The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two)

by James Maxwell

  Marshal Beorn opened his mouth to reply when a soldier spoke.

  "Lord Marshal, look!"

  From the four spires of the Terra Cathedral, four plumes of green smoke rose into the air. The city may appear peaceful, but inside those walls Miro knew people were dying.

  "Launch the counter-signal!" Miro called.

  The command was passed down the line, and a signalling flag unfurled, where it could be seen high, high above. The dirigible far above the city released its massive banners, and both the sword and flower on green and the open hand on brown were flown high above the city of Ralanast.

  Miro heard it then, a sound, carried on the air, rolling up from the occupied city below.

  The sound of hundreds of thousands of voices all raised in unison.

  "It's not so quiet now," Miro said to Beorn. He grinned. "You can buy me a drink in Ralanast tonight."

  "With pleasure." Beorn smiled back.

  "Lord Marshal!" an Alturan soldier called. "The dirigible has raised a new signal flag. Red and gold on a blue field."

  Miro could never remember the signalling system. "Don't tell me what it looks like! What does it mean?"

  "Some of the enemy are fleeing the city through the northern gate!"

  Miro and Beorn exchanged glances.

  Another soldier called out. "The southern gate is open, Lord Marshal!"

  Miro drew his zenblade and raised it high for all to see. He spoke the words that made his armoursilk blaze like the sun, the zenblade red with deadly intent.

  The time for speeches was past. Miro opened his mouth and shouted one word with all of the strength he could muster.

  "Ralanast!"

  The army of Halrana, Alturans, Dunfolk, colossi, and ironmen flew down the hillside, gathering momentum as they ran. A contingent of Tingaran legionnaires awaited them, vainly attempting to close the southern gate.

  On one flank, hundreds of massed ironmen strode forward, lacking in grace, but more than making up for it in indomitable strength. The other flank was led by the three colossi, with Luca Angelo, the animator who broke the enemy's defences at the Sarsen, in the lead.

  Never one to hang back, Miro led the charge, the foremost of a wedge of bladesingers, with two of them running on his left and two on his right. The lightness of their armoursilk, their peak fitness, and their agility, meant the bladesingers swiftly outdistanced the heavily armoured infantry and the columns of pikemen.

  Miro and the four other bladesingers crashed into the massed defenders, penetrating deep into their ranks. Ahead and above him, Miro saw arrows flying through the air to come raining down on the legionnaires' unprotected heads, wiping out hundreds of men at a time.

  He was slowed by the sheer number of his opponents, but he was desperate to be first through the gate; he had to know what waited for him on the other side. As his sword rose and fell, blood spraying and splattering over his armoursilk, Miro knew he was fighting the same men who had launched constant sorties against his homeland. These soldiers in black had attacked the massed Halrana refugees at the Sarsen, intentionally cutting down men, women, and children. They had imprisoned the survivors, and occupied their lands, raping and pillaging at will. The Black Army had taken Amber away from him.

  Even the other bladesingers couldn't keep up with their Lord Marshal. He spun and in a mighty arc he cut through two men with one blow. A pike was thrust at his unprotected face, but he cut the pole in half and slashed the throat of the warrior who held it. Miro sang in a clear, crisp voice and the words were part of who he was. The song came unthinking from his lips as he caused his armoursilk to become transparent and his zenblade to grow blue and ethereal. He caused waves of heat to pour from the runes, burning through his enemy's clothing and searing their limbs, causing them to drop their weapons from the pain.

  Then Miro was at the gate, a tall tower of stone to either side of him. Orbs rained down; the Black Army were insanely killing their own men. The explosions were reflected from Miro's armoursilk, with only the shrapnel and bone splintering Miro's cheeks.

  He despatched a Tingaran with two blows, the warrior falling to one knee, and then Miro saw an imperial avenger making its way towards him, twisting and turning with its strange gait. Miro used the Tingaran's back as a board to launch himself high in the air, his zenblade held over his head, the song from his lips never ceasing. The barbs of the avenger's flail tore at his armoursilk, but still Miro continued his trajectory. He took the avenger's head from its shoulders, landing with both feet on the ground as the body crumpled to the earth.

