The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (65 page)

Saryah frowned.

"We will both die here together," Killian said. "The Primate will no longer be able to control the thousands of people he has turned to his will. It will all come down. One day we will reconstruct the machines. But never again will we give them to the control of a madman."

Saryah threw herself at Killian. A blade bit into his thigh and another into his shoulder. The room crackled and roared with the blows. Blood started running down from Killian’s body. Saryah was in a frenzy to retrieve the cube.

In the throes of pain Killian was pushed backwards, away from the jewel. He needed to get closer. If he didn’t destroy it he would be throwing his life away for nothing.

He was almost to the wall at the back of the chamber when he sensed something behind him. Risking a look, he realised it was the pointed cylinder, its beam of light continuously energising the crystal.

He suddenly had an idea.

He ducked Saryah’s next blow and kicked out, ignoring the pain in his ankle. Then, running to the cylinder, he grasped it in both hands.

The pain was excruciating. He could feel his hands melting away. He gritted his teeth and tensed his arms, attempting to move it. Little by little, the beam of light moved away from the jewel. Killian summoned all of the power in his limbs. He pointed the intense ray of light at the creature in white.

The beam was wide. Saryah had no way of blocking. She looked frantically around her, and then raised something in her arms, between her face and the light.

It was the Halrana Lexicon.

The brown-covered book has a rune on the cover — the number six.

As Killian looked on, the rune lit up with power. The Lexicon began to glow, brighter and brighter, until it was too bright to look on.

Saryah screamed, dropping the book.

The beam hit her in the face. For an instant, her twisted, contorted face turned white. In a sudden flash, her head exploded in a burst of energy.

Killian didn’t wait. He released the cylinder and ducked under its beam. Scooping up the Halrana Lexicon, he tucked it under his arm, threw the cube at the jewel, and ran.

The archway beckoned. Killian fled the chamber, ducking into a narrow stairway, cut into the wall. He began to climb.

The refinery exploded.

Killian fell into darkness, terrible and absolute.

67

I sometimes wonder why the High Lord requires access to the Lexicon. The fewer people who know of its location, the safer we will be.

— Diary of High Enchantress Maya Pallandor, Page 868, 411 Y.E.

T
HE
death of the Emperor gave the defenders new hope. The ragged line reformed, and a defiant group of Alturan infantry, supported by Halrana pikemen, even began to push back. Miro wondered who the heroic soldier had been. His sacrifice had given them the respite they needed. He was directly responsible for saving the lives of thousands of refugees.

Yet the respite was short-lived.

After an entire day’s fighting the defenders’ strength was beginning to give out. Miro could see their weariness in every aspect. Swords became impossibly heavy. Rather than protecting them, armour trapped the men in its heavy grip.

The soldiers of Altura and Halaran had fought beyond every call of duty. Nearly half of the refugees had been taken across the river. The defenders had lasted hour after hour, holding back the implacable tide.

"Sir," a man pointed.

Miro saw it then. The Veznan nightshades were coming. His heart lurched in his chest.

As tall as two men, with green limbs like clubs and skin of the toughest bark, the nightshades hardly paused as they smashed into the line. The soldiers — mostly Halrana — fled in terror. The nightshades were as opposite to Halrana constructs as night and day. A colossus or iron golem glowed fiercely and announced its presence with every footstep. Tangled vines covered the nightshades so that it seemed like nature itself had come to destroy all in its path.

Behind the Halrana were the wooden carts containing row after row of idle constructs. If only…

Two bladesingers fought a nightshade, vainly looking for an opening in the moss and vines. The creature picked one of the bladesingers up and, almost casually, tore the man into two pieces. The living tree then reached for the second bladesinger.

Suddenly a glowing colossus smashed into its side. Dwarfing the nightshade by an order of magnitude, the gigantic construct plucked it out of the ground and stamped down on its torso.

The animator in his controller cage then moved the colossus further into the battle. With great strides the colossus took the battle to the enemy, tossing the nightshades through the air.

