The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two)

by James Maxwell

  This time, Miro knew, without a doubt, that what he was doing was right.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Marshal Beorn said.

  "Undoubtedly," Miro said, feeling the wind sting his eyes as he gazed out at the great city, far away, but unmistakeably in view.

  "Can you see the spires of the Terra Cathedral?" Beorn asked.

  "The four tall towers, near the dome in the north?"

  Beorn laughed. "Your eyes are better than mine. But yes, that's it. Ralanast lies before us."

  "Lord of the Sky, we've come a long way."

  "That we have, Lord Marshal." Beorn peered intently at the horizon. "That we have," he said again, scratching at his beard.

  There were three factors, without which, they would never have been standing here.

  The ironmen had proven to be invaluable, tough enough to push through places where the explosions of prismatic orbs made the approach of men in light armour suicidal. At Carnathion, the glowing constructs smashed through the enemy, preventing a near-disaster when eight imperial avengers tore through Miro's pikemen, and at Goldhaven the walls that the Black Army boasted were unbreakable were broken.

  More decisive still were the archers. Miro used his two divisions — one comprised of Dunfolk with hunting bows, the other made up of Alturans with rail-bows — like pieces in a war game, the lines and strategies of the simulator constant in his mind. He destroyed the enemy's mortar teams at Norcia, and routed the legion — the imperial legion! — at Cortona Gap. He quickly realised his bowmen's weakness was close combat, and invented new tactics as he went along: the running line, the forked envelopment, and the rearguard folly.

  The third factor was the greatest of all, and without it the liberation of Halaran would have come to naught, no matter Miro's skill or that of those under his command.

  The people of Halaran were rising up.

  For many in Miro's army this wasn't a journey, it was a homecoming. The Halrana who had fled their home at the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta were now making good on their vows to return. Many were from Ralanast, but many were also from the towns the allied army was liberating: Carnathion, Norcia, Goldhaven, Lonessa, Sallat…

  As the Black Army fled before them, Miro's men entered each town to a hero's welcome. Flowers were thrown in the streets and people openly wept tears of joy. Singing and dancing carried on into the dawn, and as the Halrana under Miro's command were reunited with their families, even Miro felt tears come to his eyes.

  He always gave these Halrana the day and night to spend with their families, and to Miro's pleased surprise the soldiers always returned to his command. Miro always gave a speech to the townsfolk, in particular directed to those men who had survived the depredations of occupation.

  When they left each town, every man who could hold a sword came with them.

  Miro's ranks swelled, so that he soon sent word back to High Lord Rorelan in Altura for more weapons and armour. Soon Miro's new recruits were armed with sharp swords and leather armour, unenchanted but durable. Rorelan even sent two hundred more rail-bows; it seemed he'd found a little more essence tucked away.

  The most emotional time for Miro was when they reached the small town of Sallat.

  Once, not long ago, but far back in the events of the war, Miro had been a bladesinger recruit billeted in Sallat while Prince Leopold awaited orders. Miro had met a woman there — in fact, she was still the last woman he'd been with — but when the orders came, the Alturan army had left Sallat behind. Less than a day later, the army received word that the Black Army had hit the town. They hadn't turned back.

  Now, nearly a year later, Miro walked alone through the streets, his mind recalling Varana, the sweet Halrana woman who had taken him to her bed. Half of the town had been destroyed, and Miro was sad to realise he didn't recognise any of it. He took a bearing at the remains of the town hall, confirming in his mind only that Varana's house was one of those blackened hulks. The survivors — who still eked an existence, taking each day one at a time — told him she was almost certainly dead, killed when the legion came through. Miro felt a small sadness; he'd always known she was gone. He had been another person back then.

  "What orders, Lord Marshal?" Beorn asked, bringing Miro back to the present.

  "Marshal Scola will need to take his three divisions towards Mornhaven, to head off any attack at our rear from the Ring Forts. He won't have enough men to attack; we just need him to secure our rear from the enemy."

  "What about us?"

  "Have the scouts returned?" Miro asked.

