoved it away, but another took its place, and then another. Soon there were five ladders on the small patch of wall, and the man with the pole-arm couldn't keep up.

  Miro longed to take battle to the enemy, but he knew that now it was clear who was leading them he should find Amber and flee, if it was still even possible to do so.

  He looked at the sword in his hand, wishing it was a zenblade.

  Miro turned to depart the walls.

  The young recruit nearby cried out in fear, and Miro suddenly couldn't leave. Every part of his being screamed for him to fight; he couldn't leave this boy to face his enemy alone.

  Miro faced the ladders as they trembled under the weight of climbing men. A hand reached the top rung and an enemy warrior came forward, a barbarian by his horned helmet.

  He clambered up onto the wall and then stared directly at Miro, the whites of his eyes sending a cold stab into Miro's heart.

  Miro realised then what he'd been looking at but been too blind to see. His gaze swept to the left and the right, where more of the enemy climbed ladders and poured onto the walls.

  They were all revenants.

  The largest army Miro had ever seen was an army of revenants.

  Everything clicked into place. Sentar Scythran had somehow built the vats, and used one or two bodies to create essence. He'd used that essence to create revenants, and with his revenants beside him he'd killed a larger group of people. Some of those people fed the vats, while others became even more revenants.

  He'd continued doing so until he'd conquered the barbarian nation of Oltara, and by then he was unstoppable. Muttara fell next and soon every barbarian was either feeding the vats or in his thrall. The next to fall was Narea, unable to halt the onslaught of a barbarian horde that was already dead.

  Miro had seen bladesingers struggle to defeat overwhelming numbers of revenants. With no lore, the people of this continent were doomed.

  The Lord of the Night's army was like a plague, feeding on those they killed and growing larger in the process, in a cycle that wouldn't end until Sentar Scythran stood inside the Sentinel and opened the way for his brothers to return. He wouldn't stop until every last human on the face of Merralya was dead or enslaved.

  Miro shook himself out of his reverie as the nearby cannon boomed, tearing the revenants below into pieces, but they were inhuman, exhibiting neither fear nor hesitation.

  Then the enemy trebuchets let loose, huge stones flying between the approaching siege towers.

  A boulder hit the wall in front of Miro's feet.

  The five ladders splintered in a heartbeat, and the barbarian warrior in front of Miro was torn to pieces.

  The young recruit was hit by a piece of wall; his chest caved in and blood gushed from his mouth.

  Miro was lifted from his feet as the entire section of wall exploded into the air.

  33

  HIDDEN somewhere deep in the Parklands, Amber heard the great horn call the men to their stations. She felt the ground tremble as the huge army marched towards the city walls. When the Lord of the Night spoke, she heard his words.

  Now was the time to enter through the final gate and gain entrance to the second tier. They now knew who led the enemy; Amber had to find the alchemists.

  She picked a direction and started walking, following the district in an anticlockwise direction, figuring that the last couple of turns had been clockwise.

  She saw it instantly, a ramped pathway that split in the middle, the left hand side continuing high to the innermost circle, where the great tower called the Eye loomed down on the city below. The right side of the sloping path levelled off, taking the visitor away from the district called the Parklands and to the area the Alchemists' Guild called home.

  Even from this distance, Amber heard shouts and screams, and prayed Miro would be all right.

  Guards stood at the foot of the sloped path leading to the last two gates, but they ran back up towards the Eye even as Amber approached, ignoring her. She stepped onto the path; like the main road it displayed a colourful pattern of interlocking stones, and its builders possessed a striking ingenuity, for it lifted off the ground seemingly without support.

  Amber's determined footsteps took her to the lower path as the other side rose to dizzying heights. Ahead of her six soldiers in black uniforms watched her approach. Each bore the emblem of the triangle enclosed within a circle on his breast.

  "I need to speak with someone from the Guild," Amber said simply.

  "Who are you?" one of the soldiers in black said.

  Crashes and booms started as the enemy commenced a great bombardment of the walls. Amber closed her eyes. She opened them and looked directly at the soldier who had spoken. "I'm an enchantress of Altura, from across the sea, far from here. I can tell your masters something of the nature of what we are facing. Your people may understand technology, but I understand lore."

  The soldiers exchanged glances. Finally the leader made a decision, and two men were assigned to take Amber further along the path.

  Amber saw a huge structure of red stone, encircling the Eye like a wheel. Her escorts took her inside an open doorway and into a featureless corridor, slightly curved to follow the building's arc. Stairs led both up and down, while doors were set into the walls on both sides.

  The soldiers led Amber t
o a bare room, with just two seats and a table, and told her to wait. She heard the guards lock the door behind her. A mirror on the wall showed Amber how she looked: haggard, worn, and filled with fear.

  As she waited she tried not to think about Miro. She knew the chances of them making it out of Wengwai alive were slim.

  The door opened, and a man in a black robe entered. He bore the same symbol of a circle bound by a triangle on his robe, and his hair was grey, his eyes dark. He sat down without a word and looked at Amber down a hooked nose.

  "Who are you?" he said.

  "My name is Amber."

  "Where are you from?"

  "I come from Altura."

  "And where is Altura?"

  "Across the sea, a great distance to the east."

  The alchemist snorted. "Pish. There's no such place."

  Amber glared at the alchemist. "I thought your Alchemists' Guild was supposed to have all the knowledge. At least I have the pleasure of seeing I was wrong."

  "You said you're an enchantress. What is that?"

  Amber took a breath, calming herself. She reminded herself she needed this man's help. "An enchantress uses lore to give items special properties. An enchantress might, for example, draw runes on a stone to project light. We call this a nightlamp. This is just one example…"

  Amber looked at the alchemist's sardonic expression, and realised he was making sport with her. "Lord of the Sky," she whispered, "your city is falling down around your ears, and you're holed up in your castle with nothing better to do than make fun of me."

  There was a knock on the door, and with an expression of irritation the alchemist stood up and turned the handle. He muttered angrily with someone for a few minutes.

  "Wait here," he said, before once more leaving Amber alone.

  Amber wondered how the soldiers on the walls were faring. The thick stone blocked the sounds of the cannon but she knew that out there people were dying.

  The door opened, and looking up, Amber saw a different alchemist this time. He was older, with shaggy grey eyebrows and kind eyes. The triangle on his robe was bound by a double circle.