The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) (9 page)

“Your mother’s well?”

“Yes, she’s fine. I miss Ralanast, though.”

“I used to visit family there, did I tell you?” Fergus said.

“What district do they live in?”

“They’re dead. Killed in the war.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, lad. I lost my cousins, but you lost your pa. Do you miss him?”

“He used to yell at my mother,” Tapel said. “Rogan’s good
to her
.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Used to scare the daylights out of me, Rogan did. I like hearing about him from you, though. We all have our softer side, and it’s nice to know he’s no exception.”

“He’s not that soft,” Tapel said wryly.

“I’m sure he’s not.” Fergus chuckled. “But don’t you worry, Tapel.”

Fergus pulled up at the dock near the Crystal Palace.

“You’ll make him proud.”

8

Miro rubbed sleep from his eyes as he examined the new wall
outside
Sarostar. In the long series of defenses between Castlemere and Sarostar, this was the final bulwark. If he didn’t hold them here, Altura’s capital was doomed.

It was early dawn, and the distant treetops in the direction of the coast were tinged with golden light. Behind Miro the city was waking, merchants taking goods to the Poloplats markets and
officials
hurrying to appointments that simply couldn’t wait. Already the sound of chisels and hammers filled the air, soldiers-turned-workmen muttering as they fitted blocks and dug trenches, lifted cannon and felled trees. The fresh scent of the forest wafted in on a cool breeze, banishing the smell of stone and upturned earth.

Miro kicked the tall wall with a booted foot as he looked up at its summit. The thick barrier was made of solid stone, the blocks tightly fitted together and bound by strong mortar. The wall curved slightly, its arc covering the final approach from Castlemere. At
regular
intervals Miro’s men had built round towers, and on each tower a brass cannon pointed at the sole road from the free cities.

Commodore Deniz, the Veldrin naval commander who had led his people to safety in Altura, had helped Miro place and sight these cannon. Miro was reluctant to take too many cannon from Deniz’s fourteen Veldrin warships—all needed for the naval struggle—and he and Deniz had settled with Miro taking a third of their original complement. Miro and Beorn then distributed their cannon evenly between these defenses at Sarostar and those at Castlemere. Miro had a few mortars, but too few, and just one solitary dirigible.

In the last war, archers had provided Miro with a
decisive
advantage
, but he knew the coming fight would depend on
weaponry
with much greater destructive power. Miro’s men would be battling revenants, and the only way to defeat those already dead was to crush the brain, remove the head, or literally tear the
bodies
to pieces. In order to survive, Miro needed bladesingers and elite swordsman, prismatic orbs, black powder, runebombs, and
dirigibles
. He had too little of everything.

Miro and Beorn walked from one end of the curving wall to the other, examining the ditches at the ends, the towers and
cannon
, and the strong iron gate in the center. Miro had liberated cities in Halaran, and he himself had been under siege at Wengwai. He knew the weakest points would be the gate and the extremities.
He k
ept the workers building, but he would never have time to encircle Sarostar. High Enchanter Merlon had reinforced the
central
gate with the little he knew of the lore of the builders. Miro had done all he could, but would it be enough?

Miro praised his men as he passed; they were hard at work
digging
and lifting, and when a group of bare-chested soldiers saw their high lord and paused to touch their fingers to their foreheads, Miro shook his head.

“Please, don’t stop, keep going. I’m proud of all of you. Many lives will depend on the work you do today.”

Finally, Miro and Beorn stood outside the iron gate and looked at the approach. The road stretching from Sarostar to Castlemere was broad enough for three wagons to pass side by side, and the surrounding forest was thick, close to impenetrable. The vast
majority
of Altura’s trade passed along either this route or back via Samson’s Bridge to Halaran, in the east.

“We’re lucky,” Beorn said.

Miro smiled without humor. “How so?”

“The forest is our ally. We know they’re going to travel along this road. If the free cities fall, we know this is where we’ll
stop th
em.”

Miro turned back and looked at the city he’d called home his entire life. “I agree with you on one point. This is where we’ll make our final stand.”

“How does this compare with the defenses at Wengwai?”

“In a word? It’s a good effort, but Wengwai’s defenses were well beyond anything we’ve done.”

“That’s more than a word.”

