The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (28 page)

36

“Why have you brought me here?” High Enchanter Merlon asked.

Ella took a deep breath. “High Enchanter, I know we haven’t always been the best of friends, but I need you.”

“You’ve never needed me before. In fact, you’ve always ignored my advice, rejected my opinions, scorned my strictures . . .”

“High Enchanter, please.” Ella tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “This time we need to work together. I have an idea . . .”

“Enchantress,” the high enchanter interrupted, “just tell me what you intend to do here.”

He indicated the expanse of the Great Court. The Green Tower loomed overhead, the buildings that formed the Academy of Enchanters framing a strange scene of serenity compared with the carnage Ella had left behind.

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Ella glared at him, meeting his eyes. It was the high enchanter who broke contact. “I need . . .” Ella took a deep breath. “Please, High Enchanter, we need to make use of the purity sample.”

High Enchanter Merlon’s shaggy eyebrows shot up. His eyes narrowed. “What do you know of the purity sample?”

“I know that one of your duties is to test the essence that comes from Mornhaven. I know that you test the new essence against a supply you know is pure.” Ella smiled. “I have friends among
the fac
ulty.”

“We need it . . .”

“High Enchanter, it doesn’t matter anymore. It is the only essence in quantity we have left. There isn’t another drop, not
anywhere
in Altura. I’ve seen your work, and I know you deserve your position. For my idea to work, I need help, but I believe you have the skill to help me. Altura needs us.”

“I will only fetch the essence if you tell me what you intend to do with it.”

“Fine,” Ella said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

When she finished telling him, High Enchanter Merlon looked at Ella as if he thought she were mad. But he agreed to make the attempt.

And Ella went to find some spades.

Jehral nimbly picked his way among the bodies to climb up to the ramparts in the southernmost section of the wall—one of the few places where the structure still stood. He found Ilathor staring out at the broken bodies below.

“The city is lost,” the kalif said without turning around. “
Sarostar
will fall.”

Jehral opened his mouth to disagree, but then closed it. The fighting over the last days had been bitter, with the last attack a
furious
assault that had culminated with the collapse of the majority of the wall. The revenants had felled trees and used the logs as rams, pounding at the stone rather than fighting the defenders.

The tactic had been successful.

The iron gate fell, flattened into the dirt, and the attackers had poured through the gap. Ilathor lost half his men in the countercharge, the riders swallowed by the enemy’s greater numbers. The Hazarans fought side by side with boys and old men. Most other Alturan and Halrana soldiers had fallen in the field.

Rain continued to fall in a relentless stream, but neither man acknowledged it. Thunder rumbled overhead.

“Where is Ella?” Ilathor asked.

“No one knows,” Jehral said. “She hasn’t been seen in days.
I still
can’t believe you brought Zohra to this place.”

Ilathor grimaced. “She wouldn’t stay at home. An obstinate woman, your sister. She’ll be safe at the palace. When the city falls, a fast horse will take her to safety.”

“You think there is no chance of success?”

“None,” Ilathor said. “Miro is a determined one, but Sarostar will fall. We must plan what our next step will be.”

“You may go, Kalif, but I will not abandon them,” Jehral said. “I have fought with these men for weeks. I will not say it was all for nothing.”

The kalif turned to Jehral, and his lips curved in a smile. “I was worried you would say that. Never fear, Jehral. My honor will not let our allies be abandoned in their time of need. Only when the city is truly fallen will I take our warriors—those of us who
survive
—to safety. We must find the emperor and prepare a plan for throwing these creatures back into the sea.”

“Yet Ella’s homeland will be gone,” Jehral said sadly, turning and gazing back at the pale stone of the city.

“Yes,” Ilathor nodded, “I am afraid it will be.”

“There you are.”

Jehral heard a new voice and saw Miro climb up to the wall to join them. He seemed unaware of the blood splattered on his face, hands, and neck.

“Well? Tell it to me plain,” Miro said as he surveyed the
battlefield
with them.

“One more charge,” said the kalif, “and these defenses will be overrun.”

“I know,” Miro said.

Jehral’s heart went out to the proud warrior. He’d planned and prepared, tried to gather support at the Chorum, and in the end it all came to nothing. They’d destroyed untold numbers of the enemy, no mean feat given the unholy strength of those they faced, but it hadn’t been enough.