  "Yes. There's a place between here and Ralanast. It's high, and well-protected. The enemy know we're here, so there's little risk in being so visible."

  "Good," Miro said.

  "Lord Marshal?" a courier said, coming up the hill with a piece of paper in his hand. "A message from Ralanast."

  Miro swiftly broke the seal and read the note. "It's from Rogan," he said. "The signal is a plume of green smoke."

  Miro looked at Beorn, who nodded his understanding. Miro then turned his attention back to the distant spires of the Terra Cathedral, and the one hope he had never dared to mention, not even to himself.

  The thoughts came to him then, however, now that he was so close. He tried to quell the stirring in his breast, but her face was there in his mind. He'd known her since she was a girl, and deep inside he'd always known she loved him, but she was his sister's friend, and he'd thought it the puppy-love of a child.

  When he'd finally seen her as a woman, it was too late, and then it wasn't just her marriage to Igor Samson that drove them apart, it was the war, and finally she was taken from him, perhaps a prisoner somewhere, but most likely dead.

  Amber.

  "Miro, are you all right?" Marshal Beorn asked.

  Miro realised he held his fists clenched at his sides. He forced himself to relax. "Yes, I'm fine," he said. "Pass the word. We advance."

  36

  "WOMAN, you're staying here," Rogan said, putting all of the force that could command an army behind his voice.

  "May the Lord of the Earth scratch me if I am," Amelia said, her brown eyes blazing.

  "The fight is going to be dangerous, and if I'm worried about you, I'll be distracted," Rogan said, changing tactic.

  "Then I'll have to stay right by your side, won't I?"

  "You'll stay put here with Tapel," Rogan said. "I command it."

  "You command it, do you? Listen to me, Rogan Jarvish, you don't command me. I'll do nothing of the sort."

  "Please, Amelia," Rogan said. "The coming fight will be no place for a woman. I intend to be at the heart of it."

  "No," Amelia said. "That armoursilk doesn't fit you anymore."

  "What do you mean? Of course it does!"

  "No, it doesn't," Amelia's voice softened. "You aren't a young man, Rogan. Yes, the armoursilk fits, but it is no longer right for you. You were badly wounded in that battle — you're a warrior, and you know it as well as I do. Bladesingers always go where the battle is thickest, isn't that what they say? Well, not you. Without you, the spirit will go out of your men. They need you, Rogan."

  Rogan spluttered for a moment. "Don't change the subject, Amelia. We're talking about you, here, not me."

  "We're talking about us," Amelia whispered.

  Rogan suddenly couldn't speak. He was as speechless as he had been while recovering from his wounds. He simply gaped, staring at Amelia, looking into her eyes. Lord of the Sky, she was a beautiful woman. He stood silent and mesmerised by her. He realised he loved her smile, and her golden hair, the colour of wheat. What was she doing here, arguing with him?

  "I'm not staying home either," Tapel said, his piping voice rising up over the silence.

  Rogan and Amelia both rounded on the boy. "Yes, you are," Rogan and Amelia said in unison.

  "You can't make me," Tapel said.

  Rogan loomed over the boy, who suddenly cowered under him. He spoke slowly, in the voice that had handled countless boys a lot
tougher than this one. "Yes," Rogan said. "I can."

  "Will you come for me after?" Tapel said in a small voice.

  "Boy," Rogan said, "I'll come for you after. I'll come for you after the battle, and I'll come for you the next day. Now, get gone with you." He cuffed the air, and Tapel ran away.

  "Do you mean that?" Amelia asked.

  "I do," Rogan said. He hesitantly reached forward and took her hand.

  Amelia closed her eyes and breathed deeply, a sigh of mixed pain and pleasure, and when she opened her eyes Rogan was surprised to see moisture glistening there. "I'm coming with you," she said, "and I won't hear another word on it. You can wear your armoursilk and carry your zenblade, but I don't want you doing anything foolish, do you hear me?"

  "I hear you," Rogan said.

  He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. He knew she was a good woman, and Tapel would be the son he had never had. "I'm going to say this now before I lose my nerve. I love you," Rogan said.

