The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (3 page)

"Miro, I need to speak with you," Rorelan said. "It's about your sister."

Miro and Beorn bowed their heads, placing their fingers over their lips and then touching their foreheads, while Jehral and Hermen hesitantly followed suit.

"High Lord," Miro said, "this is Jehral of Tarn Teharan, emissary of Raj Hazara, and Hermen Tosch of Castlemere. There is a great deal for us all to speak about. The Hazarans share a border with Petrya," he glanced significantly at Rorelan, "and much of our trade is dependent on the free cities."

"Please, High Lord, we can see that we are interrupting," Jehral said. "We are presently lodging in your beautiful city, and we can discuss these matters at a time more convenient."

Jehral and Hermen Tosch bowed and withdrew, leaving the three Alturans watching them depart.

"What was that about?" Beorn said. "First they storm in here without so much as a by-your-leave, and then when we make time for them they go."

Miro sighed. "I fear there's a lot about these people we don't understand." He turned to Rorelan. "My apologies, High Lord, they were supposed to wait while I sent a courier for you. It's probably for the best that we speak with them another time. I need to ask my sister about this Jehral and his people. She said she spent some time with them, and we should properly formulate a response before treating with them. I take it something else brought you here?" Miro stifled a yawn, and his jaw cracked. "You mentioned my sister?"

Rorelan's scowl returned. "I've just come from a meeting with High Enchanter Merlon. Miro, do you have any idea how low our supplies of essence are? We can't afford these experiments of hers. The High Enchanter says she won't listen to reason. And this new companion of hers… let's just say the Lord Marshal's sister needs to consider the company she keeps."

"I'll speak with her," Miro said. "Where can I find her?"

A great boom sounded from somewhere, followed by a whoosh that made the ground rumble. If they had been anywhere except the Crystal Palace, dust would have fallen from the ceiling.

High Lord Rorelan levelled Miro with a steady gaze. "I don't think you'll have any trouble."

2

T
APEL
was always finding strange things, but this was certainly the strangest. He regarded the man, as always trying not to stare too hard at the bandages around the man's throat, while the man regarded him back with coal-dark eyes. The man tried to sit up, and when Tapel pushed him back down as his mother had instructed, the stranger was too weak to protest.

Tapel's mother was always telling Tapel what to do and what not to do, when it came to the stranger. She was out a lot of the time, so it was often Tapel who took care of him.

It was only fair, Tapel supposed. It was he who had found the stranger, after all.

~

T
HE
armies of Altura and Halaran had met the Black Army just outside Ranalast, in a great collision of men and steel in the now-ravaged land that had once been low farmland, gentle hillocks and forested copses.

Like so many others, Tapel and his mother, Amelia, had prayed for their countrymen and their Alturan allies. Ralanast had been occupied for weeks, and all knew the attempt to liberate the Halrana capital from the ruthless soldiers of the imperial legion was a desperate gamble.

The explosions and screams could be heard throughout the day, from all quarters of Ralanast, from the dusty masons' quarter to the deserted market district. The Halrana who had stayed in their capital and not attempted the frantic flight to Altura gathered in front of the Terra Cathedral, old men and women with small children peacefully demonstrating their wish for their occupiers to leave. The legionnaires dispersed the crowd with pikes and blood-drenched swords.

Legasa Telmarran, High Lord of Halaran, and Prince Leopold of Altura fought bravely. Then, in the afternoon word arrived that the army of Alturans and Halrana was surrounded. High Lord Legasa asked for quarter, but none was given. The encirclement grew tighter, and the butchery began.

Tapel's mother had cried, and Tapel had held her hand, not sure what else to do. By nightfall, the battle was over. Some soldiers had escaped, bursting out of the enemy's net in leaderless groups, but Ralanast's last chance at freedom was over. High Lord Legasa was dead, killed in battle. Prince Leopold had fled the field.

The Black Army were here to stay.