“So what do you intend, then, High Lord?” Ilathor asked.

“Your men don’t like fighting on walls, do they?” Miro said.

“It is not our way.”

“Then let’s face them on the battlefield. One final charge. Kalif, if they make it past these walls and into the city, I release you from any obligation. You will need to tend to your own people and help fight to save the rest of the Empire.”

Ilathor reached out and he and Miro clasped hands. Miro then turned to Jehral. “It’s been an honor fighting by your side, Jehral of Tarn Teharan. I thank you for what you’ve done for my people.”

“Miro,” Jehral said, shaking his head, “even here, at the end, you face defeat with more honor than any warrior among my
people
. We pride ourselves on honor, yet no Hazaran faces his fate with more courage. You have my eternal respect.”

A haunted look came to Miro’s eyes, but vanished as quickly as it came. The wry smile returned. “We tried,” Miro said. “They’ll never say we didn’t.”

The kalif looked out at the forest. “They are readying for another assault. Let us form up in the open field, High Lord.”

“The open field.” Miro nodded. “I will gather the last of
my men
.”

The Hazaran cavalry formed up on both flanks while the
Alturans
, Halrana, and Dunfolk formed a solid mass in the center. The defenders arrayed themselves in front of the rubble of the wall. They were the final barrier before Sarostar.

Ilathor led the horsemen on the left, and Jehral led the right. In the center, Miro stood with Bartolo and another bladesinger as Beorn grimly waited nearby with the infantry. Glancing over his shoulder, Miro saw Layla with the rest of the Dunfolk archers, an expression of fierce determination on the small woman’s face.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. The ground squelched with every footstep as the men moved into position.

Miro opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t sure what he would say. The decision was taken away from him.

“Brace yourselves! Hold fast!” Miro heard Beorn roar.

The enemy charged.

Both groups of Hazaran cavalry rode out at the same time,
peeling
to the sides as Miro’s men spread to hold the ground they’d left behind. The revenants hit the infantry with solid force, and every man fought to keep his slipping feet on the ground and
hold firm
.

“Forward!” Beorn cried.

Miro and Bartolo led the counterattack. The defenders
followed
the figures in blazing armorsilk as they drove a wedge into the heart of the attackers. Revenants screamed as they were torn apart by whirling zenblades and dismembered by flashing steel. Even with so few of their weapons now lit with the fire of essence, the infantry drove hard into their enemy.

Then the Hazarans struck from the sides, crushing attackers who’d been facing forward before they could turn to acknowledge the flashing scimitars of the horsemen. The Hazarans penetrated deep into the enemy ranks before wheeling back out to make another charge.

Ever more revenants poured from the road between the trees into the open ground. The attackers struck back, and the force of their momentum was too great to hold.

Suddenly soldiers in green and brown started falling on all sides. Revenants broke through the line to rampage among the Dunfolk.

Miro led his men to push the enemy back, and with a mighty effort Beorn managed to reform the line of infantry. Once more the cavalry charged, and this time it looked like the Hazarans couldn’t get away.

“Hold the line!” Miro cried.

“Wait, look,” Bartolo said, gasping as he regained his breath, pointing ahead at the forest. “The trees. Why fell them now?”

The tops of the foremost trees swayed, though there was no breeze. Miro heard the sound of breaking branches and then his eyes narrowed.

“Those aren’t trees,” Miro said.

Behind the revenant army, the forest came to life.

37

Amber immediately took in the battlefield. She saw the broken wall, now reduced to rubble, and the small knot of soldiers in the center of the field, the last of the army in green and brown. She watched the Hazaran riders charge the flanks and become embroiled with the revenants, unable to pull away. The battle was about to be lost.

She couldn’t see Miro, or Ella. The field was littered with
bodies
; even those standing were covered in mud and blood. Amber’s
homeland
needed her.

Amber clutched onto High Lord Grigori’s shoulder and cried out. “We need to help them!”

Grigori nodded grimly and issued a series of swift commands.

The Veznans left the protection of the forest and charged.

Twenty Veznan nightshades and a thousand infantry pushed through the trees to smash into the army from behind.

Unarmed, Amber stuck close to the nightshades, weaving in between their legs as they plucked warriors up off the ground and tore the bodies into pieces like a child tearing petals from a flower. The Veznans carved a direct path for the defenders but soon
even th
e warriors in orange became embroiled as the revenants’ numbers told.

