The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (7 page)

One day, Sabithe woke up and realised there were more templars wearing swords. It was a right that templars — not priests — had, but with the exception of templar guards and soldiers, few rarely exercised. Sabithe looked on as the people of Salvation's respect for the Assembly turned from awe to fear. The sermons of Melovar Aspen, Primate of the Assembly of Templars, changed.

Before, the Primate had preached the maintenance of peace, even at the detriment of those such as the people of Petrya, who lived under oppressive leaders, or Tingara, who valued wealth too much, and life too little.

At the time, Sabithe had understood the Primate's argument. Change came about with time, and in this troubled age the inhabitants of the Tingaran Empire were still living better than their fathers. It might take time, but the world would get there. Picking up a sword could be justified, but only the most extreme of circumstances called for war. An uneasy peace was better than no peace at all. This was logic Sabithe could agree with.

Then the Primate's words changed.

Melovar Aspen began to speak out more against the great wealth divide in Tingara, particularly in Seranthia, where the poor were rounded up and cast out of the city, sometimes from the towering heights of the Wall, the bodies forming little holes in the dust when they hit the ground.

He raved at the terrible weapons the Alturan enchanters made, fit only for war, and the exploding devices of the Louan artificers. He spoke of an eventual end to the houses, of a new world of unity, without lore, without borders, without tyrannical High Lords and an economy based on essence. At first, Sabithe agreed, such problems needed to be spoken out against, but then he saw the meaning inside the Primate's words.

The Primate wanted to change the world, and he didn't mean to wait. He wanted to change it now.

Sabithe knew what the words meant. There was only one way to bring about such wholesale change.

War.

When he heard about the absorption of Raj Torakon into Raj Tingara, Sabithe knew it had begun. The lightning fast attack through Loua Louna only confirmed it. He heard about the depredations of the Black Army in Halaran, and the butchery at the Battle for Ralanast that the templars were calling a great victory.

All in the name of the Evermen.

When he heard about the intentional destruction of the Bridge of Sutanesta, the only escape route to Altura, and the Black Army's pinning of the refugees against the Sarsen, Sabithe wept.

Many escaped that day, thank the Evermen, but there were many who didn't: helpless people, ordinary people, not only from Halaran but from Torakon and from Loua Louna. Children with their mothers, husbands with their wives, the elderly and the infantile; they all died together.

Sabithe decided it was time to pick up a sword.

He was forced to wait, but when the attacks on Stonewater came, when some desperate warrior sought his revenge on the Assembly, Sabithe knew it was just a matter of time before the Primate returned.

Now the Primate was back, and Sabithe was ready.

He listened intently, waiting in the shadows of a stairway, but could hear nothing. Sabithe tried to slow his breathing and still his racing heart. He closed his eyes, and swiftly prayed to the Evermen for success this night. Sabithe opened his eyes again, looking up. Solace would finish soon, and the guards would once again be pacing the corridors of Stonewater. He had best be quick.

As Sabithe crept up the stairway, keeping a constant lookout for the guards he knew would be hard to hear in their stillness, he could feel the weight in his cassock. The prismatic orb was heavy, much heavier than he had expected it to be, but he knew how to activate it — such things were never complicated; the army was rarely the first option for the educated — and he had been told the orb would be more than sufficient for what he intended.

"Who's there?" a voice sounded.

Sabithe hadn't seen the guard, motionless as the man was, far from the soft light of the corridor's nightlamps. Earlier, he had made it past a guard simply by nodding, but he knew that as close as he was to the Primate's chambers, this time it wouldn't suffice.

"I was told you'd know I was coming," Sabithe said, stepping close to the guard. Against the wall as he was, the man had nowhere to draw back to.

"By who?" the guard challenged.

"It doesn't matter," Sabithe said. Stepping forward, he thrust the stiletto deep into the guard's heart. He withdrew the knife and stabbed again, this time through to the lungs.

