The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (56 page)

Her heart hammering, she opened it. It was from Igor, to her. To be read in the event of his death.

She read it through. Amber sank to her knees. It was a message — of such love and pain it hurt her heart to read the words. The letter fell out of her hands.

She thought about the war, and about the words of the priest.

She pictured Igor, his worried face set in determination as he faced a horde of imperial legionnaires.

The father of her child.

She stood up, catching herself in a mirror. She looked at her tired face, her dishevelled hair. Her mouth set in a line of determination.

She left the house and started to walk.

~

"T
HE
Tartana is busy. He is in a meeting."

"In a meeting?"

"Yes," the hunter said. He hadn’t fitted an arrow. The hunter didn’t seem to think Amber was much of a threat — all she carried was a spade. Three other hunters watched her in interest. She was sure there were more of them hidden in the trees.

"In a meeting with whom?"

"With what."

"What?"

"In a meeting with what."

Amber scowled. "In a meeting with what?"

"With a leg of venison. I saw him enter his hut. He had a whole leg on a plate. I told him it looked like a good piece of meat. He said not to be disturbed, he would be in a meeting with some meat. Meeting meat," the hunter chuckled.

"Take me to him," Amber said.

"No. You have not been invited. Do you even bring a gift?"

"I don’t care about your gifts! Listen, where is the shrine — the one that was destroyed?"

He frowned. His answer was a long time coming. "We do not speak of it."

"I will give you a gift, whatever you want, if you take me there."

"No."

"Listen to me," Amber said. "Your people are in as much danger as ours, yet you sit here doing nothing. We are dying so that you can sit here safe in your forest making stupid jokes. Now, take me to the shrine."

The hunter smiled. "Your face is red. I did not know your people could change colour like that."

One of the other hunters spoke, "It is a gift."

"I suppose it is," the hunter said. "Come, we will show you."

They took her to a place in the forest, on the edge of Dunholme. It seemed no different from any other place, but the air was fresh, the grass below her feet soft and green.

Amber couldn’t see any sign of a well. She hunted around for a long time, until she kicked a stone with her toe. She went down on her knees and parted the thick grass. She could see them now, smooth stones, chosen rather than cut to fit together.

The hunters watched her curiously.

After several minutes searching, she finally made out the circle that had been the well. It was roughly three paces in diameter.

Taking a deep breath, Amber put the spade against the earth, and began to dig.

~

"T
HERE
you are," a voice said.

Amber looked up, breathing heavily as she leaned on the spade.

It was Lorna Donwright. She stood on the edge of the wide hole, gazing down at Amber, an expression of puzzlement on her face.

"I grew worried about you when I didn’t see you at the market. Yesterday my husband said you didn’t show up for work. Today I went to your house and you weren’t there. I told Father Morten; for some reason he thought you might be here. Amber, what in the Skylord’s name are you doing?"

Amber sighed, "It doesn’t matter, Lorna."

"No, I want to know."

Amber looked over at the hunters. There were more of them now; they just stood and watched her dig.

"I’m rebuilding this shrine."

"But why?"

"For the Dunfolk."

Amber returned to her work. There was still an impossibly long way to dig. She had barely scratched the surface. The water would be very deep, and she knew nothing about laying stones. If it wasn’t done properly the water would be muddy and undrinkable.

After some time she looked up, Lorna was gone.

~

S
HE
slept beside the hole in the forest, having eaten some hard bread she had brought with her. One of the hunters had left a deerskin. She assumed it was for her. It stopped her from freezing at night.

In the morning she returned to her digging. The hunters were back again; this time there were nearly ten of them. She ignored them and continued as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Suddenly a man dropped to the ground beside her. Father Morten. He had a shovel in his hand. He said nothing, simply started to dig. Amber looked up. Lorna stood at the edge of the hole, holding a basket in her hands. She began taking the dirt away in loads.

Amber felt a lightening of her heart. Father Morten smiled at her.

