"Don't come a single step closer," Amber said. Her eyes were wild, and there was a hysterical note to her voice.
"Give him to me," Moragon said. He laid down the sword on the floor and held out his hands in supplication.
He wanted his son more than anything; with the end of the Primate's vision for the world the child was now the only thing he had left. The Tingaran loremasters who had given Moragon his arm of metal, making him into a melding, rather than a cripple, had told Moragon he would never father a child as a result of the magic. The child was a miracle. They had been proven wrong.
As Moragon took one step closer, Amber leaned out the window as far as she could, and let the bundle go.
"No!" Moragon shoved her to the side and leaned out the window. He could see that the bundle had slid a short way down the sloping wall and then stopped when it hit a gutter. Below the gutter there was nothing more to stop it from tumbling down to the ground far below, where the babe would certainly be killed.
Moragon leaned out as far as he could, but his son was too far out of his reach. He pushed himself through the window, heedless of the danger, with only one foot now on the floor and his body precariously positioned half-out the window.
He heard a voice behind him. Where Amber's voice had been meek, it was now strong and confident.
"Let's see you regenerate your way out of this," Amber said.
Moragon felt a heaving on his body, and as precarious as his balance was he began to slip. He had one last attempt at smashing Amber with his metal arm but she ducked out of the way, and Moragon's blow instead took a bite out of the stone of the window frame.
He scrabbled and slid on the sloping wall, his eyes still on the bundle that perched against the lip of the gutter. Moragon reached the bundle and grabbed at it even as he tried to arrest his motion, his hands closing on nothing but cloth.
"You witch!" he screamed up at Amber.
He slipped down and over the gutter, catching onto the lip of stone with his fingertips. He looked up at Amber, where she looked at him from the window with cold eyes.
Moragon saw she held the baby in her arms.
"The child isn't yours," Amber said. "It never was. I was already with child before we met."
They were the last words Moragon heard, as he fell through the air, screaming as he went, until he hit the hard stone of an innocuous garden wall.
His back broke instantly, and his skull caved in. His arm of flesh and both legs were broken, the splinters of bone protruding from the skin.
The pain was excruciating, indescribable, beyond belief.
Moragon was conscious throughout; he knew exactly what had happened to him. The elixir coursing through his veins tried to rebuild his body even as his internal organs ruptured and he bled internally, even as bits of matter from his head were splattered on the street, and his blood welled in a pool around him.
Then his body gave up.
~
"THANK you, my sweet," Amber cooed to the babe. Tears ran down her cheeks as she rocked him in her arms, even the slightest thought of harm coming to him too much to bear. "Thank you for staying quiet. You knew, didn't you?"
There were shouts and the sounds of running boots outside Amber's chamber. Amber frowned and with the baby in the crook of her arm she bent down and picked up Moragon's sword. Nothing would stop her now.
A man appeared in the doorway. When Amber saw his scarred-face, dark hair lined with grey, and the zenblade in his hands, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"I've found her," Rogan Jarvish called over his shoulder. "Lord of the Sky, Amber, am I pleased to see you."
He walked past her and leaned out the window, looking down. "My men found him. Moragon?"
Amber nodded. "Is he dead?"
"He's dead." Rogan then turned his eyes on the baby.
"He's my son," Amber said.
"He's beautiful." Rogan smiled at her.
"Where's Miro?" Amber asked.
"He was coming in by way of the harbour."
"Please, Rogan, can you take me to him?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."
63
DAIN Barden was angry, and when he was angry, men jumped when he told them to jump. With satisfaction he saw that the skiff he had commandeered was gaining on the Primate's slower vessel.
He wasn't sure if it was the bloodstained war hammer he held in his hands or the two draugar by his side, but the six men who rowed the boat pulled on their oars as if their lives depended on it, which, he supposed, they did.
Barden was in a foul mood. Not only had the Primate proven himself to be a man without honour, but the melding, Moragon, had betrayed his trust.
Sending only four meldings after the Dain had been foolish though. He was the ruler of the Akari. His race was the strongest of all the peoples of the world, and Barden was the strongest of his race.
When he'd killed Moragon's men — the first two with crushing blows to their skulls, the third smashed in the guts, the last with a hammer strike to the back that broke the melding nearly in two — he'd taken the time to get a message to his captains. The draugar were to withdraw immediately, leaving the Tingarans to their own devices, and all of the Akari were to return to the north.
Now Dain Barden was angry, and wanted revenge.
"Hurry," he muttered to the rowers. "Hurry!"
The rower in front of him whimpered. There was a slight increase in speed.
Both the Sentinel and the Primate's cruiser were growing larger as Barden's skiff grew closer. In the distance, Barden could see ships of the imperial fleet, but they were far away on the Sentinel's other side, looking for enemies coming in from the ocean. Barden saw with satisfaction that the Primate had no soldiers with him; he was accompanied by the ship's crew, but no one else.
Barden knew, though, that he would need to be careful. The Dain remembered the time the Primate had taken a revenant's sword thrusts in the chest without a hint of pain or being weakened in any way. Additionally, the Primate had the knowledge that Barden himself lacked.