  "I love you too," Amelia said, and then she was crying.

  "And I'm not saying this for your benefit. I'll be a father to the boy too if he'll have me."

  "He doesn't like it when you call him that," Amelia said, laughing through her tears.

  "When he learns some respect, then I'll call him a man."

  ~

  PRINCE Tiesto Telmarran, the man who would be High Lord of Raj Halaran, was obviously nervous. Dressed in full ceremonial gear, he wore a brown robe, the raj hada of Halaran — a hand with an eye in the centre — displayed on a torque around his neck. His hair was shaped tall and erect in the formal style, and his aides were clustered around him. Seeing Tiesto in this light, for the first time, Rogan believed that this man could become High Lord.

  Closest to Prince Tiesto were Marcus Toscan, the soldier who had been by his side since the beginning, and Salvatore Domingo, a stiffly abrupt loremaster Prince Tiesto had named High Animator.

  They were in the manse of a Halrana merchant who was playing the delicate and dangerous game of sycophant to the occupiers, while giving every aid to the resistance. The merchant's house was close by the storehouses of Ralanast's cargo district, which made it the perfect place from which to organise themselves.

  "Ah, Blademaster Rogan, how go the preparations?" Prince Tiesto asked.

  "Just Rogan," he growled, "and the preparations go as well as can be expected. The men are ready. We are in communication with Lord Marshal Miro. In three days, we put the plan into effect."

  There was a soft knock at the door, and everyone in the room exchanged glances. Marcus went to the door and opened it, speaking quickly to someone outside before shutting it again.

  "News," Marcus said. "The allied army is just outside the city. From a high vantage our men in the city say they can see the green and brown banner."

  The men in the room erupted in cheers, while Prince Tiesto smiled. The High Animator looked as dour as ever.

  "This is the best opportunity we will have, Prince Tiesto," Rogan said. "The morale of the men is high, and with news of the army just outside the people of Ralanast will need only a little push for it to turn to a full-scale revolt."

  "What about the Halrana Lexicon?" High Animator Salvatore Domingo asked.

  Rogan sighed, while even Prince Tiesto looked exasperated.

  "It's in Altura, with High Lord Rorelan," Rogan said. How many times had the man asked?

  "When will we get it back?"

  "When Halaran is safe enough to send it through to you, High Animator," Rogan said. "Or, you could depart Ralanast and go to Sarostar to get it yourself?"

  The High Animator harrumphed and walked away, while Marcus stifled a grin.

  "He is a skilled man," Prince Tiesto said, "one of the best. He simply cares for his craft."

  "I know," Rogan said. "When this is over, I'll apologise."

  "Have you heard from the Alturan woman again?" Prince Tiesto asked.

  "Amber says she's ready, but I'm still concerned. The prison camp is on the opposite side of the city to the allied army, in a region well-defended by the Tingarans. To reach the camp, we first have to get past the city walls, which are heavily fortified, and then through a series of smaller checkpoints until we reach the farmlands. The camp itself is also fortified, with a steel fence and a nearby encampment of guards."

  "Must we stake everything on freeing the camp?" Prince Tiesto said. "Between the allied army and the men under your command…"

  "We must," Rogan said with finality. "At least half of my men won't fight unless we free the friends and family being held in the camp. Then there's the rest of the city folk. We're counting on their help, and they'll be as hesitant as the fighters, probably more so."

  "Go on," Tiesto said.

  "We'll divide into two groups. The first, larger group, led by Your Highness, will lead the revolt here inside the walls of Ralanast. Your objective is to wait for the right moment, and then to let the people know you're here. Shout the message loud and clear, and take out every man in black you can get your hands on. Then you must head for Ralanast's eastern gate, where the second group, led by me, will need to get back into the city with the prisoners."

  "Understood," Marcus nodded. "Gather men, open the eastern gate."

  "That's right," Rogan said. "A simple plan is a good plan. You know timing's critical, so keep your eyes on your timepieces."

  "What about you?" Tiesto asked.