Amber could see horsemen to her left and right and infantry ahead of her. She saw a small group of bladesingers, whirling and dashing forward to push back the fiercest attacks and hold the line. The Veznans made it through to the Alturans, and the defenders gave a ragged cheer.

The battlefield cleared as the enemy pulled away and once more regrouped, while the defenders formed into a new line.

Amber’s arrival had saved the moment, but it wasn’t enough to save the day.

“Amber!” Miro cried, pushing through to her.

“I’m sorry,” Amber said, “We came as quickly as we could.”

“You did well,” said Miro. “Lord of the Sky, I’m happy to see you.” He pulled her close, ignoring the men around them. “I need you to go to the palace now. There are horses there. Take one and ride for Mornhaven.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Amber said. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“Amber, go. You need to take care of Tomas.”

“Tomas is with Amelia. She knows what to do. She’ll take him somewhere safe, and we can join him later.”

Miro kissed her lips. “No. I need
you
to take care of Tomas, not Amelia.”

“Here they come!” someone yelled.

“Go, please,” Miro said.

“Come with me!” Amber said, tears running down her face.

“My place is here. I can’t leave.” Miro gave her a gentle push. Amber looked back at him one last time and then ran in the
direction
of the city.

Bartolo rejoined Miro’s side. As the two men awaited the enemy’s charge, hearts pounding and swords readied, time stretched out, and Miro saw that for the first time there weren’t more warriors pouring out of the forest. They were facing the last of the force from the ships.

Scanning the line of defenders, Miro saw that even with the nightshades and fresh Veznan infantry, their numbers were still not enough.

They’d come so close.

“I wish my wife would leave too,” Bartolo said.

“If I left, who would save your life?” Shani said beside him.

Bartolo rolled his eyes. “She rescued me at the pass. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

Miro smiled as he looked from one face to the other,
remembering
them. This was it: the end. They all knew it.

Scanning the battlefield, Miro saw the Hazarans now grouped together on the left. In that direction was the closest route out of the city. The kalif was being true to his word, and would fight this last battle, but he was preparing the way out. Miro hoped the rest of the Empire would succeed where he had failed.

Half the Veznan nightshades had fallen as they charged the enemy rear; even now Miro could see gnarled trunks twitching on the mud. The Veznan infantry stood side by side with Miro’s
soldiers
.

Five houses had worked together to defend Miro’s homeland. When had such a combined effort last taken place? More than likely when the humans first fought to depose the Evermen. Miro was glad he’d seen it in his lifetime.

Miro saw Beorn hold a sword in the air and fix him with a rare grin. In another direction Master Goss had one arm limp at his side, his green sleeve dripping blood to the ground, while his other hand clutched a silver wand. High Lord Tiesto Telmarran stood with the last of his soldiers. The Halrana were steadfast to the end.

Miro met Bartolo’s eyes and nodded. He looked along the
shining
length of his zenblade. Ella had made it for him. He only regretted that he couldn’t see her now.

Miro commenced his song.

The activation rune sparked first, the glow traveling to the next symbol along the blade, colors lighting each rune in turn until the zenblade shone with a brilliant gleam. Interspersed in the song were sequences to bring Miro’s armorsilk to life, to cloak Miro’s body and make him as ethereal as a shadow. Beside him he saw Bartolo’s blade turn blue, and Bartolo’s form also shimmered as his voice rose in a sturdy baritone.

The strange distortion of time ended. Everything became fast again.

The enemy charged.

Miro roared and threw himself at his foes. He ducked an axe and cleaved a tall barbarian in two. Weaving to the side, he shot up and tore a revenant woman in half. Fireballs smashed into enemies before Miro could reach them, and he saw Shani send sizzling balls of flame to strike into faces and torsos. Bartolo leapt and danced among the revenants as he cut through them. In all directions there was fighting, with Veznan soldiers in orange fighting beside
Alturans
in green, Halrana in brown, and Hazaran horsemen smashing in from the side.

Beorn led a charge to close a gap in the line, and then a huge revenant standing taller than the rest rammed his shoulder into the grizzled veteran and knocked him back. Beorn countered with his blade, but the revenant was faster, dodging and then thrusting a broadsword into Beorn’s chest. The blade emerged from Beorn’s back, and when it was withdrawn, blood gushed from Beorn’s mouth.

