The Lore of the Evermen (Evermen Saga, #4)

by James Maxwell

Miro watched as two groups began to form. They’d decided to split their forces. The Hazarans were by far the fastest and would ride for the Gap of Garl and Aynar. If Stonewater was fallen by the time they arrived—and that was likely, for the journey was long—then the Hazarans would harass and slow the enemy, delaying them until the second, slower force could make it across Halaran and through the Azure Plains to Seranthia. This second force, comprised of Tingarans, Louans, Halrana, Alturans, and Veznans, would hopefully reach Seranthia in time to boost the city’s weakened defenses. Wherever he was, Sentar Scythran would be eager to reach the Sentinel. “You know what you must do?” Killian appeared uncomfortable addressing the kalif of the Hazarans. “Yes, Emperor. We will do our utmost to delay them until your arrival in Seranthia.” “I thank you, Kalif. The whole of the Empire is counting on you.”

With summer came scents, some sweet and filling the senses with delight, others rancid and repellent. In Altura, with the last of the revenants incinerated, the scent of smoke and burning flesh finally came to be replaced with the fresh fragrance of summer flowers. A new odor wafted throughout Sarostar’s western quarter: the smell of wood shavings and fresh mortar. Soon, with time, the free cities Castlemere and Schalberg would see the same transformation. As always, in the icy north there was no smell at all. But with the army of Akari warriors heading south, the summer heat would begin to take its toll. The Dain’s necromancers were busy. In Petrya’s north the Hazaran riders’ noses were filled with dust and dung; with their horses traveling night and day there was little else to fill the senses. In Seranthia the scent was fear. Stonewater must have fallen by now, and Aynar, the land of the templars, with it. Those who’d disbelieved the Alturan high lord’s words now said they’d believed him all along. The shadow of night hung over the Imperial capital. Fearful eyes looked out at the walled tower standing on the tiny island barring Seranthia’s harbor. The Sentinel waited.

Sentar smiled and walked over to the templars. “Kneel,” Sentar commanded. Three of the templars, all in white robes decorated with a black sun, fell to their knees. An older templar whose robe was lined with gold trim remained standing. “Why do you not kneel?” Sentar inquired. “I am the primate. And you are no god,” the plump old man said. “Then why are you primate?” Sentar sneered. “I am the Lord of the Night! Who do you worship now?” “We don’t worship; we ponder. We teach. The force that makes us know right from wrong doesn’t come from outside—it comes from within. It is something we humans have developed, and continually strive to understand.” The primate’s eyes saddened. “It took us too long to learn this.”

The town square was framed by a tower and a cluster of buildings. Ella rode directly for the center and pulled up, her horse whinnying as she pulled on the reins to draw it to a halt. “Oh no,” Shani muttered under her breath. “Here we go again.” Ella pointed her hand in the air, and a beam of bright golden light shot out of her wand. The townsfolk screamed and gasped; she had their attention. “People of Loua Louna and lands far from here, I have news,” Ella called. Soon there were hundreds of people around them as the crowd gathered to see what this strange young woman had to say. “You may have heard about the enemy from across the sea. If you have not, then be warned, for this enemy is unlike anything our Empire has faced before. I come directly from Altura, my homeland, which has only survived a great onslaught by the barest margin, thanks to the combined efforts of the houses. The free cities are gone. Sarostar is partly destroyed. I am Ella Torresante, and Miro, high lord of Altura, is my brother.” The people gasped as they heard the news, exchanging glances as women pulled children close, and all wondered how this affected them. “We fight a force of ultimate evil, bent on destroying every house, not just Altura, but Loua Louna as well. This enemy will not rest until the Empire is gone.” Ella paused to take a breath and frowned as she caught Shani rolling her eyes. “We now know that the battle for Altura was just part of the struggle. We believe we only faced a part of...