Sabithe could see from the guard's yellowed eyes, now wide and filled with fear, that he had the taint. Sabithe didn't know what the taint was exactly, but he had overheard it being discussed. Apparently it was a reward, a potion that was given to the warriors most dedicated to the Primate's cause. Some magic that gave a man powers of regeneration and vitality.

Sabithe stabbed one last time; he wasn't sure how powerful the regeneration was. A gurgling sound came from the guard's throat, and he slumped against the wall. As the body slid down, it left a smear of red where he'd been.

Sabithe was shocked as the guard struggled to stand back up again. As he watched, the templar's strength appeared to return to him.

"In the name of the Evermen," Sabithe whispered to himself. "This is not natural."

He grabbed at the base of the guard's throat and pushed until the man's head was back against the wall. Sabithe took a deep breath, and then plunged the stiletto into the guard's eye with as much strength as he possessed.

The guard kicked once, twice, and then was still.

Sabithe dropped the knife, barely cognizant of the clatter it made against the floor. He felt like weeping, but he knew this was a time when he needed to be strong. If anyone else was out at this hour — a likely event, given the war going on — they would immediately sound the alarm, and it would all be for nothing.

Summoning his strength, Sabithe straightened, looking up and down the corridor. Ahead there was an archway leading to one final set of steps, curving as they ascended. At the summit of the steps two guards would be waiting in an antechamber, behind them would be a heavy door of oak, and behind the door would be the Primate's living chamber.

For good or ill, it would end here and now.

Sabithe took a deep breath, and then began to run.

"We're being attacked. There are dead guards everywhere!" he cried as he ran through the archway and dashed up the steps. With his white priest's cassock covered in blood, he knew he would make a believable impression.

Both guards instantly drew their swords and faced up to the priest.

"Get back, priest," one of them said.

"They could be right behind me!" Sabithe said.

Sabithe moved to where he was motioned and waited for what he knew would come next. The moments dragged by — the absolute silence of solace — and the two templar guards, standing with swords drawn, began to get nervous. Sabithe stayed silent, knowing one of them needed to be the first to speak. The air was filled with the hoarse sound of breathing.

Finally, one of the guards, a burly man with a high-forehead, cracked. "What did you see?" he addressed Sabithe.

"Dead, they're all dead. I came from three floors down, and every guard I passed was dead. We need to wake the Primate."

"Shut up," said the other guard, a slim templar, lithe as a cat, with close-cropped black hair. "I need to think."

"I'll go down," said the burly guard. "If you get my confirmation, wake the Primate."

"All right," the slim guard nodded.

Sabithe knew he needed one of the guards to open the Primate's locked door, or he would never succeed in his mission.

The burly guard disappeared down the steps.

"He's right," called up the burly guard a moment later. "There's a dead man here. Wake the Primate. I'll stay here and call out if I see anything."

The slim guard looked nervous, evidently torn between facing whatever may come and waking the Primate.

"I can do it," Sabithe said. "Give me the keys."

The slim guard looked relieved. "Come here," he said.

Sabithe could see the brass keys at the guard's belt, and wondered whether he could take him, if it came to that. But this man was trained, and alert, with his sword drawn. Sabithe was no warrior; he would never succeed.

Sabithe came closer and the guard handed him the keys, keeping one eye on the stairs and the other on the priest.

Sabithe turned to open the door.

"Wait," said the slim guard. "Let me quickly search you first."

The guard began to hastily pat him down. "Stop moving," the slim guard said as Sabithe tried to draw away.

The priest desperately thought of an argument he could provide, a way to get into the Primate's chamber. There was nothing.

As soon as the guard found the prismatic orb, Sabithe knew he was a dead man. The greater tragedy was that he could have ended the war, here and now.

Then a clanging sound came from the heavy door, following by a creaking. The door opened, and a thin figure emerged, clad in a simple white robe, a feverish yellow glow in his eyes, and the look of the fanatic in his sunken face.

"What is it?" the Primate asked.

As the guard reached the pocket of Sabithe's cassock, and found the heavy roundness of the prismatic orb, Sabithe darted his hand into the opening. His finger found the lever, triggering the mechanism.