Miro barked a laugh. “So it is.”

“But we’ve got something the Gokani didn’t have,” Beorn said. He peered at the road to Castlemere as if trying to divine the
future. “Lore
.”

Miro and Beorn were both pensive for a time as they wondered what effect their weapons and defenses would have on the enemy.

Miro spoke into the silence. “And yet Sentar Scythran has lore of his own, and his power is the one thing we don’t have a cou
nter for
.”

“Overwhelm him with numbers? Perhaps bladesingers?”

“We can try.” Miro shrugged. “But it isn’t going to work.”

Miro heard someone call out his name and, turning, saw an older woman with flaxen hair approaching. Never one to use his title, Amelia strode forward briskly as Miro briefly raised his eyes to the heavens.

“Miro,” Amelia said again. “You need to rest. I can’t believe you’ve just arrived from Ralanast and didn’t even stop by the palace. You’re no good to anyone exhausted.” She caught Beorn grinning at Miro’s discomfort. “The same applies to you, Beorn.”

Miro and Beorn exchanged rueful glances.

“How is my husband?” Amelia said.

“Rogan is well,” Miro said. “He misses you and Tapel both. Here,”—he handed Amelia a letter—“this is for you.”

Amelia snatched the letter, clutching it to her chest. “He’s
getting
too old for this. And the Halrana? What did Tiesto say?”

“High Lord Tiesto is three days behind us. He’s brought
everything
he could: colossi, ironmen, woodmen and golems . . . as well as regular infantry, pikemen, and their animators of course. Amelia, could you . . . ?”

Amelia let out a breath. “Quarter-master to the army . . .” She shook her head. “Who would’ve thought?” Her expression
softened
. “Of course, Miro. Beorn can help me. We’ll see they’re fed and housed.”

“Thank you,” Miro said.

“Speaking of being fed . . .” Amelia said.

“We’ll finish up here in a few hours, and then I promise you, we’ll go back to the Crystal Palace for a meal.”

“I’ll expect you there,” Amelia said. “No excuses.”

Evening found Miro at the Crystal Palace, sitting with his
Council
of Lords, trying to find gilden for the Louans. They examined every aspect of Altura’s finances, from the storehouses of grain to the stocks of enchanted weapons and armor. They were revisiting old ground; there simply wasn’t any money left.

Miro dismissed his lords and rubbed at his temples. His next task would be to go to the coast to inspect the defenses at
Castlemere
, a journey of several days. He was relieved to be back in Altura; if Sentar came now, at least Miro was close. But being back simply reminded him how much there was to do.

And it wouldn’t end. Even if they waited month after month, Miro would have to keep building, training, feeding, housing,
trading
, governing . . . It wouldn’t end, not until they came.

And then the end might be all too near.

“You look exhausted,” a voice said.

Miro glanced up and saw Ella standing beside the white stone table, looking down at him, her face registering concern.

“You don’t look too rested yourself,” Miro said. “I’m glad you’re back safely. How did it go?”

“The kalif has promised to come to our aid if we call. Agira Lahsa and Tlaxor are both connected through Wondhip Pass. The Petryans and Hazarans will see our signal if we call.”

“Thank you, Ella. I mean that. I know it can’t have been easy.”

“Are you getting any sleep?”

“Some.” Miro blinked and wiped at the corners of his eyes before once more looking up at his sister. “What did Shani say about Petrya?”

Ella’s expression turned grim. “She’s trying. Petrya and Altura were never friends. If another house calls, it might be a different story.”

Miro sighed. “So it comes to three houses: Halaran, Altura, and Hazara.”

“Don’t forget the Buchalanti. And Amber will come through with the Veznans, I’m sure of it. Also, I hear the Veldrins are hard at work both here and at the free cities. They know what’s coming. Perhaps the Tingarans are right; we still don’t know if Sentar will pass Altura by altogether. Perhaps it’s we who will find ourselves answering another’s call.”

“He held me captive, Ella. We spoke. He’ll come here, I’m sure of it.”

“I have some good news,” Ella said. She held up a scroll. “This was waiting for me here. It’s from Evrin. He’s leaving Seranthia and coming here to help.”

“I hope he has something up his sleeve,” Miro said. “
Sentar
. . . our best are no match for him. He took me down with barely an effort. And what will the Imperial Legion do if we call? They’re still the most powerful force we have.”