“Can I help?” Miro heard a voice, and glancing up, he was surprised to see Killian enter the tent. Miro smiled wryly. “Do you know how often I hear those words?” “Not often, I’m guessing,” Killian said. Killian walked over to Miro’s desk and glanced down at the papers. “Let me assume something—and no insult intended: you’re swamped with detail.” “How do you manage?” Miro asked. He felt the loss of Beorn with a fierce hollow sensation in his chest. “I don’t know where to begin.” “Your problem is that you need to learn to delegate,” Killian said. “Once again”—he grinned—“no insult intended.” Killian came around to scan the contents of Miro’s desk. “I can see reports mixed up with logistics. Provisions mixed up with arms. Take the load off, Miro. You need assistance.” Miro waved a fly from his face. “But who? Beorn used to take care of all these things.” Killian took the sheaf of reports from the scouts. “Have you named a new lord marshal?” “No . . . not yet.” “Then do it. Which of your commanders spent a lot of time with Beorn?” “Marshal Scola, Marshal Corlin . . .” Even saying the names made Miro feel better. “Who should be lord marshal?” “Marshal Scola,” Miro said without hesitation. “Good. Give him the military briefs. Have him bring the important items to you. Now, who among your commanders is good with logistics?” “That’s where I struggle,” Miro said. Then an idea came to him. “Amelia was excellent at provisioning Sarostar during the city’s defense. Would that . . .?” K...

Jehral turned in wonder and watched as revenant fought revenant. Finally, there was a foe equal to the task, and the warriors in gray pushed relentlessly forward. The enemy broke. They turned and ran to draw away from the fight: the hunters had become the prey. The narrow canyon gave the pikes an unquestionable advantage, and the enemy retreated to save their force to fight another day. “Jehral!” A slim woman in green ran forward, and Jehral’s eyes went wide with astonishment as he recognized Ella’s pale blonde hair and green eyes. Only then did the pieces fit together as Jehral realized the Akari had come to his aid.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Shani whispered. “Against that?” Rogan said as Sentar Scythran bathed the next dirigible in fire. The roar of the next explosion overshadowed even the blasts of the cannon below. Rogan glanced at Ella. “There’s only one among us who can face him.” “And he left to rescue Altura,” Ella said. “He left for you,” Rogan said, so low she could only just hear it.

“It’s the Dain,” Miro said. “Quick, fetch a stretcher!” Killian called. “I don’t need a stretcher,” the Dain growled, opening his eyes. “Don’t be a fool,” Miro said. “No!” the Dain said. “I can walk on my own two feet.” The Dain wobbled, but he drew in a deep breath and straightened. “I’m fine.” “Dain,” Killian said. “We’re marching hard, and you need attention. I’m ordering you to get seen to.” “No one gives me orders, lad,” the Dain said. “My apologies,” he corrected, putting a hand to his temple, “Emperor.” Even among all the carnage, Miro smiled and shook his head. “He’s a tough one,” he said. Killian’s lips twitched. “Dain, we’re marching for Seranthia at best speed. If you can keep up, you’re welcome to join us. First, however, you’re going to get those wounds looked at. Then you can tell us what happened here.” “All right, lad,” Dain Barden said. “Emperor.” Miro coughed. “All right, Emperor,” the Dain of the Akari muttered.

“The city lies ahead!” The column stopped. Immediately, they heard cries and screams, thudding booms, and crashing stone. “Call up the command!” Killian directed. Soon a circle of nobles and officers stood around Miro, Killian, and the Dain. Miro nodded to the Alturan commanders, Lord Marshal Scola and Marshal Corlin. Tiesto was there, along with two Halrana commanders. High Lord Grigori stood with a Veznan marshal in an orange uniform. Touana of Loua Louna looked from one face to the next. Miro saw Bartolo standing with Amber a short distance away. “I brought you all here to make our final plan,” Killian said. “Right now, as we speak, Seranthia is under siege. We must make all haste to break the siege. If we can combine our attack with a sortie from the city, we stand a much greater chance of success.” Miro looked on in wonder as Killian spoke. He’d come to know the young emperor on the long journey from Altura, and a friendship had developed between them, but he’d never seen the emperor—only the man. Killian had almost seemed too . . . gregarious . . . to lead the harsh land of Tingara and the fractious new Empire. Miro realized he’d been wrong in his estimation. Where this man led, people would follow.

