The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two)

by James Maxwell

  ~

  "IT IS AS the rumours stated," Jehral said, shaking his head.

  "Wait," Ella said, rounding on the prince. "Are you telling me you knew something like that was out there?"

  "They were rumours," Prince Ilathor said. "Nothing more."

  They were in the prince's command tent, raised high on a hill with a complete view of the land below. The Hazarans had spent a day recovering and building fortifications — even now they were still checking their positions, digging pits, and erecting barricades — and then the second day Prince Ilathor had called this hasty gathering.

  "Yet you still attacked without first scouting the land, assessing their strength, forming a battle plan…" Ella said, her eyes blazing.

  "Women," Prince Ilathor snapped, "are not normally allowed at these discussions. Hold your tongue, Ella, or speak with civility."

  Ella opened her mouth to retort, but caught Shani shaking her head.

  "Revenants," Bartolo said, shaking his head. "Who could have known?"

  Ella was still angry, part of her wondering if it was a reaction to the fear. She'd almost died. Prince Ilathor had lost a third of his army. A third!

  "And you know what the scouts say now," Jehral said. "There is another army, also flying the grey banner, behind this one. It's at least five thousand strong."

  Everyone in the tent was silent as they digested the information.

  Jehral looked at Prince Ilathor. "Tell her," he said.

  "What?" Ella demanded.

  "A messenger came last night," the prince said. "Ella, Halaran has been liberated. Ralanast is once again a free city, and the allied army of Alturans and Halrana have occupied the Ring Forts."

  "That's wonderful news," Ella said. "Did you hear about my brother?"

  "There's a new commander. That's all I know."

  Ella put her hand to her mouth.

  "Ella," Jehral said. "There could be many reasons for someone else to lead them."

  "There is more," the prince said. "This news is not good, I am afraid." He sighed. "The army of green and brown has suffered a great defeat. I wish we had received this message just one day earlier, for our own great disaster could have been averted. On the Azure Plains, the Alturans and Halrana, like us, faced those who carry the grey banner. They are called the Akari — perhaps that name has meaning for you. The allied army was pushed back after suffering heavy losses."

  Ella felt Shani squeeze her shoulder. Anger and frustration coursed through her in equal parts. Overriding it all was worry for her people, and for her brother.

  "Ella," the prince said, "this is magic I cannot comprehend. What can you tell us?"

  Ella forced herself to concentrate; to use her mind and ability to reason. Nothing was impossible. Everyone had a weakness.

  "Supposedly the Akari were banished to the north by the first Tingaran Emperor. It's cold there, so the dead would decompose more slowly. Bringing them to life must use a very large amount of essence, I can guarantee that," Ella said. "Shani's flame worked well on them, and I would guess they don't like heat much."

  "Good, good," the prince said. "Go on."

  "The men in silver robes could be similar to Halrana animators. Try taking them out." Ella paused. "The fact is, I need to learn more about them."

  "What do you need?" the prince asked. "Essence? You shall have it. Anything else?"

  Ella suddenly knew what it was she needed to do. Her people needed her just as much as the Hazarans. Even if she found a weakness, and told it to the prince, the Alturans would still be in the same position they were now. Ella needed to help Miro, and Altura, in any way she could.

  "I need to leave," Ella said, "to travel ahead of this army, into Tingara, where I can learn about them. I can promise you that I will find a way to defeat them. I know it will be risky, and so I will go alone."

  "Ella, no," Shani said.

  "No," Prince Ilathor said, "I forbid it."

  "Your brother asked me to keep you alive," Bartolo said.

  Ella knew she it was what she had to do, but it wouldn't be right to risk her friend's lives as well as her own.

  She reached back and pulled the hood of her green silk dress over her head.

  "I command that you stay!" Prince Ilathor said.

  "You can't command me," Ella said. "You never could."

  Ella spoke the words, and vanished.