  Miro next took down two surprised legionnaires, then he saw Halrana soldiers in brown over the heads of those he was fighting, and sensed the press of his own army behind him. Crushed between the two forces, the warriors in black started to throw down their swords. Those of the enemy who didn't surrender turned and fled. The two forces met and Miro's army surged into the city. The gate was won.

  Marshal Beorn swiftly gave assignments to the green and brown-clad soldiers. Panting, Miro lowered his zenblade, allowing the runes to fade. He knew Beorn would take control, sending the men throughout the city — although it seemed the rising Halrana had done most of the hard work already. Calm began to descend as the final pockets of resistance were crushed one by one.

  Another bladesinger stood in front of Miro, with his back to him. He was a tall man — as tall as Miro himself — and lean, with grey in his dark hair, yet he wore his armoursilk like it truly belonged on his form.

  Soldiers in brown ran up to the bladesinger, the man responding with curt orders. Then the bladesinger turned, and as Miro saw the man's face in profile, the ugly scars and weathered features, and noticed the raj hada across his breast, Miro began to smile.

  "So they made you a marshal?" he called above the explosions and shouts of a battle still in its last throes. The bladesinger turned in surprise when Miro called out. The two tall men in green faced each other. Miro knew this was the man who'd made him who he was today.

  "I always knew you couldn't follow orders," Rogan Jarvish said, in the same voice he'd once used to berate Miro at the Pens in Sarostar. "Lord Marshal, eh?"

  "Something like that," Miro said, grinning. "We all thought you were dead. Lord of the Sky, I could have used your help." He looked around at the blood-splattered Halrana. "But it looks like you found some people who could use it more."

  Rogan stepped forward and he and Miro embraced, Miro's old teacher evidently embarrassed when a cheer erupted from the soldiers around them.

  "Ah, there he is. High Lord Tiesto Telmarran," Rogan said when they separated, "this is Lord Marshal Miro Torresante, my best student."

  "I had a good teacher." Miro smiled. "It's an honour, High Lord."

  "Thank you, Lord Marshal," Tiesto said. "I still have not been named High Lord…"

  "But you've earned it," Rogan growled. "Don't be a fool, man. After today, there isn't a man here who won't follow you to the ends of the empire."

  "Which is where we'll likely end up," Miro said. He shook his head. "Please, don't thank me, High Lord. Half of my men didn't even participate. The uprising has been well-planned and bravely fought."

  "There's still more to be done," Tiesto said. "I must go." He turned to Rogan. "Marshal Rogan, I've sent five hundred men to the prison camp. Amelia will be fine."

  Tiesto departed, and with his final words Miro felt a terrible squeezing feeling in his chest. "I've heard about the camp. Where is it? I'm leaving to…"

  "Miro," Rogan said, "we've freed the camp. It's done. A woman there helped us."

  Miro opened his mouth, and suddenly the act of asking about her was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

  "The prisoners…?"

  "It was a dark time for them. Many were taken away, murdered to feed some evil magic of the Primate's. We were able to free thousands of them. That's all I can say."

  "There was a young woman," Miro said. "I don't know if she was with them, or even if she was taken
prisoner. I lost her, at the Bridge of Sutanesta."

  "I'm sorry, Miro," Rogan said. "If she's living, I promise you, I'll help get her back to you."

  Miro nodded, unable to ask more. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to ask Rogan where the rescued prisoners had been taken.

  "Ah," Rogan said, spotting someone over Miro's shoulder, "there's someone I'd like you to meet."

  Miro turned.

  "Enchantress Amber Samson, meet Lord Marshal Miro Torresante."

  42

  "MY LAST name is Rosalie," Amber said. "My husband was killed."

  Amber had thought about this meeting for so long that she couldn't believe it was happening. He had changed — Lord of the Sky, he had changed — but if anything the resolve in the lines of his mouth and the thin scar that ran from below his left eye to his jaw line added something strong and indefinable to his character.