Killian said, “I won’t be here to lead you.” Every set of eyes was on the emperor. “Someone must get into the city to speak to the defenders and time the attack. I am the only one who can do so, and I have my own duty to fulfill in order to protect the Empire from our foe.” Killian turned as he spoke, looking at each face in turn. “One among you must make the overall decisions if you are to have any chance of success. Miro and I will have our own tasks to accomplish.” Killian paused to take a breath. “Is there one you trust with this duty?” Killian asked. Miro’s eyes widened. He’d expected Killian to nominate Tiesto. Outside the circle, Miro saw Amber’s eyes on him. She knew nothing of his mad plan. High Lord Grigori Orlov of Vezna stepped forward. “I will follow Tiesto Telmarran, high lord of Halaran,” he called. “I will follow the high lord of Halaran,” Lord Marshal Scola said. “He has my vote, for what it’s worth,” said Dain Barden of the Akari. “And mine,” Touana spoke up. Killian fixed his gaze on his Tingaran marshals. “If it is your wish, Emperor,” said one of the big men with the shaved heads. “It is,” Killian said. “High Lord Tiesto Telmarran, you’re in charge. By my decree, the army is yours to command, the orders yours to give.” Tiesto scanned the crowd. “I thank you for your support. We will need to form up, but the city needs us, and the longer we wait here, the greater the chance we’ll be spotted by the enemy. We will attack when we hear your clarion.” Killia...

“Well done,” Miro said. “With what?” Killian was puzzled. “With Tiesto’s nomination. They thought it was their idea.” Killian shrugged. “Something my mother taught me. She says that if you know in advance how someone will decide, and it’s what you want to happen, then tell them the decision rests with them. They’ll appreciate the trust you place in them, even though it costs you nothing.” Miro shook his head and grinned. “Remind me never to sit at the bargaining table with your mother.”

“I got into a fight,” the boy said. “Why?” “Because people say stupid things.” “Did you have to fight?” the girl asked. “Sometimes there’s no other way. I don’t care what they think of me, but it’s important what I think of myself.”

“What makes someone a master of lore?” “Learning,” Ella said. “Experience. Wisdom.” Evrin shook his head sadly. “You never did understand, though you came close to the source three times.” He came forward and put his finger at Ella’s breast, close to her heart. “Power comes from within. Only when you realize this, will you become the master of yourself, and then you can become what you’ve always wanted to be.” Ella saw Layla enter the cavern to stand by Evrin’s side. “She knows it,” Evrin said, indicating Layla. “But then again, her people were always close to the truth.” “What truth?” Ella said. “You’ve always believed everything should have a rational explanation, and you’ve struggled to explain the things you don’t understand. You can’t explain away love, my dear, it doesn’t work like that. Nor can you explain intuition, or the strength to go on even through the darkest struggles.” “I don’t understand,” Ella whispered. “Why can’t you just tell me?” “Because these things are for each of us to learn on our own. They can’t be taught or explained, which is the point of what I’m trying to say to you.”

Rogan’s eyes widened and blood drained from his face as he saw the unthinkable happen. The Wall, that great gray presence never absent from view at any quarter of Seranthia, began to wobble. Slowly, inexorably, the indomitable height of stone began to fall forward. Soldiers cried out as they saw the unfolding destruction. Time slowed and Rogan’s awareness became heightened as the Wall tumbled forward, and now its own weight pulled it down, speeding toward the ground, and with a mighty roar of crashing stone and tumbling earth, it fell. The soldiers pressed their hands to their ears as the fall of stone covered all other sound. The ground heaved beneath Rogan’s feet and dust rose in an all-encompassing cloud, covering the entire city. In front of Rogan and the men who stood with him, the gates simply fell away, vanishing into the swells of dust and vaporized stone. Rogan saw the kalif of the Hazarans struggle to control his stallion as it reared again and again. Finally, Ilathor got his mount under control. As Rogan tried to make sense of it, he realized what they’d done. It was a terrible risk—and a great victory. Even as the fall crushed the swarming horde, the city’s primary defense was gone.