Tapel's mother was starving, her arms growing thin and the skin of her cheeks tight like a drum. Tapel could now encircle her waist with one arm when he hugged her, and her golden hair, usually the colour of wheat in the summer, was showing more than a third grey. Tapel hadn't eaten a proper meal in as long as he could remember, and the gnawing in his stomach had become truly painful. He and his mother had long ago sold every item of jewellery, traded every last winter coat and pair of boots. Tapel knew Amelia was feeding him more than she took herself, but he couldn't help eating the food she put in front of him, and he felt guilt every time his stomach rumbled.

So,the day after the battle, Tapel did what all the other boys were doing: he went to the battlefield to search the corpses of the dead.

It was worse than he could ever have imagined. Much, much worse.

Corpses littered the field, interspersed with the familiar shapes of constructs, from charred woodmen to a shattered colossus, dwarfing the hill it had made its final resting place.

Tingaran legionnaires in black lay entangled with brown-clad Halrana pikemen. The green of the Alturan dead spotted the landscape like withered plants. The colour red was shared by all, although exposure to the air had oxidised the blood to a dark, evil shade.

The field stank, the worst smell Tapel had ever encountered. Men had voided their bowels, and had their guts ripped open by swords, their heads smashed and bodies broken. The carrion birds had started to feast, and as Tapel picked his way through the carnage, he disturbed a crow as it feasted on the matter in a Halrana soldier's skull.

Tapel wondered if the young man had left a family behind, and suddenly he was sick, falling to the earth and heaving up the contents of his stomach violently and painfully. He closed his eyes as his throat constricted, trying to use the darkness to blot out the visions of death and macabre destruction.

When the retching ceased and his body again came under his control, Tapel climbed back to his feet. He put his hand to his forehead, momentarily light-headed. He breathed slowly in, then out. He fixed his mind on his mother, and, his face set with determination, deliberately walked towards the next dead soldier he saw.

The dead legionnaire stared at Tapel with glazed eyes. The soldier's head was shaved and his face was flat and round. A tattoo decorated his cheek: the sun and star
raj hada
of Tingara.

Tapel squatted by the soldier's side and examined him in more detail. He had been killed by a pike; it wasn't a question, the long haft still jutted from the centre of the legionnaire's chest. The body of the Halrana pikeman who had killed him was nearby, still clutching the weapon with both hands, a red slash across his throat and an expression of surprise on his face.

Tapel tried not to think of the priests at the earth temple and their sermons about respect for the dead. This man was the enemy, he reminded himself. Somehow it felt better to search the enemy dead.

The legionnaire was a big man in life, and wore a padded vest of scaled armour. The battle had taken its toll, and several of the scales were missing. If they hadn't been, he probably would have survived the thrust that ended his life.

Breathing slowly and evenly to suppress his revulsion, Tapel began to feel inside the armour where two of the metal scales had opened up a hole. The legionnaire wore a simple jerkin underneath the armour; Tapel felt up and down, using his thin arms and small hands to advantage. Finally he gave up; there was nothing there. Where would he keep his gilden, were he to head into battle? He probably wouldn't take it with him in the first place.

Jewellery. He should look for jewellery. He decided to quickly and speedily search for rings, necklaces, earrings, fancy scabbards, anything that looked valuable. This strategy had the added benefit that Tapel wouldn't have to spend too much time touching the dead.

Scanning swiftly, Tapel immediately found a bronze ring on the longest finger of the legionnaire's left hand, and a small gold hoop around the lobe of his left ear.

The sooner he could work, the faster he would be finished. Tapel took the jewellery, then left the body and continued his search.

Some kind of explosion had left a huge gouge in the earth up ahead. With horror, Tapel realised that the lumps he had taken for clods of dirt scattered about were the pieces of bodies. He promptly left the scene behind and came to a group of Black Army regulars, motley soldiers whose luck had run out when they encountered a group of ironmen. The constructs had run through them like a scythe through wheat. Some twisted pieces of metal could be seen here and there, but scores of bodies in black tabards proved who had been the victor in that particular encounter. The Black Army regulars were laid out in an almost orderly fashion, limbs akimbo and flesh torn.