“We just have to hope. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Ella took Miro’s hand and pulled him out of his seat. He let her drag him to his feet reluctantly. Still holding his hand, she led him through one of the translucent corridors of the Crystal Palace, along another hall, and to a lucent door. In his fatigued haze, Miro didn’t recognize the door.

“What are you showing . . .?”

“Shh,” Ella said, holding a finger to her lips.

Ella gently pushed the door open and led Miro inside.

A small child was asleep, curled up against a pile of cushions, the three-year-old Tomas barely taking up space on the massive bed. Miro’s son looked carefree and innocent, his tousled locks of hair a perfect match to Amber’s auburn.

“It’s called a bed,” Ella whispered with a smile. “No one will find you here. Everyone’s depending on you, it’s true, but you’re no good to anyone if you’re not thinking clearly. Don’t worry, Miro; you’ll get us through.”

Ella slid Miro’s shirt off his back and pulled off his boots as he sat on the bed. He fell down into the soft mattress, infinitely
comfortable
, and closed his eyes.

“I have faith in you,” Ella whispered.

Miro didn’t hear her.

He was already asleep.

9

Far away in the north, verdant spring hit the wild forests of Vezna with a spurt of growth unmatched at any other place in Merralya. The burst of new life touched nowhere so much as the living city of Rosarva, a place where every structure, from houses to halls,
workshops
to temples, to the defensive barrier of thorns surrounding the city, was grown rather than built. Gnarled trunks leaned against each other at odd angles, and twisted branches formed roofs overhead, yet it was all done to a rigid framework, for Veznans were a thorough, methodical people. And more than any of the other houses, they just wanted to be left alone.

In the Lyceum, the spurt of growth was welcome, for the rains and sunlight were needed for the cultivators’ creations to reach their promise. The guardian plants, thornshrubs, highwalls, and nightshades would soon be awakened, and a new generation of plants would fill their creators with a satisfaction that only a Veznan could appreciate.

The most learned of the cultivators carefully pruned back the Juno Bridge, leading to the Borlag, where the high lord made his residence. It wouldn’t do for those poisonous, grasping thorns to accidentally brush the wrong person.

And in the Borlag itself, an island of land surrounded by a weed-filled moat, the only building in the living city made of stone rose to dominate its land mass. The many chambers of the high lord’s palace mostly stayed empty: High Lord Grigori Orlov, the man who’d replaced the deposed Dimitri Corazon, received few visitors from outside.

Amber sat at a table of rose-colored wood in an upper
hall of
the hi
gh lord’s palace. Across from her was Sergei Rugar, lord
marshal
of Vezna, a slim man who appeared to be Amber’s only friend among his people. Sergei had a cap of light blonde hair, fashionably curled, and a charming smile.

High Lord Grigori himself brooded at the far end of the table, several places away, where it was difficult for Amber to meet his eyes. He was short and stocky, with wide-spaced eyes and extremely short, close-cropped dark hair. Grigori Orlov had so far been a man of few words.

Amber put her fingers to her temples as she felt the approach of another headache. She now regularly dreamt of three-legged towers and triangular prisms of quartz. She’d sent the other enchanters and her guards onward, north to Lake Vor, where they would build the final station and ensure the Akari would keep watch. Amber was alone in Rosarva.

And now she had the most difficult task of all. She had to convince the Veznans to promise support, to come to the aid of whoever called, in the event of a bright light shining from the city’s tower.

This wasn’t her first meeting, and she could tell she wasn’t
making
much progress. She’d told the story of her and Miro’s
voyage
to the land across the Great Western Ocean. Her descriptions had been vivid and compelling; she’d worked on her speech ever since she’d left Miro in Ralanast. Grigori Orlov had only shown mild interest. It was none of his concern.

Amber looked at Grigori, and he frowned.

“The enemy’s main strength isn’t just the power of the revenants we will be facing,” Amber said. “It’s in the way Sentar Scythran’s army feeds on humans like a plague. When he destroys a town, or an army, or a city like Rosarva,” she stressed the name of the living city, “he leaves none alive, for he wants corpses in the way other conquerors might lust after gold. He takes those who were strongest in life, particularly warriors, for revenants still possess much of their skill-memories and can follow complex instructions. The strongest he brings back, adding their numbers to his army, which swells in size as a result.”