Simultaneously the doors of a wooden cart crashed open, and row after row of woodmen poured out. Another wagon trembled under the weight of the bonemen marching out of its belly. Six iron golems hurled into four imperial avengers.

Somehow, unbelievably, the Halrana were back in the battle.

Miro looked back at the river. Over half of the refugees had crossed now.

The ground suddenly shook, a thunderous crash coming from the front. A colossus was down, the animator trapped in his controller cage. As Miro watched a tree warrior smashed down on the cage, and the man was no more.

With the added support of the constructs, the defenders reformed the line. But the endless horizon was filled with the enemy. Their numbers were simply too great. Even as the front line of the enemy died, those next in line were pushed ahead by the weight of their numbers.

The enemy’s relentless momentum was impossible to stop.

~

M
IRO
watched as another bladesinger went down, swamped by scores of legionnaires. He looked at Marshal Beorn. The scarred veteran nodded. He then looked at Lord Rorelan, who put his hand on Miro’s shoulder.

"You did well, Lord Marshal Torresante," said Lord Rorelan.

Miro shook his head. "Please, don’t call me that."

"Miro," said Rorelan. He drew his sword, the afternoon sunlight glinting from the sharpened steel.

Miro heard the whisper of metal as Beorn in turn stood with weapon in hand, a grim expression of determination on his face.

Miro reached over his shoulder and drew his zenblade. The rune inscribed surface shone like a mirror. The two other commanders activated their armour. Miro began to sing, the sequences coming smooth and unhurried.

In a dreamlike state he began to walk down, into the battle. The zenblade grew brighter and brighter. It moved through yellow, to orange. The blade flared in a burst of red fire.

A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he saw a shape in green running through the ranks of the defenders. Miro knew that face. It was Amber.

What in the Skylord’s name was she doing here? She was heading directly into the battle!

Miro began to run. He swiftly outdistanced the two commanders in their heavy armour. He could see Amber, a flash of green through the intermingled bodies of friend and foe. He cut down a legionnaire in black, and then thrust his blade through the neck of another. The soldier put his hand to the gushing wound and fell down.

Miro cut left and right, following Amber, but always she was too far away. The intense light of a bladesinger drew the enemy from all quarters. He fought like a demon, but they kept coming. His hands became covered in gore. The zenblade turned blue with the force of Miro’s song. Each thrust, each swing, was death to one of the enemy.

It was never enough. Amber could no longer be seen.

The enemy pushed at him, their numbers too great to withstand. He looked to the left and saw the line beginning to crumble. This time there was nothing to stop the enemy’s advance. The Alturan soldiers to Miro’s right were simply swallowed by the Black Army, their bodies trampled into the dust.

It was over.

Miro’s arms raised and fell. He was going to take as many of the enemy with him as possible.

There was a buzzing in his ears, but he ignored it in his bloodlust. He let the enemy come at him, one after another in an unending wave. The sound grew louder.

Suddenly Miro could no longer ignore the tone, the single crystal note at the edge of his hearing. It grew louder, until it was clearly audible. It was a note of the sweetest silver, a clarion of hope. The sound increased in volume. It became so loud that soldiers stopped fighting, putting their hands to their ears. Still it grew.

Miro turned, looking frantically from side to side. Where was Amber? The defenders around him were, to a man, looking behind them, towards the Sarsen. The hordes of the Black Army all looked above Miro’s head in the same direction. An intense light shone from somewhere near the river.

There was a tall pointed rock nearby, barely wide enough for a man to stand on. Miro pushed aside the men in his way and leapt atop the rock with the agility that only a bladesinger possessed. Balancing on his toes, he looked into the distance.

He gasped. The men began to whisper. It came from the Alturans first. Their eyes were wide with the first signs of hope that Miro had seen all day.

Miro had to believe the whispers. He could see it with his own eyes. There was no mistaking the shimmering green and silver hooded robe. It shone like the sun, the runes colouring and rippling as it put forth the call. She was at the river crossing. Something was happening.