The orb exploded in a violent detonation of heat and energy.

Sabithe's last thoughts were triumphant.

7

T
HE
Primate tried to open his eyes. The first sensation he experienced when consciousness returned was incredible pain, like nothing he had ever experienced. His body was on fire; burning as if a thousand red hot pokers were pressing into his flesh. If he was flayed, his skin sliced and pulled roughly away from his body, and the raw pulp underneath whipped and then scraped with rough stones, even that wouldn't come close to the pain he felt now.

He opened his mouth to scream, feeling his lips split and warm blood seep out, suddenly realising he was unable to make a sound. Only a sickly gurgle came out. His lungs were filled with liquid; he was drowning in his own blood! Melovar tried again to open his eyes, but they were covered by something moist. Bandages?

"Shh," a calm voice said. "Try not to move. I know you can't breathe, but you can last another moment. Your lungs are filled with elixir — it's the only thing keeping you alive. Don't worry; I've done this several times already. This is the first time you've been conscious for it. I know it's very uncomfortable, but trust me, Primate."

There was a pause, as if the owner of the voice was counting, and then he spoke again, urgently and forcefully. "Now, quick. Cough. Get all the liquid out."

Melovar tried to cough, but his body was too weak, the pain too great. He gulped, like a fish flopping on a beach, but with his lungs filled with liquid he wasn't able to take air in. After so long without breathing, starved of air, he felt the walls of his consciousness close in. It was all going to end here.

Melovar felt the pain fade, and as he fell into darkness he was suddenly at peace. A soft circle of light appeared in the distance, growing closer and closer as he approached. Melovar was with the Evermen, truly content for the first time in his life, and he knew that what he had done was right. Now that he had served his purpose, and the Evermen had no more worldly demands to make of him, others would take up his mission.

Or perhaps the Evermen had further use for him after all.

An intense sensation of bursting pain punched into Melovar's ebbing consciousness, taking away the light like a soap bubble being popped. It came again. In complete disregard for his ruined flesh, something was pounding on his back, slapping at it with strong, regular strokes.

Melovar opened his mouth and coughed; liquid poured out his lips, and he retched at the foul, oily taste of the elixir, his body using the last of its strength to purge itself of the foreign substance.

When the liquid was all gone, Melovar choked and spluttered, drawing in lungfuls of precious air. Finally normal breathing returned — as normal as it could be with the searing pain at the front of his consciousness.

Then the voice spoke again. "Open your mouth. I'm going to insert a funnel. It's time to do this again."

~

T
HE
next time Melovar woke, he could see. He tried to sit up, and the voice spoke:

"Slow down. You're lucky to be alive. You need to rest, Primate."

Melovar ignored the voice and sat up. The pain was excruciating, indescribable, but with a great strength of will the Primate put it to the back of his mind. The Evermen had spoken with him. He had been entrusted to see this thing through.

Melovar turned as he heard the scraping sound of a chair being pulled closer. A templar in the white robe and black stripes of the upper echelons sat watching. Plump and squat, he wore a frame of circular lenses around his eyes, a contraption he had made himself to improve his vision. The eyes behind the glass were small but intelligent, and the hands he held clasped on his lap were surprisingly large for his body, with long, delicate fingers.

"Zavros, it's you," the Primate said. He vaguely remembered hearing a voice giving him instructions; this was the owner of the voice.

Zavros nodded slowly, a strange expression on his face.

"What is it?" Melovar said.

"I can't believe you're alive," Zavros said. "Anyone else… The only thing that saved you is you've had so much of the elixir that your body was able to repair much of the damage, even as it occurred."

"What do you mean, 'much of the damage'?"

"A prismatic orb detonated not two paces from you, Primate." Zavros shook his head. "It's… incredible. Three others died in the blast. One was coming up the stairs to your chambers — he was killed by shrapnel — but the other two were as close as you were. And Primate… there's barely anything left of them."