Beorn’s eyes widened with agony, but his scream was lost in the gurgle of blood as he crumpled to the ground.

Miro cried out and tried to fight his way to Beorn, but the press of the enemy kept him back. Master Goss of the Academy sent beams of golden light from his wand, but a rush of revenants swamped the enchanter, knocking him down to the ground, their axes and spiked maces breaking the enchanter’s body into a red and green mess.

Miro fought like a man possessed, sending limbs and heads
flying
into the air with every stroke of his zenblade, but still they kept coming. Two nightshades smashed into the enemy in front of him, creating a momentary lull, and then Miro saw Shani.

She stood over the fallen form of a man in green and across the battlefield she met Miro’s eyes.

The pain in her gaze told Miro enough.

Miro fought his way over, seeing Bartolo on his back with a
shallow
wound spurting blood through a tear in his darkened armorsilk. Seeing the fading runes, Miro realized Bartolo’s
armorsilk
must have needed renewal, and he hadn’t said a thing.

“Please,” Shani begged, her eyes speaking volumes. “Please, Miro. Not like this.”

Miro looked out at the battle and saw the attackers push
forward
relentlessly as the infantry fell back. Men fell, one after the other, and as Miro watched, the last of the nightshades crashed to the ground.

Thoughts whirled through his mind. The battle was lost.
Bartolo
was down. Shani needed him.

Miro made a decision, and he gave the order he never wanted to give.

“Back!” he cried. “Back to the bridges!”

As the defenders took up the cry, Miro picked up Bartolo’s arms. “Take his legs,” he gasped.

He sensed some of the infantry forming a defensive ring around him as they fled back to the city. The defenders fell as they ran; it was just too easy to cut a man down from behind. It wasn’t a retreat; it was a rout.

They poured over the fallen rubble that had once been a
defensive
wall. Running and stumbling, Miro and Shani carried
Bartolo
through the buildings of Sarostar’s workshops and
warehouses
. Miro saw two elementalists in red robes running with them.

Flames shot from the Petryans’ hands back in the direction of the chasing enemy. The death cries of soldiers sounded in all directions, and the revenants surged through the western quarter of the city, butchering any of the living they found.

“Back to the bridges!” Miro heard the cry again and again. Across the bridges, on the other side of the river, lay the Crystal Palace and the Academy of Enchanters. Miro’s only hope was that Amber and Tomas had already fled. At the nine bridges of Sarostar they might buy some time, but the city was lost.

“This way,” Miro grunted, indicating with his head as he and Shani carried the heavy bladesinger. They turned a corner, and ahead Miro spied Victory Bridge, a wide span of stone crossing the
bubbling
green water below. Miro heard clashes of steel behind him and eerie singing as a bladesinger defended him and Shani. Then they were on the bridge, climbing the endless steps, stumbling along the broad path between two stone rails.

A soldier in green—Miro didn’t even know his name—pushed past Miro at the apex of the bridge. “High Lord, give him to me. I’ll take him.”

Exhausted, Miro gave Bartolo’s arms to the Alturan soldier. Only then did he turn and watch the destruction of his city.

The western quarter was overrun. Casting his gaze along the river, Miro saw defenders on all of the bridges he could see. Sarostar had no walls, but the nine bridges provided a defense of last resort. From the height of Victory Bridge, Miro saw thousands of fleeing defenders cross the bridges to the perceived safety across the river. Many turned back to stand with their fellows until they thronged the bridges like Sarostar on a feast day.

Miro stood side by side with his fellow bladesinger and waited for the enemy to come.

As he panted, knowing his city was lost, Miro saw a flash of light, but it came from the wrong direction. It wasn’t from a last prismatic orb, conserved until the end. It wasn’t the fire of an enchanted sword.

It made no sense.

A bright light sparked, coming from the direction of the
Academy
of Enchanters. Suddenly, an arc of radiance reached into the air to climb the sky, crossing the river, a bridge of light and glowing runes.

Miro had seen this before: when Evrin Evenstar fought Sentar Scythran. He’d seen it at the ruins of the Bridge of Sutanesta.

Miro was forced to turn his attention back to the fighting as the horde rushed Victory Bridge.