  The last time she had seen him was at her graduation from the Academy of Enchanters in Sarostar; what felt like a lifetime ago. He had told her then that he was being sent to the front — and now he was the Lord Marshal.

  Amber remembered the day so clearly because it was the day she realised that he'd finally come to terms with the way he felt about her. It was nothing he'd said; it was in the way he'd sat close to her, their legs touching, and the surreptitious glances he'd given her when he'd thought she wasn't looking.

  Amber had been married then, but now Igor Samson was gone. But there was so much she knew she should tell him but was terrified to say. How could she ever tell him about how she'd given herself to Moragon? How could she mention her baby, when Miro hadn't even known she was pregnant?

  She had forgotten how tall he was; as tall as Rogan. His dark eyes looked down at her past his sharp nose. Stubble lined his angular jaw, and his black hair was tied back with a cord. He was finally saving her, just as she had always imagined him doing.

  All of a sudden Amber felt frightened and dropped her eyes. Of course he would be pleased to see her, but what if it was just as his sister's long lost friend; as the girl he had grown up with? She knew she looked terrible; why did he have to see her like this?

  Amber felt fingers on her chin. She once more looked up into Miro's dark eyes, and saw the welling of water around their edges.

  Miro spoke for the first time since he'd seen her. "Never again let me forget how beautiful you are," he said.

  He lowered his head and his strong arms went around her. The last thing Amber saw from the corner of her eye was Rogan wiping some speck from his eye.

  Then she forgot everything else, as finally Amber had what she had wanted ever since she first saw him in Sarostar, so many years ago.

  Amber had the kiss of the man she loved.

  ~

  BY THE end of the day, Ralanast was secure, and with every hand turned against them the soldiers of the Black Army were fleeing the city's environs in droves.

  After a quick ceremony, Tiesto Telmarran, the new Halrana High Lord, took charge of Rialan Palace, dedicating his first words as High Lord to a fallen soldier named Marcus Toscan.

  Marshal Beorn took charge of the army, seizing the former positions of the Black Army as far as half-way to the Louan border. Marshal Rogan set men to work repairing the demolished eastern gate, while in the afternoon Amelia returned to Ralanast and took care of the liberated prisoners.

  With the city finally safe, sympathisers and even those who had simply preferred to stay clear of the fighting were rounded up by those who had suffered at the hands of their occupiers. Stones were thrown and names were called, but the Halrana had seen enough of bloodshed, and little more was done.

  An hour before sunset High Lord Tiesto ordered the streets to be cleaned up. Soldiers and volunteers from the citizenry set-to willingly; the streets were cleared of rubble, and the bodies of the enemy were taken outside the walls to be burned, while those of the brave Alturans and Halrana who had given themselves for the city were taken to the cargo district to later be buried with full ceremony.

  As the sun sank below the horizon the High Lord ordered the bells of the Terra Cathedral to be rung for an hour. The buildings emptied of people as Alturan soldiers and Halrana of all stations massed in the streets, in the square outside the palace, and out the front of the Terra Cathedral.

  Music rose from many places in the crowd, and the people's voices rose as they sang simple Halrana songs about the harvest and the beauty of their country. There was little in the way of food and drink, but every man with food in his shop or beer in his cellar sent it into the crowd. They thanked the Evermen they were alive and they mourned the dead. Every Alturan soldier was kissed at least once, and those with no place to sleep soon had one, many by the side of a dark-haired Halrana woman. Husbands kissed their wives, and children were clutched to their father's chests. It was a night when no one was alone.

  At a small house in one of Ralanast's poorer districts, an exhausted man opened his front door and slumped against the frame, looking at the sight that greeted him. Tapel squealed and ran to Rogan's side, hugging him around his waist, while a smiling Amelia came forward and wiped the tears from Rogan's cheeks.

  "You stayed home, son," Rogan said. "Good for you."

  Far away, in a cool chamber in Rialan Palace, where the songs of the crowd could be heard wafting in through the open window, High Lord Tiesto Telmarran stood by the body of Marcus Toscan, gently pulling away some blood-crusted flaxen hair from the young soldier's face.