~

L
ATER
in the day two boys appeared, young lads with boundless energy. They seemed to make a game out of the digging. Amber left them to dig while she helped Lorna remove the soil and rock as it piled up beside the hole.

"Mind if I help?" it was Hollie Ronson. She stood awkwardly with her father, Tod Ronson. "My father, he was a stonemason."

"Of course," Amber said.

Hollie began to collect the stones that were littered around the ground, arranging them by size. Her father, an ancient man with thinning white hair, grinned and started to examine the area with a marked rope.

There were more of the Dunfolk watching now. Some women had joined the group. They didn’t say anything, nor did they laugh, or smile. They simply looked on as the townsfolk worked.

More people began to arrive, mainly women from the town. Amber recognised one of the market vendors, the one who never had any fruit. The woman gave her a broad smile and started to help carting the dirt away.

The well was a flurry of activity now. Amber could see it begin to take form. Tod Ronson gestured wildly, enjoying himself thoroughly, directing the women and boys as they lined up the stones and dug deeper, ever deeper.

There were now hundreds of the townsfolk around the well, too many to perform the work. Many just watched, smiling and holding hands. They formed a large crowd around the workers, pitching in wherever possible.

A short distance away the Dunfolk formed their own crowd. Their faces were very serious, almost grave. Amber glanced at them occasionally but they just stood off to the side, watching.

Suddenly there was a cheer from the diggers. "Water! We’ve hit water!"

The townsfolk all cheered along, hugging each other, beaming. Amber had never felt such a part of the people around her.

Without warning Tod Ronson jumped down into the hole. He started calling for more stones. People passed them along in a chain, each stone passing through a score of hands on its way into the well.

The sun moved through the sky and started to fall. It sent slanted light through the trees, the rays diffused by the lush greenery, casting a golden glow on the clearing. Amber could see why they had chosen it now. It was a beautiful place.

Buckets started to come out of the hole as the muddy water was drained out. Amber and two other women worked on the well’s rim, creating a low wall around the entire circumference, the stones fitting together beautifully.

As the sun was beginning to set, people started to jump out of the hole, leaving just Tod Ronson behind. He busied himself for a while longer, and then called out, "Let me up!"

Two big lads leaned down, each taking an arm and lifting the old man out of the hole. He was drenched to the waist, but Amber had never seen a smile so broad. He beamed out at the onlookers.

He sat on the low wall and gazed into the well, a look of pride on his face.

"Mr Ronson!" one of the boys called. He threw a wooden pail to the old man, who caught it deftly. A long rope was tied to the handle. "Give it a go."

He shook his head, and turned, looking directly at Amber.

Suddenly all eyes were on Amber.

"Here," Tod Ronson said, holding out the bucket.

Amber walked over to the well and took the handle of the bucket. She took a deep breath.

She threw the bucket into the well, holding the rope. Everyone heard the slap it made as it hit the water.

She waited a moment, and then lifted the now heavy bucket, looking inside. The water was crystal clear. Amber reached into the bucket with her hand, and lifted her hand to her lips, taking a sip.

It was the sweetest water she had ever tasted.

"It’s good," she said. She looked up at the townspeople, smiling. The first time she had smiled in days. "It’s good!"

Suddenly everyone wanted to taste the water. The bucket was tossed into the well again and again, passed from person to person with broad grins.

There was a sudden commotion from the Dunfolk.

The townsfolk stepped back from the well. Amber looked up. The Tartana was standing nearby. Behind him, through the trees, stretching for as far as the eye could see, were the Dunfolk. They were like a sea of people, men, women and children. All come to see.

The townsfolk stepped back further, leaving Amber alone at the edge of the well.

The Tartana stepped forward, his eyes on Amber, an inscrutable look on his face. He waved one of his arms forward.

Ten young Dunfolk women came out of the crowd, each carrying a small sapling in her arms.

Amber stepped back, and as she looked on, they planted the saplings around the well. The women then withdrew.