  "Obviously I'll need to get my men out of the city. That's going to be difficult. We'll leave in small groups throughout the day. We'll be disguised as farmers and workers, and there'll only be a hundred of us."

  "Is that enough?" said Marcus.

  "It'll have to be. Each man has been hand-picked — sorry Your Highness, but I've got the best of 'em — and we're actually replacing a hundred real farmers and workers, who will give us their clothing and wait here in the city while we exit in their stead."

  Marcus coughed. "It's risky."

  "Nothing comes without risk," Rogan said. "These workers we're replacing also have loved ones in the camp. My hundred men will each have a new name, new clothing, a new family, and a new home. Let's just hope our enemies don't notice the deception."

  "Which is why we've planned it for the day of the new guard rotation," Marcus said.

  "That's right." Rogan smiled grimly at the young soldier. "We'll leave during the day, then after sunset I'll assemble my men in the forest outside the prison camp. When we get the signal from inside, we'll strike."

  "What signal?" Tiesto asked. "What if you don't see it?"

  "Amber is an Alturan enchantress, Your Highness," Rogan said. "She said she would raise a green light — green for Altura. She'll make sure we see it. And when we see the light, that's when we strike."

  "The timing's tight," Tiesto muttered.

  "It is," Rogan said. "We only have the night to free the prisoners and march with those who are able back to Ralanast's eastern gate, keeping the enemy at bay the entire time. Your Highness, you must start the revolt at dawn."

  "And finally…" Marcus said.

  "Finally we all march through the city for the main southern gate, where the Lord Marshal and an army of Alturans and Halrana will be itching to get in."

  "It's a good plan," Tiesto said, nodding. "But it all comes down to the prison camp."

  "It comes down to a lot more than that, Your Highness," Rogan said.

  "Marcus, please, leave us alone for a moment," Prince Tiesto said.

  Marcus placed his hand over his heart and looked briefly at the ground, before glancing at Rogan and then departing.

  "Look, if this is about the High Animator's request, I'm afraid this is one battle that won't be won by magic. In three days time, it's the hearts of men that will be the deciding factor between victory and defeat. Without essence, and a lot of time…"

  Prince Tiesto smiled. "No, Marshal Rogan…"

  "Marshal…?"

  "This isn't about the Halrana Lexicon, Roga
n, this is about you."

  Rogan scowled. "What about me?"

  "It isn't right to call the man who trains bladesingers 'just Rogan'. Like it or not, you are a leader, and you need to have a title accordingly."

  "Who says so?" Rogan asked.

  "I say so," Prince Tiesto's voice firmed, and Rogan's eyebrows went up. "Here," the prince said.

  The Halrana noble handed Rogan a device to be worn on his breast. It was a raj hada, with the hand of Halaran on one side and the sword and flower of Altura on the other. The colours green and brown were interwoven. The insignia was that of a marshal.

  "What is it?"

  Prince Tiesto snorted. "Don't be a fool, Rogan. You know what it is. I'm making you a marshal, and don't think High Lord Rorelan or Lord Marshal Miro won't back me up."

  "Don't expect me not to wear armoursilk," Rogan said.

  "Marshal, underneath that, you can wear whatever you like. Lord Marshal Miro is a bladesinger, why should you be any different?"

  Rogan thought about what Amelia had said. Perhaps this was his destiny?

  "Fine, Your Highness." Rogan frowned, taking the badge. "Marshal it is."

  As the newly promoted marshal turned to leave, Prince Tiesto spoke again. "And Marshal Rogan?"

  "What is it?"

  "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you for helping my people."

  "Prince Tiesto?"

  "Yes?"

  "You've got a busy few days ahead of you. You'd better get to work."

  37

  "I SWEAR that's what the guard said," Samora said. "Moragon's away in the east, and the babe went with him. I'm sorry, Amber, don't be upset."

  "I just hate not knowing where he is and if he's safe." Amber wiped at her eyes.

  "It's better that the babe isn't here. He might get caught up in the fighting."

  "I know," Amber said. "Scratch it, I know. But how will I ever get him back to me?"

  "You'll find a way," Samora said.