  "Be at peace, soldier of Halaran," Tiesto said. "No one should be alone tonight, least of all you."

  At the Terra Cathedral, a young man and a young woman, both clean and fresh, mounted the steps hand in hand, climbing up to the tall wooden door that barred the entrance to the spectacular building the Halrana had dedicated to the Lord of the Earth.

  Two red-faced guards, evidently jovial from the empty wine bladder at their feet, rose to bar the entrance, but then one of them grabbed his fellow's arm when he saw who it was.

  "Lord Marshal," the guard said, "it's all as you asked."

  Amber thought about the prison camp and placed her hand on Miro's arm. "Miro, I… I don't like enclosed spaces. Or even dark ones."

  Miro turned to Amber and smiled. "Amber, I'm a soldier. I've spent the last year or more sleeping outdoors, in pavilions or under the stars. I like the Crystal Palace — you'll like it, too — but anywhere else is too confining for me too."

  Amber smiled in return, following Miro into the cathedral as he pushed open the door.

  The domed room was massive, airy and light, with nightlamps in sconces and scenes of growing life decorated on the inside of the dome. It was a place of warmth and beauty.

  With Amber's hand still clasped in his, Miro led her up the stairs that wound along the inside of the dome. At the top, they went through a tiny doorway and Amber once more smelled the freshness of the air outside. The night was cool, but there was no chance of rain. From below, they heard the sounds of the people singing.

  A wide platform rested against the outside of the curved dome, and Miro now led Amber along the walkway to a flat area, open to the air and fenced by a low stone rail.

  Thick cushioned carpets were spread on the expansive floor, with piles of pillows, plates of food, shining nightlamps, and flasks of water and wine. Coverlets were folded near the pillows.

  "Only the priests come here," Miro said. "Do you see where we are? We're on top of the Terra Cathedral, between the four spires."

  Amber looked up and gasped. The stars shone down from an amazingly clear sky, while at the top of each spire a glowing prism cycled through a series of warm colours.

  "I asked the High Lord for somewhere special," Miro said, "and this is what he gave me. There's a bedchamber just through that door there if you'd prefer to go inside, and there's a washbasin in a second chamber.

  "Miro," Amber said, "it's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

  "I know you've had a tough…"

&nbs
p; "Shh," Amber hushed. "Yes, it's war, and it's been difficult for everyone. But thinking of you is what got me through. I love you. I always have."

  "I'm a fool," Miro said.

  "No you're not," Amber said. "You're a man." She pulled him down to the soft covers. "Please, show me that you're my man."

  That night in Ralanast was a night when no one was alone. Some slept in a lover's arms, while others danced the night away.

  And at least one couple made up for lost time.

  43

  PRIMATE Melovar Aspen brooded in his lush chambers at the Imperial Palace in Seranthia when two separate messages came to tell him he was losing the war.

  When Melovar had first heard about the desert men and their siege of Tlaxor he'd diverted the legionnaires he was sending to Halaran and instead sent them towards Petrya. While the reinforcements were still travelling, where they wouldn't do anyone any good, the first message arrived to tell him that this desert prince had conquered the unconquerable city. Prince Ilathor had somehow crossed the boiling waters of Lake Halapusa to the Petryan capital, storming the gates and taking the city.

  The Petryans were now out of the war.

  Haptut Alwar was dead — caught trying to flee, they said — and the warriors of Raj Hazara would soon be pouring through the Gap of Garl and heading for Tingara and their evident goal, Seranthia.

  Then the second message arrived. Moragon, the fool, had been touring Loua Louna when the Alturans crossed over into Halaran, and by the time he'd turned back to seize command of the situation, the Alturan commander had retaken several towns and then liberated Ralanast itself.

  Moragon's men in the Ring Forts tried to drive through to the city, but they'd encountered a second army left in waiting for this very eventuality. After a great battle near Mornhaven, the Alturans had left the field victors, and soon the Ring Forts would once again be in the possession of the allies.