Sentar had cunning. If one strategy failed, he always had another prepared. Huge blocks of stone clustered around the base of the pedestal, remains of the wall that had enclosed the statue. Freed of its encumbrance the Sentinel now stood proud and tall. Sentar looked up at the statue and smiled. The portal wasn’t the greatest relic the Evermen ever devised. It was the Sentinel in its entirety that took the combined powers of the Evermen to create. The portal was just one part. Sentar walked away from the legs until he could stare up at the torso, and leaning his head back, he could see the great head, the noble cast of its features, and the regal aspect to its eyes, nose, and mouth. The Sentinel had one arm raised to point somewhere in the distance, as if giving homage to the bright sun, or trying to touch the stars. Sentar felt his seething emotions replaced with satisfaction. He could hear great crashes and explosions from across the harbor, the sounds rolling out from the city, but he didn’t care about the fate of Renrik, or Gorain, or his revenant army. They were just a distraction. The power was his. Sentar lifted his arms at his sides and chanted under his breath. He rose into the air. It was time to show the humans how much power he had. Sentar ran his eyes over the statue as he climbed the sky. He saw the huge, powerful legs, and the thick torso. He passed the broad shoulders and gazed up at the gigantic head. Sentar rose until he was level with the statue’s head. ...

Miro moved to stand over Rogan. He was an island in the chaos as enemies came at him one after the other, and each time Miro fought better than he ever had to cut them down with Rogan’s darkened blade. Blood dripped down Miro’s chest, his arms felt like lead, but he fought on. No enemy was going to make him move from this place. No one.

As Amber prepared to leap back into the fray, she felt an intense longing for her homeland. She wanted to see her son. She looked one last time, back at the distant hills, in the direction of Altura. Something appeared on the ridges. First one speck sped over a crest and down toward the battlefield, then another. Suddenly, there were hundreds of horsemen thundering down the hills, galloping with savage speed. Each horse bore two riders, one in black and yellow, another in red, the color of flame. The riders drew up to a shuddering halt just outside the battlefield, where the revenant horde surrounded the circle of defenders. Petryan elementalists leapt off horseback and formed a long line, hundreds of them. Even through the haze of the battle, Amber saw the cuffs at their wrists light up with fire as they linked their power in a way she’d never known was possible. Bright light traveled from one elementalist to the next, darting from wrist to wrist, and then the elementalists lifted their arms. A wall of flame rose up, spreading to fill the air along the length of the elementalists. The wall rolled forward, and through the conflagration Amber saw the elementalists step forward in unison, moving the wall ahead of them, sending it speeding ahead like the detonation wave that rushes from a huge explosion. The wave rolled over the revenants in a fury of heat and flame, and Amber turned her head away from the sight. From the other direction came the thunder of hooves. The Hazara...

Ella focused on the faces: Evrin, Katherine, Brandon, Miro. The wind stilled. She reached down inside herself and drew on more of the thread of power. The wind was a gale, and then a storm. As Ella’s memories came, it tore at her, threatening to rip the thread of power away from her grip. Ella knew she had to fight it with every bit of strength she had. Ella took hold of more of her inner power, bunching it together, hauling on the shining radiance, pulling herself down to the ground. Even as she perceived a strange feeling of wakefulness, Ella felt the wind come at her from all directions at once. She was in the middle of a vortex, and it was spinning her, around and around, over and again. Ella felt herself losing her way, and her thoughts began to fragment. She focused on more faces: Layla’s smirk, Shani’s glare, Rogan’s look of concern. She brought more people to the front of her consciousness: Amber, Jehral, Bartolo, Ilathor, Amelia, Tapel, Tomas . . . Ella focused on Killian. She saw the warm smile that touched even the corners of his eyes, and she heard his laugh. She wanted to hear that laugh again. She knew that she couldn’t let them down. She couldn’t vanish into the void or rise up into the soft golden light of peace. Ella used her love to bring herself home.

“I may not always be wise, but I know you. I know you sometimes better than you know yourself.” Rogan broke off with another cough. “Occasionally, Ella, you have to take a chance on life. You grew up an orphan, and you were all alone in the world when Brandon died. You’ve always accomplished everything on your own; you had no other choice. You’re brave and intelligent, but you’re also a fool and a coward.” Rogan’s words shocked her. He wasn’t holding back. “I’m sorry,” Ella said through her tears. “Don’t be sorry,” said Rogan. “You haven’t had an easy life. I want you to do something for me. Talk to Killian, Ella. Tell him the truth. Tell him all those things he doesn’t know about you, the secrets that you think are yours alone. Then let him talk, and listen, girl—listen well. Will you do that for me?” Ella nodded. “Good,” Rogan said. “Come here.” He kissed Ella’s cheek, and she kissed his in return, feeling his skin cold on her lips. “I love you, girl, as does your brother, and all your friends. But there are different kinds of love. There is the love a man bears for his woman, and the love a parent bears for a child. You need to find that out.”

