The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (38 page)

The questions came clearer now.

Who was leading the Black Army? What motive brought their enemy together in war, a war that meant only death and disaster? What strange force was taking away the houses’ independence?

He was about to find out.

33

We need to always ensure there are safeguards against the Tingaran Emperor seizing control of Stonewater. Reader, you may think this a strange note of caution, coming from me, but this new balance is an effective one. We are like a three-legged table. Each leg is balanced by the other two — the Houses balance the Assembly of Templars, the Assembly balances the Imperial House, the Imperial House balances the Houses. If the Imperial House were to control the source of essence the Houses would become powerless. The Emperor would be a leader no more. He would be a tyrant.

— Memoirs of Emperor Xenovere I, 205-3, 381 Y.E.

V
EZNA’S
capital of Rosarva could not really be termed a city. It was more like an organism, but an organism that, like many things Veznan, was planned in detail.

Inhabitants were allowed to apply for a permit to move their dwelling, perhaps to be closer to work or family. If the permit was granted, the four trees that made up the dwelling’s supports, walls and ceiling walked to a different part of Rosarva and replanted their roots.

Rosarva’s avenues were broad and lined with carefully pruned hedges to separate one flow of traffic from another; walking on the wrong side was a punishable crime. Still, the many rules that governed a Veznan’s life were necessary— in a place that changed with the seasons, where services changed location from month to month, the regulations provided a much-needed sense of order.

There was an area though that hadn’t changed in centuries.

The Borlag.

It was an island, separated from the rest of Rosarva by a wide moat. People didn’t loiter near the Borlag. They entered, conducted their business, and quickly left with their eyes downcast. Intruders weren’t tolerated — the seemingly innocuous lily pads floating in the water needed regular feeding.

The Borlag was only accessible via the Juno Bridge — a narrow, living bridge that needed to be replanted at regular intervals after the essence worked its way through the bridge’s system and killed it. An activation sequence, known only to a select few, had to be spoken to be allowed on the Juno Bridge. If any other tried to cross the bridge, giant thorns came out of the wood, bristling and impaling the man instantly.

Uninvited guests were not tolerated in the Borlag.

On the island itself, soldiers patrolled a wide park surrounding a great palace made of stone and wood. This was the residence of the Veznan High Lord.

High Lord Vladimir Corizon and his son Prince Dimitri sat in an audience chamber, high in the upper levels of the immense palace. They were dressed in Veznan formal wear, plaited orange garments of bows and stripes. A thin man in white — so thin as to be emaciated — conversed with them. Next to him sat a tall man with a shaved head. Where the tall man’s right arm should have been was an arm of metal.

"I noticed your gaze, young lord. Please, do not mind Moragon here," the thin man said, his tone friendly. "He lost his arm in an accident. It was a miracle of the Emperor’s arts that they were able to graft an arm of lore onto his living flesh."

"My son may be curious, Primate, but he is not fearful. Just tell us what we need to know," said High Lord Vladimir.

The thin man continued. "Of course, High Lord," he gave a small bow. "Please, indulge me for a moment though. You see, it’s important that we are on an equal footing, that we know all of the facts before negotiations can begin. My role has changed slightly. Knowledge is a powerful thing."

"Changed? In what way?"

The Primate didn’t answer immediately. He swirled a glass in his hand, gazing into its depths. The light glistened off the oily surface of the black liquid inside. He took a small sip, grimacing at the taste. He looked up. His eyes had a strange yellow sheen, yet he seemed perfectly healthy.

"There are many things one learns, being the custodian of a substance as powerful as
raj ichor
. Essence, you may prefer to call it. I came upon this secret many years ago, quite by accident. It was in an ancient book, a relic of the Evermen. I could scarcely believe it at first — after all, what do I know about lore? I do know something about essence, however. And what I discovered promised to change the world forever."

"I thought we were here to discuss treaties," said High Lord Vladimir. "You’ve changed, Melovar Aspen, I can tell that. I don’t really care though. All I care about is the safety of my people."

"Hush, High Lord," said the thin man. "My meaning will become clear soon enough."

