The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (15 page)

“Try to move it,” someone said.

Tapel nudged the prism and it rocked side to side.

“Don’t worry,” Brin said. “I’ll head back to the market and get some resin. That’ll hold it fast. You can come down now, boy.”

Tapel slid back down the metal leg of the tower and came to rest on his feet before sagging down to the ground.

“Well done,” Brin said, clapping him on the back. The man with the bow relaxed the string.

Tapel sighed. He felt dirty, cowardly. But what value would there be in sacrificing his life? The thought didn’t provide any
comfort
.

Tapel knew that he’d done it because he was scared. Despite himself, he felt tears well in his eyes.

“Come, boy,” Brin said. “You’ve earned some food.”

As they walked away from the tower, now rendered useless, Tapel knew he’d let everyone down. If these men killed him, Tapel hoped Rogan would never find out about the part he’d played.

His only hope was to bide his time and try to escape.

If Altura called, none of the eastern lands would come.

18

Beorn handed Miro a rectangular stone and Miro heaved, his honed muscles straining as he set the block on top of the fresh mortar,
fixing
it firmly in place before reaching to take the next.

Miro was bare chested in the sun, sweating in the ever warmer weather, but he found he was glad to be doing something
physical
. He was a man of action—planning gave him headaches and kept him awake at night. At Ella’s suggestion he’d started helping out with the building, digging, clearing, and carrying. At Amelia’s
insistence
he began to take a half hour out of each day—sometimes more—to play with Tomas, digging up the gardens outside the Crystal
Palace
and making a general mess. Physical fatigue helped him sleep, whereas mental fatigue never could.

Miro and Beorn were working at the defenses just outside
Sarostar
, where the arc of wall guarding the road from Castlemere now stood one foot taller. Unlike the wall outside Castlemere itself, this wall had ramparts, places where the defenders could stand high above a foe and rain down destruction. The wall was complete, but it could always be higher, stouter, and stronger. Miro paused to wipe sweat from his eyes while Beorn leaned back with a hand on his hip, his spine making a sound like a whip.

“I’m too old for this,” Beorn grumbled, wiping dust from
his beard
.

“It’s good for a man your age to get out and about,” Miro said, grinning.

“Age means experience. Before I arrived, your brickwork was all over the place,” Beorn said.

“What’s that sound?” one of the soldiers said to a fellow.

Miro raised his head when he heard the last sound he’d been expecting to hear: the pounding of hooves signaling a horse at full gallop.

The rider came into view an instant later, skirting the wall until he reached Miro and then pulling his horse to a stop with a savage tug on the reins. The face of Jehral of House Hazara was flushed, and his chest heaved as he looked down at Miro.

The men around stopped work, and suddenly all eyes were on the desert warrior, his exotic garb of flowing black and yellow incongruous among all the shirtless workers. Miro’s eyes took in Jehral’s haggard face and the frothing mouths of the horses. There was blood on Jehral’s chest, and though Miro didn’t know horses, he could see that Jehral’s mount was done in. The second horse, evidently a remount, was even worse, staggering with exhaustion.

Jehral held himself awkwardly, and Miro saw bruises on his chin and a torn sleeve on his left arm. He looked like he’d taken a bad fall.

As his eyes met Jehral’s, Miro went rigid. Jehral must have ridden through the city to come here, galloping directly to the defenses. He would have had ample opportunity to stop at the Crystal Palace and refresh himself, yet here he was.

“Jehral,” Miro said. “Lord of the Sky, did you just ride all the way from the desert? What happened to you?”

“It’s nothing,” Jehral said. He took several breaths to calm
himself
. “High Lord, I bring news. We discovered a wrecked ship off the coast of our lands. It must have blown off course and gone astray. The enemy can’t be far.”

“Describe the ship,” Beorn demanded.

“It was filled with revenants,” Jehral said.

The men around gasped in chorus. Miro’s stomach clenched.

“It was huge, bigger than any vessel I’ve seen. The ship’s foundering had taken a toll, but it was once painted with bright colors.”

Miro closed his eyes. A ship full of revenants, wrecked on the coastline off the Hazara desert. It could only mean one thing. They were here.

“What happened to you?” Beorn asked.

“I was ambushed by four men on the way. I think they were Tingaran.”

“Tingaran?” Miro lifted his gaze. “Where?”

“Not far from Sarostar, near the river.”

“The signals,” Beorn said. “We need to make the call.”

“Scratch it!” Miro said. “We can’t.”

“Every hour that goes by . . .”

“Beorn, the ship was wrecked in Hazaran lands. It doesn’t tell us anything other than that they’re close.”

“We fought one of the revenants,” Jehral said. “They were still and unmoving, bodies decayed, but one was . . . alive. It killed four of my men.”

“What do we do?” Beorn asked.

Miro made a decision and snapped into action, almost with a sense of relief to finally be doing something.

“It’s time to mobilize. The only part of the plan that must wait is the lighting of the signals, and we won’t evacuate Sarostar until we have final confirmation. Beorn, I want you to leave a skeleton force here and take the rest of the men from Altura to the defenses at the free cities. Send word to Scherlic. He must find the enemy fleet.”

“What about the men who ambushed Jehral?” Beorn said.

Miro turned to Jehral. “Did you leave any alive?”

“No, High Lord. I was unable to question them.”

“Then we have to trust they were just brigands; there’s always some around. Beorn, tell our scouts in the vicinity of Sarostar to be vigilant. Jehral, I need you to . . .” Miro halted. “My apologies, Jehral, I realize you’re not Alturan . . .”

“Do not apologize, High Lord. Just tell me what I can do.”

“Are you well? Do you need attention?”