“Shani!” “I’m playing with you, bladesinger. You make it too easy.” “Just speak plainly. Will you come to live with me in Sarostar?” “Listen,” Shani said gravely. “I love my homeland. But Petrya’s a harsh land, and change will only come about slowly. They’re talking about building a new road to properly connect Altura and Halaran to Petrya, rather than using that treacherous Wondhip Pass.” Bartolo nodded. “Of course I would expect you to visit your homeland, and I’d come with you. I want to get to know your lands, just as I want you to come to know mine.” “There’s also something else we’ll need to consider,” Shani said. “Petrya’s no place to raise a child.” She met Bartolo’s eyes, gazing at him meaningfully as she smiled broadly. Bartolo looked at her and frowned in puzzlement, and then his eyes widened. His mouth dropped open, and he looked down at Shani’s belly and then up at her. Shani nodded. Bartolo’s grin spread slowly across his face, dimpling his cheeks and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to be a . . .” “Yes,” Shani said. Bartolo’s deep laugh rumbled throughout the palace.

“I am just Ilathor today, my friend. I have come . . . to ask you something.” Jehral nodded. “Yes, we are all packed and ready to go. We will have to travel home overland, but there are many here who will share our journey for a time.” “No,” Ilathor said. He hesitated. “It is something else.” “Ahh,” Jehral said. “You have come to ask me about the signaling system. The emperor has agreed to keep it in place. In fact, he has some ideas for supplementing it. The artificers of Loua Louna have agreed to attack the problem and work with the Alturan enchanters. Combining the lore of the houses, we may be able to devise a new system of instant communication.” “No, my friend.” Ilathor’s expression grew pained. “I wish to speak with you about something else.” “What is it, Kalif?” Jehral said, spreading his hands. Ilathor’s expression said he could finally see the twinkle in Jehral’s eye. “You are making sport with me?” Ilathor wondered, shaking his head. “I am.” Jehral laughed. “I know why you are here. Yes, of course you can marry my sister, my friend. I look forward to calling you brother.”

“Welcome to my sanctum,” Evrin said. “Everything here is now yours. I have a few instructions. Drink the wine; don’t keep it until it goes bad. Use my recipes, but only when you’re in good company. And be careful whom you share the lore with, but”—he smiled—“I know you will be. My home is now yours, my dear. As you know by now, there are no schools of lore. All power comes from the one source, and that source is inside you, inside your brother, your people, and inside every living thing. Perhaps you will learn things the Evermen at the height of their power only dreamt of. Perhaps you will open the pathway to new worlds, or cure the ills of this world. That is for you to decide. Be well. And tell my descendent I expect him to treat you in the manner you deserve.”

“Ella, don’t talk; just listen. I know the life you’ve had,” Killian said. “I’ve had the same life. We can’t always have the best childhood, but when we grow up, we’re given a chance. We can start all over again. We get to form our own family, and this time we can get it right.” Ella felt tears form in her eyes, and she sought escape. She looked back at the house and then at Killian again. His blue eyes burned with feeling. Killian stepped forward and reached out to touch Ella’s lock of red hair. “We have to take a chance. You and I were meant to be together. Do you know another word for chance? Fate.” “How do you know?” Ella whispered. “Know? I don’t know it, I feel it.” “I can’t. I’ve lost—” “I know,” Killian said. He held out his hand. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.” Ella looked into Killian’s eyes, and suddenly all thoughts of Evrin’s sanctum left her. “Come with me,” Killian said, still holding out his hand. “Please.” Ella made her choice. She stepped close to him, and she felt his larger hand enfold hers. She followed Killian through the gate, and it shut behind them with a soft click.

Miro watched as Killian put his arm around Ella and she placed her head against his shoulder. “He loves her,” Amber said. “I know,” Miro said. “And she loves him too.” “It’s about time.” The third person on the bench spoke in a rough, gravelly voice. “She’s going to kill me when she finds out. Was it really necessary?” “If that wound couldn’t kill you, then you’ve got nothing to fear from my sister,” Miro said, grinning. “We all agreed to it, but it was my idea. Trust me, if anyone needs a push, it’s her.”