"Be careful of how you speak to my father," said Dimitri Corizon. "He deserves respect."

"Yes, Prince. Of course. Now, if I may continue?" The Primate took another sip of the drink. "Where was I? Ah, that’s right. My discovery. I found it in a book, yes, however the book was not in my possession, and I was not able to take the book by force. I really wanted this information, you see.

"I knew someone who was close to this book, so I had sections of the book copied by one I converted to my cause, however reluctant she was at the start. It was difficult, but it was important, perhaps the most important discovery of all time."

"What are you talking about?" the Veznan High Lord said.

"You see in this book, I discovered that essence has an opposite. I was upset to discover this, because it is my duty to know all there is to know about
raj ichor
. But, yes, essence has an opposite. It’s called
raj nilas
." The thin man paused. "What does that mean? Well, where essence creates the rune structures,
raj nilas
destroys them. Permanently. Do you understand, High Lord, Prince? I had found a way to destroy the runes. But there was also a second discovery, perhaps just as important. For where
raj ichor
is a poison — perhaps the deadliest poison in existence —
raj nilas
is an elixir. In fact, that’s what I have named it. Elixir."

The Primate took another sip from his glass.

"It took me many years. I can’t tell you how many men I killed until I had the formula right, it must number in the thousands." He frowned. "I suspect my contact was withholding information; there were some early… mistakes. My will endured, however, and I eventually had something I could work with."

The thin man in white continued to swirl the liquid, as if finding some secret in the crystal glass. "It has unbelievable properties, you know. It stops the aging process completely." He chuckled, a dry rasping sound. "It’s a shame I was already so old." He took another tiny sip, his face contorting in distaste as he swallowed. "It also increases the regenerative powers of the body, to a fantastic extent. Watch this."

He drew a rune-covered knife from his belt, and without warning slashed it across Moragon’s living hand. The man with the grafted arm simply smiled, not even flinching. As the Veznans watched in awe, the wound resealed itself, leaving only the faintest hint of a scar.

"Such a tedious task, managing the essence quotas, keeping the houses balanced. Even the Emperor needed his share. It was easy though — if the Emperor wants too much, tell the houses, and he’ll back down. If the houses want too much, tell the Emperor, and they’ll back down. The houses watch each other. A delicate balance but one that has worked for many years, to a greater or lesser extent. However, there is one group for whom the balance has not worked out so well. The poor. Those who have no house. We get thousands of them coming to us templars every year. But what can we do to help? We have no lore, and so we have no gilden. In fact, what does lore really do for the world? All it seems to do is provide us with more efficient ways of killing each other. Perhaps we might all be better off without it."

Primate Melovar Aspen tilted the glass back again, finishing the contents. He sighed and looked up, noting the Veznans’ glances at each other. At Moragon.

"Trust me. You will be interested in my offer. Where was I? Ah, that’s right. The secret. High Lord Vladimir, can I ask you, would you like to live forever? To stop aging?"

"At what cost? What is it you aren’t telling me?" the High Lord said. "I thought we were here to discuss a treaty, not to talk about eternal life. What is this madness?"

"But we are, High Lord. We are discussing a treaty. I’m here to give you a choice. You can have the terms you are seeking, High Lord. All I ask is that you have a small taste of what I offer. You will have the peace you seek, your borders will be protected, and you will have all your many, many years to see your people prosper."

"No."

"Why not?" said the man in white. He glanced at the son, Dimitri.

"Father, he is drinking it as we speak. What harm can it do? Even if it doesn’t do everything he claims, we can help our people!"

"Dimitri, do as I say. Do not accept this man’s gifts."

Dimitri Corizon eyed the flask of black liquid sitting on a low table next to the thin man. The thoughts were visibly crossing his face. Eternal youth. Powers of regeneration.

"Oh, and your other option. Your other option is that I can destroy your Lexicon. I’m not speaking about lack of renewal, allowing your magic to fade. I am speaking of permanent destruction, made possible by
raj nilas
. Raj Vezna will be no more. Your civilisation will sink into the swamp. Your famous living city will rot and die."