Amber took a deep breath, wondering if she was getting through to Grigori.

“The children and the weak, the elderly and the infirm, are slaughtered out of hand. Sentar’s necromancers make them line up, and at the end of the line lies death. There’s nothing complex about it; it’s slaughter.” Amber bit the words off.

“Hmm,” High Lord Grigori said.

“The bodies of the weak are then thrown into the vats to
distill
essence from their life force. The essence is used to make more
revenants
. Do you understand, High Lord, what I am saying? An army of a thousand can swiftly become two thousand. Soon it is four thousand. The growth only stops when Sentar runs out of
bodies
. As we grow weaker and our numbers thin, he grows stronger.”

Grigori tapped his fingers on the table.

Amber struggled to hold down her frustration. She had to win him with logic, not emotion. She needed him to see that Vezna’s safety was also at risk.

“He won’t be coming with an army of a thousand,” Amber said. “Across the sea is a continent as big as all the lands of the Empire put together. When we left, he’d conquered Emirald, the capital of Veldria, but much of the surrounding land was unconquered. Entire populations would have been added to his army since we left, and harbors would have been taken, their ships added to his armada. It’s a long journey across the sea, but we expect him to arrive at any moment. He has had the time he needs since the destruction of the ships at Emirald. The free cities, Castlemere and Schalberg, and Altura itself, are the closest lands. Once he makes a foothold, he will sweep the Empire clean, and he won’t stop until he’s at Seranthia.”

“But he may land at Seranthia itself ?”

“Yes, he may—which is why the signaling system isn’t biased to any one house. We’ve pledged to come to the aid of whoever calls. We’re asking that House Vezna make the same pledge.”

“If Sentar conquers Altura, or Tingara, or both, why would he then come to Vezna?”

“Would you really sit back and allow the rest of the Empire to fall into darkness?” Amber countered. “Is that a beneficial outcome, do you think?” She couldn’t keep the tone of accusation from her voice. She breathed slowly in and then out to calm herself.

“Leave me for a moment,” High Lord Grigori said. Sergei met Amber’s eyes and indicated the terrace doors with his chin.

“Lady Amber, if you’d like to join me on the terrace? Perhaps you would like some fresh air?” Sergei inquired.

Amber nodded; she craved the open air. In contrast to the rest of Rosarva, she found the Borlag an oppressive place.

“Of course, Lord Marshal,” she said, noting to herself that only Sergei had the courtesy to use her name or title.

As Amber rose from her seat, the door burst open, and a small girl raced into the room, her sparkling eyes on the high lord. The girl wore a thick white tunic with orange trim, the material
supple
and expensive. At her neck she wore the Veznan
raj hada
on a
pendant
, the silver sprouting seed at her neck matching the green seedling she held in her cupped palms.

“Look, Father!” the girl cried.

She displayed her handful of dirt, and the small sprout with two leaves poked up about four fingers in height. “They’re
growing
!”

Grigori Orlov opened his arms and pulled the child onto his lap. “Show me, Katerina. That’s incredible!” The dour high lord beamed. “In such a short time too?”

“The high lord’s daughter,” Sergei murmured to Amber.

Both Katerina and her father ignored the dirt spilling out onto the floor. Grigori scooped the dirt and sprout from his daughter’s hands and then gently shook out the soil, adding to the mess. “Look at the roots. A strong plant needs good roots. They’re thick and wide, see?” He laid the sprout flat on his palm and pulled his
daughter
close. “If they’re all like this, you’ve done an excel
lent job.
”

“Really?” Katerina squirmed.

“Come,” Sergei said to Amber, leading her to the balcony and closing the doors behind them.

Amber breathed in the fresh springtime air wafting from the city across the moat. She realized her hands were shaking, and she clasped them, one inside the other.

“I’m sorry,” Sergei said. “I’ve tried to convince the high lord to agree to your proposal, but he only cares for Vezna and for watching his daughter grow.”

Amber looked out at the Juno Bridge, a tall arch spanning the moat. The high lord had conceded to let her mount her reflector on a single rod fixed to the living bridge. Amber had placed the device in the center of the bridge so that the prism was high in the sky, above the tops of the trees, but also visible in the palace.