Barden thought about the Primate's words; words that had been verified by the Dain's own necromancers when they had examined the Primate's damaged book of the Evermen.
The most powerful magic the world had ever seen was somewhere inside the ancient statue. A pool of essence was there for the taking.
No matter what, Dain Barden wasn't going to let the Primate have it all to himself.
64
ELLA breathed a sigh of relief when she found him. She had Jehral to thank; in the maze of Seranthia's streets, she never would have located the prince on her own.
Prince Ilathor was the centre of a flurry of activity, with messengers and warriors rushing up to him and then leaving as he gave them orders.
"The Alturans have captured the Imperial Palace, Your Highness," a Hazaran rider called above the din, pulling up his horse beside the prince's, "and the Tingaran High Lord, Moragon, is dead, but there is no sign of the Primate."
"They are welcome to the palace," Prince Ilathor said, "it's the Primate I'm after. He cannot be allowed to flee. This will not be over until he has been destroyed, and his evil with him. If he isn't at the palace where will he be?"
"How about the harbour?" one of the tarn leaders said. "Between the two armies, we have the city surrounded on all landward sides. They say the imperial fleet is keeping the harbour in the hands of the enemy. It is the only route of escape left."
"My prince!"
Prince Ilathor turned when he heard the cry, and then drew back in shock when he saw Jehral. "Jehral, Lord of Fire, man, you need to see a healer."
Ella rode just behind Jehral, her arms around his waist, and he was covered in blood from head to toe. A shallow wound on his neck seeped red, and he held his left arm awkwardly. Ella felt terrible asking him for help, but she had no one else to turn to.
"You need to hear what she has to say," Jehral said.
Prince Ilathor scowled. "There's
a battle going on, Jehral, and I have to find…"
"Ilathor," Jehral said, and the prince's eyes widened at the use of his first name. "I know there's a battle going on. I've been at the front of it. Listen to her."
"Prince Ilathor," Ella said. "There's a statue on an island, just outside the harbour. It's called the Sentinel."
"I know what it is. What of it?" the prince demanded.
"I believe there's a great magic there, something very powerful, and our enemy is prepared to use it. I need your help. Please."
"Explain to me. I don't understand."
"I don't have time to explain. I need you to help me."
The prince tilted his head for a moment. "No," he finally said. "Jehral, you may help her, but there is too much here to do."
Ella's heart sunk.
"My prince…" Jehral began.
"Ilathor, if the Primate reaches his goal, none of what you are doing here will matter!" Ella cried.
"The Primate?" the prince asked. "You know where he is?"
"Yes," Ella cried. "That's what I'm trying to explain! He's on his way to the Sentinel. He may be there by now."
Prince Ilathor issued swift orders.
Ella breathed a sigh of relief. She just hoped they would be in time.
65
"THE CRUISER ahead, heading for the Sentinel, it is flying the Primate's flag." Sailmaster Scherlic pointed.
"Can you get closer?" Miro asked.
As if in answer, a boom sounded as one of the imperial warships fired a warning shot across the bow of the Infinity, a gout of water erupting from the sea as the orb exploded. Miro could see a catapult mounted on a swivel on the warship's deck.
"This is as close as I will take you," said Sailmaster Scherlic.
Miro fumed as he saw how close he was. The wide mouth of Seranthia's harbour lay in front of him, and here the Primate was, most likely fleeing the city, about to pass the Sentinel and make his escape under the protection of the imperial fleet.
Miro could see smoke rising from the city in several places. He didn't know if the Hazarans had taken the city, or if Rogan had led his men to victory, but he knew that momentous events were occurring there. Yet Miro also knew it wouldn't end until the Primate himself was taken. He couldn't miss this chance.
Miro turned to the stocky loremaster of Raj Buchalantas.
"Every house has fought in this war," Miro said. "The terror, the bloodshed; it has touched all of us. I have lost those I loved, and I have fought this enemy with every bit of strength I possess. I have sent men to their deaths, knowing that their sacrifice would save a larger number, yet knowing that it was my decision that ended their lives."
Sailmaster Scherlic looked at Miro impassively, his expression unreadable.
"Every house has fought in this war," Miro said, "except yours. House Buchalantas is neutral. That's what you say, isn't it?"
"It is not our fight," Scherlic said in his deep, accented voice.
"When does it become your fight? How do you think the Buchalanti would fare under the single rule that the Primate desires? Do you think you'll keep your much-vaunted independence?" He thrust his finger at Scherlic's chest. "We've given a lot to get to this point. More than you'll ever understand. Now it's time to make a choice, Sailmaster."
Scherlic looked out at the warships, and then back to Miro.
"The time for neutrality is past," Miro said. "This ship is a Buchalanti storm rider. Those Tingaran-made ships over there? They're just ships." Miro gestured at the glowing runes that covered the sails, the silver symbols that coated the decks of the Infinity. "Why have this power if you aren't prepared to use it?"
"One ship, against, what, twenty ships of the fleet?" Scherlic finally spoke.
"One Buchalanti storm rider, fighting for freedom."
Six of the Tingaran ships were coming towards them, sails unfurled as they gathered speed and attempted to head the Infinity off.