Tapel moved quickly from corpse to corpse, keeping his mind carefully blank. He picked up mostly cheap metal jewellery, but also found a gilt scabbard and a gold ring set with a purple stone.

Tapel crested a hill, and jumped when he startled a flock of crows gorging on the dead. They settled again, further ahead, their beady eyes regarding him as they tilted their heads, hopping from one place to another and cawing to each other. A nearby sound caught his attention, and he looked down; at his feet a crow glared up at him, blood dripping from its beak. Tapel kicked at it with his foot.

It was growing dark. Looking around the battlefield Tapel realised he was the last of the youths still out. If he came home too late, his mother would ask questions, questions he knew he wouldn't want to answer.

The shortest path back to the city was through yet another group of the dead, where it appeared a tremendous swordfight had taken place. As Tapel came closer he realised that there were only black-clad legionnaires here; where were the Halrana dead, or the Alturans? Perhaps some constructs had been the cause of this destruction?

But there were only dead legionnaires. And these bodies weren't burnt; there hadn't been an explosion; these were sword wounds. An epic battle had been fought here; a battle that had taken the lives of at least a hundred, no, perhaps two-hundred legionnaires.

Tapel moved between the bodies, trying to keep his distance, anxiously looking back at the setting sun. He no longer looked for jewellery; he just wanted to get out of this terrible place and go home to his mother.

Then Tapel's heart stopped and his blood ran cold. Something had grabbed hold of his ankle; a hand was wrapped around his foot and, try as he might, Tapel couldn't move. Despite himself, a whimper came from his throat and he nearly voided his bowels.

He looked down.

A soldier lay by Tapel's feet, an Alturan by the colour of his clothing and the sword and flower of his
raj hada
, but this man wore no armour, instead his body was covered in light, reflective green fabric. Silk? A sword lay by the Alturan soldier's side, a long, slightly curved blade, free from dent or scratch, and inscribed with arcane symbols. Symbols also covered the Alturan's clothing.

Tapel realised that this was the man who had left behind so many of the enemy dead, at the same time also realising what he was. A bladesinger.

But he was old, with dark hair turning grey and faded scars on his face mingling with new wounds. He had his hand wrapped around his throat, where fresh red blood welled out from between his fingers.

"Agh…" the Alturan looked up at Tapel, and tried to speak.

Tapel realised he was going to have to answer his mother's questions about where he had been, whether he liked it or not.

~

T
HAT
had been many weeks ago, and as they nursed him back to health Tapel and his mother still wondered who the stranger was. The jewellery Tapel had found paid for food — the Alturan was a ravenous eater — and day by day the Alturan's colour slowly returned.

He could not speak, although both Tapel and Amelia knew he was desperate to. They had never seen him try as hard as he had when word arrived about the great battle that was fought at the Bridge of Sutanesta, and the miraculous events that led to the rescue of the Halrana refugees and the salvation of what was left of the allied army.

It was a victory, clawed back from the jaws of defeat. The Alturan tried time and again to express himself, gripping Tapel's hand inside his huge one, squeezing until it hurt. Finally the Alturan gave up, and tears came out of his eyes, spilling down his cheeks.

Not knowing what to do, Tapel had looked away.

Now, for the hundredth time, Tapel wondered who he was.

"Try again," Tapel said to him. "No, don't try to rise. Just try to speak."

The Alturan opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a ragged croak.

"I know you can do it," Tapel said. "Your name. Start with your name."

"Stop it, Tapel," his mother's voice sounded from behind him. "I've told you. He'll speak when he's ready."

"What if he never talks?"

Amelia came and sat by her son on the bed, where the Alturan lay watching them soberly. "Perhaps he won't. But he fought to free us and our people, and we'll help him nonetheless."

"Can he write?" Tapel asked.

Amelia sighed. "I've tried, but his fingers shake too much. He can grip my hand, but he can't hold the chalk."

The Alturan's face contorted as he tried to speak. Amelia made soothing motions, but he kept trying, his forehead creasing into lines and the breath popping from his mouth in little gasps.

"You can do it," Tapel said. "I know you can!"