  46

  MORAGON was too busy to see Amber, and for that she was grateful. Not knowing what to do with her, some legionnaires manacled her legs and gave her a small tent, their treatment somewhere between solicitous and hostile. After weeks of hard travel Amber was once again under lock and key with warriors in black surrounding her. This was no prison, however; this was the main enemy host, with Amber deep within the Black Army's encampment where no one would ever find her.

  The soldiers who had abducted her from Ralanast had rejoined their comrades and she was once more alone. Their plan had been a success, and rather than being named deserters an officer had sent them back to their commander with a grunt. Any reward for bringing her in was laughed at, but the warrior who had first found Amber tried anyway, persistently harassing the officer who said he was the closest he'd get to High Lord Moragon. A dagger in the chest silenced the soldier's demands, and his companions decided not to argue the case further.

  Amber tried not to think about where she was and what it was they would do with her, but her mind wouldn't let go. She wondered what death would feel like when it came; most likely the swift and painful death of a sharp sword thrust. Perhaps they would slice her throat or put a blade into her chest. She doubted it would be the rope; these men weren't squeamish when it came to shedding blood, even the blood of a woman.

  From what she'd seen on the journey and heard from the soldiers Amber knew she was in Torakon, somewhere in the Azure Plains. The blue haze on the horizon was never obscured by hills or forests; it could be seen in all directions. The land was flat and covered with wiry grass, and the men of the Black Army spread across it like flies, so numerous that Amber wondered how Miro's army could ever hope to defeat them.

  After several days in the tent Amber's legs were causing her pain, and she shifted them, wincing at the hard iron digging into the tender flesh of her ankles. She knew Miro wouldn't have any idea why she had been abducted, or where she had been taken.

  There was one night though, when there was a great commotion she thought might have been him. It sounded like an animal was running wild, causing cries of confusion and shouts of anger. Amber waited that night, hoping it would be Miro, but she waited in vain.

  Amber heard the sound of approaching footsteps and her heart started to race. She looked around desperately for a weapon, but the only furniture in the space was a sleeping pallet and the post Amber was chained to, hammered into the ground.

  Fingers untied the knots on the flap of the canvas tent and Amber was surprised when she saw the face of a woman. She was young — younger even than Amber — and wore the simple tunic of a farmer's daughter. Her curly dark hair made Amber think she might be Halrana.

  Then Amber noticed the small bundle held in the girl's arms, the realisation hitting her like a hand squeezing her heart. She knew it was him; of course it was him. Amber would know that beautiful baby from among a thousand others.

  "Oh." Amber made a sound and held out her arms. "Please. Please. Can I hold him?"

  "Here, miss," the girl said, squatting down on the earth next to Amber and passing her the bundle. "He's yours, in't he?"

  Amber clutched him to her breast and felt a feeling of such intense joy to be reunited with her son that for a long time she couldn't speak. She marvelled at how much he'd grown in the time she'd been separated from him, and couldn't stop herself from playing with his tiny fingers in awe and cooing at his constantly changing expressions. Amber lost track of time, holding and rocking him, never saying a word, simply smiling and kissing him gently on the forehead time and time again.

&nbs
p; "I'd best go," the girl said, as the babe suddenly made an urgent, distressed sound. "He's hungry and wantin' a feed. Anyone catches me here I'll be whipped."

  Amber realised she hadn't spoken at all to the woman who was taking care of her son. This must be the wet nurse, she realised, a girl who had probably lost her own child shortly after giving birth. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to come here.

  "Can you come again?" Amber said. "Please… I just want to see him."

  "I'll try, miss" she promised.

  "I'm Amber."

  "Casey," the girl said.

  "Thank you, Casey," Amber said. "I know coming here is a big risk."

  "I know I'd want to see my boy, weren't he dead," Casey said plainly. "Better go. I'll try come back."

  ~

  ANOTHER week passed and Amber counted herself lucky that in that time Moragon was still away or too busy to deal with her. Then she overheard some soldiers talking outside her tent, and discovered what it was Moragon was busy with.