Amber took relief from the fact that the reflector was dark. The chain of towers reached all the way to Sarostar via Samson’s Bridge. It stretched to Ralanast and to Seranthia. No distress call had
been sen
t.

“What else can I say?” Amber said. “I was there. I saw what’s coming with my own eyes. Vezna isn’t safe. If Altura falls, your lands will too.”

“Perhaps you should go home, my Lady,” Sergei said gently.

Amber shook her head. “I can’t leave without a promise of aid. I’ll stay for as long as it takes.”

“The high lord’s hospitality only extends so far.”

“Then he’ll have to lock me up.” Amber lifted her chin. “He can try to cast me out, but I’ll just come back.”

Sergei let out a breath. “You are determined.” He gave her his charming smile. “I will continue to work on your behalf.”

The next day, at mid-morning, Amber walked around the Borlag, following the thin strip of land surrounding the high lord’s
palace
. She felt cooped in the brooding interior and needed to stretch
her leg
s.

Katerina, the high lord’s daughter, sat playing in a puddle, her golden hair in a wild tangle. She pulled at the weeds on the edge of the puddle, clearing a space around a single solitary summerglen.

Amber sighed. As always, she missed Tomas. She crouched at Katerina’s side.

“Hello, Katerina, isn’t it? I’m Amber,” she said warmly. “What are you doing there?”

“I’m saving this flower’s life,” Katerina said loftily. “My father says healthy plants must be encouraged, and weeds rooflessly destroyed.”

“Ruthlessly,” Amber corrected, smiling. “Your father is a wise man,” she added.

“Papa says I’m going to be high lady one day,” Katerina said, pausing to beam at Amber. “Then I won’t have to do lessons, and I can make better plants than anyone ever.”

“That’s wonderful,” Amber said.

As Katerina returned to her weeds Amber’s brow furrowed. Vezna was famed for its court intrigues. What would the
conservative
Veznans think of a woman ruling their house?

“Your rings are pretty,” Katerina said. “I like that one best.” She pointed to the emerald-set ring Miro had presented to Amber the day he’d proposed. “It’s green, like a tree!”

“Green’s my favorite color,” Amber said. “Is it yours too?”
Katerina
nodded. “This ring belonged to my husband’s mother, and my husband gave it to me when we were married.”

“Will I have to marry?” Katerina asked, turning to Amber with serious eyes as she plucked at the weeds. “I don’t want to.”

“That’s your choice,” Amber said. She hoped it would be, at any rate.

On a whim, Amber pulled off the pale silver ring with a small ruby she wore on the smallest finger of her right hand. It was tight and took some yanking, but she managed to get it off.

“I’d like to give you this as a gift. It’s not as pretty as my emerald ring, but it’s just as special.”

“Why?” Katerina asked.

“It has a special power. Do you want to see?”

Katerina immediately lost interest in her weeding, staring in fascination at the ring. “Show me!”

Amber held the ring out carefully in two fingers, looking at the tiny symbols spanning the circle. It was simple, but she’d made it herself, and was quite proud of it.

Amber spoke the activation sequence.
“Tuhlanas.”

The symbols glowed softly and the ruby began to shine. “
Put yo
ur hand close to the ring with your palm out. No, don’t touch it.”

“It’s hot!” Katerina exclaimed.

“It’s lore,” Amber said. “When you say the special word, the ruby lights up and gets hot.” Katerina looked on in awe as Amber named the deactivation rune.
“Tuhlanar.”

The runes faded, and the ruby dimmed. Amber handed
Katerina
the ring.

“You have to be very careful. If you use it as a light, be careful about the heat, and if you use it to make a fire, make sure you are far away from other trees and buildings. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Katerina said gravely. “They teach us about fire. Vezna has a lot of trees.”

“Good,” Amber said. “Can you remember the special word?”

“Tuhl . . .”
Katerina struggled with the strange pronunciation, but she eventually got it right.
“Tuhlanas.”

The ring came to life.

“Now, how do you make it stop? It’s the same but with an ‘ah’ sound at the end.”

“Tuhlanar!”
Katerina said, looking at Amber proudly. The ruby went dark.