"It’s the High Enchantress," the voices said. "She’s opening the way home."

Then the note stopped. Men shook their heads. With renewed vigour, the battle resumed.

68

One person, can make a difference.

— The Evermen Cycles, 5-25

E
LLA
leapt down from Sundhip’s back and slapped the horse on the rump to send it away. People everywhere milled about in confusion. She could see a crossing raft swamp at the far side of the river as too many of the refugees jumped on at once. A baby screamed as a woman tried to hand it to the enchanter guiding the raft. He shook his head in despair, barely able to keep control as it was.

"Stop it!" Ella called, to no effect.

She rummaged through her bag, quickly finding what she was looking for. Holding the scrill in one hand and the flask of essence in the other, she called again.

"Stop it! Get back!" Once again there was no response.

She looked down at the High Enchantress’s robe, realising what she needed to do. She chanted the runes in quick succession, her voice coming strong as the sequences built one on the other. The robe began to glow silver, growing brighter as she continued. She added further complexity, projecting the light like a beacon. People around her quailed in confusion. The enchanter held his raft at the bank, his eyes tightly closed.

The robe began to hum as Ella continued to name the runes. It quivered like a drum, the hum growing louder, becoming a single pure note that grew in intensity. All activity on both sides of the river stopped.

Ella had their attention.

She let the runes subside and the sound died away.

"Stand back!" she shouted at the waiting refugees. "Everyone stand back and form a line. You," she pointed at the enchanter. "Get back onto the bank and line everybody up."

To Ella’s sudden surprise they started to move. As the vista opened up, she quickly assessed the situation.

The huge blocks that had formed the wide span of the Sutanesta Bridge lay in the chaotic current of the river, with only a few tops poking above the surface. They were scattered about, impossibly heavy. One of the blocks was within reach, barely a pace from the bank.

Across the river the battle raged. The defenders were being overrun, and soon the massacre would begin.

Ella stepped out onto the block, so that she was part-way into the river. She felt the power and the knowledge swell within her.

Her trials flashed before her eyes. She remembered her pride at the Academy. The day she had shown Master Goss she understood the runes better than he did. The night she had broken into Master Samson’s laboratory, her pride so strong that nothing could defeat her. Talwin’s death, his body ruined by the essence. The wracking. Being awarded the Academy’s highest honours. Her part in the theft of her people’s Lexicon. Climbing, falling, and nearly drowning in pursuit of Killian. Layla. Learning from Evrin. The eldritch. The bandits in Wondhip Pass. The beast, chasing them in Petrya. The knowledge from the Alturan Lexicon. The lore of illusion.

It was all in preparation for this moment.

Ella looked down at the block she was standing on. She knew what she needed to do.

She cleared her mind and let her intuition guide her.

Putting on her gloves, Ella let her mind free to find the runes that she needed. Animator’s runes. Enchanter’s runes. Illusionist’s runes. She looked at the Halrana bank. The refugees were watching her, an expression of awe on their faces.

The river surged through the wide channel.

Ella started to draw on the block’s surface. Her hand worked deftly, the matrices soon covering a great portion of its surface.

She could see the opposite bank, where the fighting was raging on. In the distance, a man tried to protect his family from the rampaging legionnaires. He was butchered mercilessly.

Her hand moving almost of its own accord, she inscribed rune after rune in quick succession. This was nothing like she had ever seen before. She was combining the symbols into completely new arrangements.

As she worked she activated the runes, but she never stopped working. Her lips moved constantly — this made a bladesingers song look simple in comparison. She didn’t look up to see the effect her activations were having — if she stopped she would falter.

Ella was enchanting the very air.

Her mind cast back to a simpler time, when she had been walking with Killian, showing him the nine bridges of Sarostar. She remembered when she had shown him the bridge that led to the Crystal Palace. He’d trusted her that day, taking his hesitant steps into nothingness. Ella felt her spirit soar as she drew on the memory.