“Scrapes only.” Jehral grinned.

“Good man. Go to the Academy of Enchanters and find my sister. Tell her we’re putting the plan into action. She needs to stop work and move everything to our defenses at the free cities. I need every enchanter, every blade, and every trick she’s devised sent west.”

Jehral wheeled and rode away.

“Where will you be?” Beorn asked.

“I’ll head directly for Castlemere while you round up the last of our men here and see to Sarostar. Come quickly, Lord Marshal, I will need you.”

Beorn nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

A brisk wind blew from the west, carrying the scent of salt. A fine mist of spray filled the air as the bow of the graceful
vessel
smashed through one cresting wave after another. High in the crow’s nest,
in th
e rigging, and on the decks, rugged sailors scanned the
horizon
, always searching, each man privately fearing what the crew of the scouting vessel would uncover in the void of ocean west of Altura.

Sailmaster Scherlic called out orders and chanted activation sequences, lighting up the shimmering sails and feeling the deck heel beneath his feet. The
Infinity
was far from shore, and the
horizon
clear in all directions. With the blazing sun at a perfect midpoint high in the sky, it was noon, and only the seekers at the helm and mainmast told him which way was east and which west. Scherlic kept the symbols lined up in one clear direction as he
traveled
east, his path taking him further and further into the deep blue waters of the Great Western Ocean.

The slim ship rode the peaks of the waves, carving the water as she rose up and down, hitting the troughs with a regular series of resounding booms. With the wind gusting strong behind him, Scherlic turned the
Infinity
across the wind to head in a more
northerly
direction. He chanted in a deep voice, calling on the lore of the Buchalanti to pocket the main sail and catch more wind, tightening other sails, feeling his beloved vessel pick up speed until she flew like a bird.

“Ship, ho!” the man in the crow’s nest called down. Without waiting for a response he called again. “Sails.” After the space of ten heartbeats he cried out again. “Sails! Many of them!”

Scherlic frowned as the sailor’s voice fell away in what could only be astonishment; he’d never heard one of the disciplined men and women that made up his crew react in such a way.

“Where away?” Scherlic called up.

“Dead ahead!” the sailor cried.

Scherlic was unable to leave his place at the ship’s helm; he was the sailmaster, and every turn was a chanted rune, every close-hauling of the sails required his attention. There were fail-safes, of course, but to Scherlic the spokes of the huge wheel at the helm were decorative only.

He wished he could rush to the front of the ship and peer ahead, but made do with the Louan seeing device he carried at his belt. Scherlic activated the lens and turned it in his hands, bringing the distant horizon into focus.

He couldn’t see anything.

The sailors in the rigging ceased moving as every man and woman stared ahead, usually a terrible breach in discipline, but even Scherlic had ceased chanting and let the symbols on the sails begin to grow dim.

He scanned the horizon to the left and right, waiting with pent breath, willing the
Infinity
forward, but dreading what would be revealed.

Then he saw them.

At first he thought it was a dark cloud, or perhaps he’d come across a new land, with a series of buildings rising from the ocean from one end of the horizon to the other. Surely these could not
be ship
s?

There were just too many of them.

Scherlic took his eyes away from the seeing device and now he could see the armada with his own unaided vision. It was beyond anything he could have imagined, an uncountable array of ships of all shapes and sizes. As the
Infinity
grew ever nearer, Scherlic’s experienced gaze saw that these vessels sat low in the water, as if carrying heavy cargo. He tried to count them, but he could only see the length of the line, not the depth; there was no purpose in trying to gauge their numbers from this limited perspective.

He kept his distance but drew close enough to see their
direction
of travel. He’d been warned about this enemy’s capabilities, and he and Commodore Deniz had experimented with the range and power of cannon. Scherlic knew his mission: the important thing was to escape the armada unscathed and bring warning.

He was now close enough to see that the enemy fleet traveled straight, lumbering forward slowly, but inevitably, heading directly for the free cities.

A puff of smoke came from one of the closest ships, and four or five vessels broke free to give chase. Scherlic’s lips curved in a smile; he’d like to see them try to catch the
Infinity
.

Then Scherlic could wait no more.

“Make all sail!” he roared. “Turn about. We’re getting away from them.”

Sailmaster Scherlic called power to his vessel, and the
Infinity
heeled over sharply as she came about. He focused all his energy on getting every bit of speed from the racing ship, and the
Infinity
shot forward as one of the fastest ships the world had ever seen sped across the waves.

The armada was coming, and they were coming for Altura.

Scherlic had to give warning to the high lord.

Miro had been right all along.

After a week’s frantic journey, Miro was nearly at Castlemere. He was on the road from Sarostar to the free cities, leading a long
column
of soldiers, when the courier found him.

“High Lord,” the man in green panted, “urgent message.”

Miro realized his hands were shaking as he waited impatiently for the courier to catch his breath. “Tell me,” he demanded, but he knew what was coming.

“The enemy fleet has been sighted. Here,” he said, handing over the dispatch.

Miro swiftly broke the seal and scanned the message from Scherlic. The sailmaster described the fleet as huge, an armada, more ships in one place than he’d ever thought possible.

He said they were undeniably heading for the free cities.

Miro’s homeland was under attack.

“What’s your name?” Miro said to the courier.

“Faron, High Lord.”

“Faron, I am going to entrust you with a vital mission. Can you handle it?”

“Yes, High Lord.” The young man trembled.

“Get to Sarostar as quickly as you can. Do not rest.” Miro bit the words off. “If you see Beorn, tell him the news, but more than anything, get to the Crystal Palace. Find Amelia. Give her the
message
, and tell her I’m instructing her to light the green signal. Do you understand?”