  A battle was about to be fought against the allied army of Alturans and Halrana. It was time for Moragon to bring out his 'secret weapon', something called the Akari. Or perhaps someone? The name was familiar.

  Amber heard the sound of marching footsteps all throughout the day and night as the Black Army's soldiers departed for the coming battle. It was going to be a pitched effort, an all-out struggle between the two great armies. Amber worried endlessly about her child, and she feared for Miro. Between the two, she was so worried she couldn't eat the thin stew the soldiers gave her.

  With the encampment near-deserted, Amber began to think about escape. Casey was a simple girl, but she seemed to be free to wander about the camp. When Casey came a second time, Amber asked the girl to visit one of the blacksmiths and try to procure an iron file.

  Casey promised to do what she could, and Amber spent yet another day worrying and fruitlessly running one escape plan after another through her mind. If she could get out before the Black Army's soldiers returned, she could flee with both Casey and her son. There was a chance, a small one, but a chance nonetheless, that Amber could escape, this time with her child.

  Amber desperately hoped that Casey would bring her the file soon. She would use it to escape the manacles, and while the soldiers were distracted by the battle she and Casey would get away. Amber didn't know how much interest Moragon was taking in the babe he thought was his son, but with other things on his mind he might just let her go.

  ~

  IT WAS raining on the day the soldiers returned. The Black Army had won a great victory against a larger number of Alturans and Halrana, holding against the allied army and eventually pushing them back to the Ring Forts in Halaran.

  For some reason though the soldiers Amber overheard were far from jubilant. It appeared they owed their success to the Akari. With a jolt Amber suddenly remembered the stories from when she was a child, and as the accounts of the soldiers sent shivers down her spine she realised what the Akari were.

  Revenants were fighting with the Black Army.

  Amber jumped when she heard gruff voices outside and fingers fumbled at the knots in the tent flap. Realising it must be Casey she calmed herself, feeling the familiar warmth of excitement to see her child and wondering if the girl had been successful in her quest to get the iron file.

  But instead of the girl, a man thrust his head through the opening. Amber put her hand to her mouth with shock, and a horrible sinking feeling settled through her stomach as he pushed into the tent and settled down, crouching on the floor, grinning at Amber wickedly.

  "We won today, Alturan woman," Moragon said. "I couldn't tell you how many of your countrymen we killed."

  "Who are the Akari?" Amber asked. "Would you have still won without them?"

  Moragon frowned. "The Akari are our allies. Their lore allows them to animate the dead. I'm sure you can imagine a dead warrior is hard to kill."

  "So they are your superiors, then?"

  "No, woman, not even our equals." He pointed to his metal arm and the runes covering it. "I would like to see the Akari replace a limb with one twice as powerful. They have weaknesses, many of them, but for now they are proving useful."

  "What weaknesses?" Amber asked. "Your men seem to think they're anything but weak."

  "The bodies don't last long in this climate," Moragon said. "But most of all, they require a fearful amount of essence. Their leader, Dain Barden, is fielding an army of draugar so large he can hardly control it, and we're providing the essence from our new supplies, but even that isn't enough. With the Akari dependent on us for essence, we can curb their power at any time."

  Moragon reached behind him. "Much as I enjoy speaking with you, the reason I'm here is that I brought you a gift," Moragon said, handing her a covered basket.

  "Open it," Moragon said.

  Amber cautiously lifted the lid on the basket. She saw brown curls, a simple face, a grimacing expression, and the horrible flaps of skin and gashes of red that remained when a head was taken off. Amber recoiled in horror and pushed the basket away from her.

  "No," Amber said. Who could do such a thing to a woman? "Not Casey."

  "You're very crafty," Moragon said. "I gather you must have been jealous of her, taking care of your child, so you gave the simple girl a task you knew would see her killed."

  "That's not true."

  "Now that she's dead, who's going to feed the boy? You've killed your son's wet nurse, and now he's going to starve."

  "Please, no. Give him to me."