The Tartana moved closer to Amber. He was so small that he had to look up to meet her eyes. Without knowing why, Amber sank to her knees.

He placed a wreath of flowers around her neck.

Then all of the Dunfolk cheered. The Alturans cheered along with them, and smiles were everywhere.

The Tartana threw the bucket into the well. Still on her knees, Amber could only look up in astonishment as the Tartana withdrew the bucket, and grinning mischievously, upended it over her head.

52

The greatest test of courage is to bear defeat without losing heart

— The Evermen Cycles, 19-9

M
IRO
paced the balcony outside the great hall, looking out over the town of Mornhaven. His hands were held in fists at his sides. He fumed.

"What did you expect?" a voice said.

He looked up. Bartolo had followed him out, leaving the lords inside to bicker. Behind him Miro could see Captain Beorn, a survivor of the terrible defeat at Ralanast.

"You should do something, Marshal," Captain Beorn said. He was a scarred soldier with a grey beard, a veteran who had risen his way through the ranks after years of service. Miro still couldn’t believe he had such men serving under him. "Most of the officers will back you."

After the doomed battle for Ralanast matters had gone from bad to worse. The army was in complete disarray, the men fleeing for their lives, running for the safety of the Ring Forts. With many of their leaders killed or wounded, Miro had been forced to assume command with the aid of the thousand men who had stood with him at Bald Ridge. Those men had passed through fire, and come out tempered like strong steel. They contrasted with the terrified soldiers who had seen such terrible defeat at Ralanast.

When he’d finally reached Mornhaven the force he’d assembled on the way were more than twenty thousand strong. He’d had no choice but to promote men from the ranks and create a leadership structure. To his complete shock he realised on arrival that his men was the only intact force to make it. The rest of the lords, captains and marshals were either dead, lost, or in despair. It had broken Miro’s heart to see brave soldiers with such weak leadership.

To his surprise he had been included in the hasty conference that had been called at Mornhaven Town Hall. Great things were expected to come out of it, and even Miro had hoped some cohesion and decisiveness would finally come about. High Lord Tessolar would be coming from Sarostar — perhaps he would give the army the strong leadership that Prince Leopold had so far denied them.

Miro had been given chambers in the east wing of the majestic town hall. When he had taken his bath he’d found the
raj hada
of a marshal lying on his bed linen. It was a strange way to give a promotion. Even the captains who had shown up requesting orders seemed confused.

Bartolo and Beorn stood silently, watching him.

"What are you suggesting? That I somehow have Prince Leopold removed from command?"

"Well the High Lord certainly isn’t going to do it, not to his nephew," Bartolo said.

"The men will support you. They will follow a Torresante. They have had enough of Leopold," Captain Beorn said.

For a time Miro was silent as thoughts ran through his head.

"Come on, Marshal. Are you saying you think their plan is a good one?"

"No," Miro said, shaking his head. "I am not."

Word had just come that the elementalists had joined the war. The Primate’s taint was spreading. With five houses allied against them and the back of the army broken, they didn’t stand a chance.

"What about Wondhip Pass? The Petryans could be in Sarostar in a week!"

"I know. I know," Miro said.

"Yet they want to hole up in Sark. Marshal, you know it as well as I do, Sark is lost. Halaran is lost. We need to worry about Altura now."

The Black Army had pushed them constantly. The horde of ravaging legionnaires, macemen, pikemen, axemen, mortar teams and dirigibles was bad enough — but that was before the Veznans joined the effort.

They had come out of the forest, a wall of wood and thorn. The trees had come alive. It was simply too much for the exhausted soldiers of Altura and Halaran, who still talked about them with wide eyes. Seeing a man cut down with a sword was one thing, but seeing his limbs casually torn off one-by-one was quite another.

And now the elementalists would come, their balls of fire would fly through the sky, and they would use the waters of the Sarsen to sweep Sarostar off the face of Merralya.