"You don’t have our Lexicon, and nor will you."

"Do you really think you can last? I’ve already given the same offer to the Emperor. To High Lord Koraku of Raj Torakon. To High Lord Raoul Maul of the artificers. You know where they stand. You can join them by standing with me. Think of what I offer — the death of your house, or eternal life. Here, taste it."

The thin man smiled and refilled his glass from the flask. He held it out to Dimitri.

In an instant Dimitri took the glass and touched it to his lips.

"Dimitri, no!" said the High Lord.

Prince Dimitri took the smallest of sips, grimacing at the taste and set the glass down. The thin man took it back, while Moragon leaned forward in his seat, his smile broadening.

The High Lord shook his head. "You should not have done that, my son."

"It was just a taste," said Dimitri.

"Well done, Dimitri," said the Primate. "The borders of your land are now secure. Once your people join with us, you will be part of something bigger, something great, a new order for the world." His gaze became unfocussed. "The High Lords will live forever. There will be no more displacement of power, no voids left by departing rulers. People will live and work together in harmony. No more Lexicons. No more houses. And eventually, elixir will be available to all. Join with me, High Lord Vladimir. Tell me, Dimitri, how do you feel?"

"It feels… Amazing. I feel strong," the young lord’s expression was rapturous.

"Join with you?" the High Lord said with contempt. "You are nothing but a servant, a judge, a templar. Why would anyone follow you? This meeting is over."

The Primate simply smiled. "I was discussing the properties of this amazing liquid," he said. "It comes from the further processing of essence, you know. Did I mention that? There is only one small downside." His smile broadened. "It is addictive. Like nothing you have ever experienced. And," he nodded at Dimitri, "because this is your first time, you are going to feel it with full force."

Dimitri shook his head.

"I’ve heard it’s similar to the pain of essence poisoning — the pain of withdrawal from this liquid. You’ll be starting to feel it now. Ah, yes, there it goes. Remember, my child, all you need to make the pain go away is a little more."

Dimitri’s eyes began to look feverish, sweat rose on his brow. "Make it stop."

"A little more?" the Primate handed the glass out again.

"No!" the High Lord said.

Dimitri reached for the glass. High Lord Vladimir knocked it out of the thin man’s hands.

"Guards!" the High Lord called.

Moragon moved. Faster than the eye could follow — a blur of motion. He latched the heavy door, then before either Veznan could react he pinned the High Lord’s arms back behind him.

"Now, I’ll be happy to give you a little more, Dimitri, but first there is something I need you to do. Just a simple task, and then you can have all you want. Are you ready?" Dimitri whimpered. "I want you to kill your father," the thin man said, smiling.

Guards began to thump on the door.

"Never," Dimitri said. His eyes were turning red, he started to twitch. "It hurts so much. So much!"

"A little more?" the Primate asked again.

The guards called out. They began to attempt to knock down the sturdy door.

Moragon grinned.

Dimitri started to groan. A keening sound came from his mouth. "It hurts, oh, it hurts so much. Give it to me!"

He suddenly lunged at the thin man, who danced out of reach. Panting, Dimitri fell to the floor.

"Kill your father," the thin man said. He held out a knife. Moragon held the High Lord pinned to his chair.

"Have strength," High Lord Vladimir Corizon whispered.

Dimitri began to writhe. His eyes grew yellow and foam started to appear at his lips.

"You know what you need to do," Moragon said.

With a great effort, Dimitri stood, lurching like a drunken man. For a moment, it seemed he would attack the man in white. Then he snatched the knife from the Primate’s hand, and ran the cutting edge across his own throat.

The wound lay open for a heartbeat, before resealing itself.

Dimitri screamed with anguish; there was no refuge, no escape from the pain. His eyes darted about, before he made his decision.

The blade lashed out, slicing across High Lord Vladimir Corizon’s throat.

"Now, give me more," Dimitri said.

The Primate handed over a tiny portion of the black liquid. Dimitri tipped it back. He fell into his chair, the strength gone out of him.