  "Bring the boy!" Moragon called.

  A moment later the baby was in Amber's arms.

  "Let's hope you can feed him," Moragon said. "Else I'll need to find a new wet nurse, and it'll be your head we deliver to the next girl as a warning."

  Moragon left the basket with Casey's head in the corner of the room. Amber continued to shake, but she realised the position was in. If her milk had run its course, Moragon would do the same thing to her he had done to Casey.

  Amber hated him. She hated him with all her heart.

  As the babe made sucking motions and little urgent noises Amber gave him her nipple and prayed.

  Her prayers were answered when she felt him taking from her greedily.

  The next morning when Amber woke with the babe in her arms, the basket with the head was gone.

  47

  "THREE men," Layla said, "and one woman who struggled. Her arms were tied behind her back but her legs were free." She pointed out the tracks, but all Miro saw were slight scratch marks in the dirt.

  "How long ago?" Miro asked. His blood ran cold at the thought of Amber being under the power of these men.

  "Three days. They were moving quickly."

  Miro didn't know how the Dunfolk healer had found out about Amber's abduction but as he'd left Ralanast she was suddenly there beside him. He'd tried thanking her and releasing her to go home — it would be dangerous, heading into enemy lands, he told her — but Layla had said she owed him a debt for helping her people against the nightshades.

  The soldiers who had taken Amber had found a way down to the Azure Plains from the tall cliffs above. It was tough going and Miro's heart reached out to Amber; the journey would have been a nightmare, and she would have been filled with constant dread about what would happen at the end.

  Why were they so interested in her? Miro was thankful that they hadn't just killed her and left her by the side of the road, but he realised there must be some reason for the special interest these soldiers had taken in her. What would happen to her once they reached the Black Army's encampment?

  "There it is," Layla pointed.

  From their rocky trail still high above the plains Layla was pointing at a cluster of black spots against the blue haze on the horizon. Miro realised it was the enemy encampment. There was no doubt the soldiers had taken Amber somewhere Miro would never be able to free her.

  "Stop," Layla said, holding Miro's arm when he tried to contin
ue forward. "There is nothing for you here."

  "She's in there somewhere!"

  "There is no way for you to get in, and you have no way of knowing if her journey ended here. You do not keep your prisoners with your soldiers, do you? They would have sent her away, wouldn't they?"

  Miro knew he couldn't answer Layla's questions, because he didn't know why they had taken Amber in the first place. Layla was right though; it stood to reason that she would have been taken to another prison camp rather than being kept with the men. Miro had a duty to his command, back with the army. Every part of Miro's reason told him to turn back with Layla.

  But his heart told him he had to try.

  "I need you to go back," Miro said. "Go and see Marshal Beorn, and tell him I'll be behind you."

  "There is a big battle coming," Layla said. "You might be too long."

  "I know," Miro said. "But I can't leave her. I have to try."

  "I understand," Layla said, "but if the battle is fought and lost, without you there, you will never forgive yourself."

  "You're right," Miro said, "but if I don't try to find her, I'll never forgive myself either."

  ~

  MORAGON sat in a throne-like wooden chair, broad and high-backed, discussing the coming battle with Dain Barden.

  The melding High Lord of Raj Tingara and the leader of the Akari were as different as two men could be. Moragon was tall, tanned and broad, with a shaved head and an arm of metal covered in silver runes. He wore a leather jerkin on his otherwise bare chest and tight-fitting black trousers with heavy brown boots. The yellow tint of his eyes gave him a feverish look, and the servant who topped up his mug with the oily black elixir looked fearful.

  Dain Barden was taller even than Moragon, the top of his head nearly touching the roof of the command tent as he paced. His muscled legs stamped heavily on the ground and he occasionally looked at the war hammer at his belt as if wanting to use it on someone. Silver fox fur covered his shoulders and his leather armour had been bleached to a deathly near-white. His lips were turned down in a scowl and his brow furrowed in cruel lines to his eyes.