Sailmaster Scherlic made a choice.
"Battle stations," he called. "Run out the ballistae. Prepare to increase to ramming speed."
"Thank you," Miro said.
"Now get out of my way," Scherlic said.
The Buchalanti Sailmaster raised his voice and began to chant.
Miro was blinded by the flash of runes and the deck trembled beneath his feet, as the Infinity came to life.
66
PRIMATE Melovar Aspen stood on the wide circular base of the statue, looking up at its leg and wondering how to get in. He tilted his head back until high above he could make out where the leg bent at the knee, then even higher until he could see where the two legs met. Melovar turned back to the book of the Evermen, swiftly turning the pages in his hand.
"Try looking down, rather than up," Melovar heard a voice behind him say. Turning, the Primate saw the last person he expected to see.
Dain Barden stood watching him, the muscles in his arms tense as he stood with his legs apart and the head of his war hammer on the ground. Behind the leader of the Akari, two revenants looked on with their white-eyed gaze, silent and impassive. Melovar looked for more of the Akari but with the exception of the draugar, he and the Dain were alone.
As the Dain's words finally sunk in, Melovar looked down at the smooth stone of the Sentinel's pedestal, a single piece of marble so wide and expansive that a thousand men would not have been crowded were they to stand on it.
At the Primate's feet, directly under the statue's centre point, was a circle of runes.
"Well?" Dain Barden said. "Is it what you're looking for?"
Melovar allowed the arm that held the book to drop to his side. "I don't know," he said. "I've only been able to glean fragments of knowledge from the book."
"I gathered as much. Is it a weapon?" Barden asked.
"I don't know."
"Can you open it?"
"I can try," Melovar said. He examined the circle of runes for a moment and then flipped through the book, turning the pages one after the other.
The Primate felt his heart race when he recognised the circle of symbols on the page in front of him.
He called out in a clear voice. "Mulara-latahn. Sunara-latahn. Sumayara-sulamara-latanara."
The runes that had been carved into the stone, still looking as fresh as if they had just been inscribed, lit up with a slow fire of green light that travelled from one symbol to the next.
A seam appeared on the inside of the circle of runes, and Melovar heard Dain Barden draw in his breath. Then there was a grinding sound, as if one stone was moving against another, and the seam flared with a golden light.
The stone disk moved downwards, falling into a rapidly-opening hole. A moment later the grinding ceased and Dain Barden stepped forward to stand with the Primate, so that the two men were staring down into the glowing opening in the ground. As he squinted against the bright light, Melovar saw that there were stairs inside the hole, and he took a step forward.
"Wait," the Dain said, holding Melovar back with his arm. "Let me send in one of them."
Barden motioned, and one of the revenants took clumsy steps down into the opening, before disappearing down the stairway.
With a sound like the roar of forge, the golden light turned to red, and both Melovar and Barden looked away, shielding their eyes. When they looked back at the opening and the stairway revealed within, only a pile of ash stood where the draug had been.
"I don't think we're welcome here," Dain Barden said. "It's warded."
"Send in the other one," Melovar said.
The light had shifted hue back to soft yellow. The second revenant stepped forward, taking the steps down one at a time, walking for the count of twenty steps without coming to harm, and with a shrug Dain Barden followed, the Primate close on his heels.
The light seemed to come from the very walls, with no obvious source. The two men and the revenant descended only for a short way before the passage levelled out. Melovar felt both trepidation and anticipation. The battle for Seranthia
was inconsequential now; it was what happened here that would determine the fate of Merralya.
At the base of the stairway there was a short corridor, tall enough that Barden didn't have to stoop and wide enough to enable the two men to walk side by side behind the revenant. The corridor was made of the same white marble as the Sentinel, smooth to touch and unblemished by runes or artwork.
"I don't know how they built this," Barden said. "Look at the walls. Those aren't blocks of marble; it's all of one piece. It doesn't even look like the floor is made of a separate piece from the walls."
"There are chambers within Stonewater like this," Melovar said, "but nothing on this scale."
Ahead, the corridor ended in another set of stairs, spiralling upwards this time. Once more, Barden sent the revenant ahead, but these twisting stairs didn't appear to be warded.
"One of the legs," the Dain said as they climbed the interminable steps, eyes carefully watching the draug ahead of them. "We'll soon be in the body. I suppose it might open up then. Why build inside a statue?"
"The Evermen work in mysterious ways," the Primate said.
"Save me your cant," Barden said. "We're somewhere ordinary men may have never set foot. The last who came this way could have been the Evermen themselves. You must be burning to know what it is."
"And wondering whether what we'll find is something that can be shared?" the Primate asked, glancing sideways at the Dain.
"You need me, Primate," Dain Barden said. "If there's another of those traps only my draug will find it."
"Just as you need me," the Primate said. "I have the knowledge, and I am the representative of the Evermen in this world. The Evermen will not allow harm to come to me."
Barden grunted as he put one foot in front of the other; the spiral stone staircase went on and on. Melovar knew that without the elixir coursing through his veins, he himself would never be able to ascend as quickly as he was. The burning fire in his blood gave him strength. The pain told him he was alive.
The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) Page 39
