The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (29 page)

Killian dropped the Lexicon to the ground.

"Good," said the bladesinger.

Killian removed the stopper from the vial of essence, and as fast as he could, he flung his arm out, spraying the black liquid in all directions, careless of whether he hit himself.

The bladesinger moved to attack, too quickly for Killian to see if he’d hit him with the essence. Then, the warrior slowed, and Killian saw the bladesinger on his knees, an expression of horror on his face.

Picking up the book, Killian ran until the forest hid him.

And then he ran some more.

26

They discovered your daughter’s body in the Emperor’s chambers. She’d been knocked around like a toy.

— Confidential report to High Lord Peragion Telmarran, 522 Y.E.

"P
LEASE
, you’re not going to leave, are you?" Varana said.

Miro turned away from the window. He’d been watching the town hall, recently appropriated by the army’s command. Varana lay on her side on the soft bed, her head raised on her elbow. Her dark Halrana curls spilled in a cloud around her; her eyes were smoky brown. She had the cover pulled up over the lower half of her body but the rest was open to his gaze, her breasts heavy, stomach flat.

Varana caught his gaze, "Come here, come and lie with me. Please, my bladesinger."

"Don’t call me that," Miro said.

She pouted. "Don’t you want me?"

Miro walked over to the bed and sat next to her. He began to stroke her thick, lustrous hair, watching how it glistened in the flickering light of the candle. Candles were becoming popular now, with essence strictly rationed by the military. It was still fairly light outside but the thick stone walls the Halrana favoured let in little sunshine.

Miro wondered if there would come a time when even candles were seen as a luxury. He shuddered.

"Oh, my baby. You’re cold. Come." Varana raised the cover, offering Miro a tantalising glimpse of her body. "Come in, join me."

Miro didn’t move, just continued to stroke Varana’s hair away from her face, playing with the wispy tufts at the back of her neck. He wondered if life would ever return to normal. Had it ever been normal?

After the battle the army had licked its wounds on the edge of the Wrenwood. The bladesingers were still furious. There had been terrible arguments between Prince Leopold and Blademaster Rogan, who had seen some of his best men lost due to poorly scouted terrain and a dangerous battle plan. The Prince kept pointing to the victory as justification. The Blademaster said that if that was the price of victory, there would be no soldiers left by the end of the war, and no bladesingers left by the end of the season.

The rain had finally stopped. The injured were sent home, the dead burnt on the pyres. The army had decamped, and with a much better idea about how to organise a column, they had moved deeper into Halaran. The billowing smoke of the funeral pyres was a reminder of their first taste of a major battle.

Word finally arrived from High Lord Legasa in Mornhaven. His armies were mostly intact, the men restless. They were shut away from the west, blockaded by the forces of Torakon and a horde of the legion. High Lord Legasa proposed that Prince Leopold and the bulk of the Alturan forces, together the elements of the Halrana who had joined them, should attempt to break through and link with Mornhaven and the Ring Forts. With lines of communication and supply opened from Mornhaven to Sarostar, they would be able to regroup and begin the re-conquest of Halrana territory.

Prince Leopold dithered, eventually sending a messenger to High Lord Tessolar back in Sarostar, requesting advice. He had decided to billet the men in the town of Sallat while they waited for a reply.

"What is it? What are you thinking? Are you leaving?" Varana said.

"No, I’m not leaving you."

Miro’s hand continued stroking her hair, and then as if of its own accord, began to stroke the pale skin of Varana’s shoulder. He caressed Varana’s shoulder blade and his fingers moved to the small of her back.

"Mmm," she said, arching her back like a cat. "That’s nice."

Miro leaned down and softly kissed her parted lips. "You’re nice."

Varana smiled in happiness. It was what he liked about her, her completely unguarded nature, the way she spoke what she felt and showed her emotions openly. She was perhaps five years his senior, but she acted like a little girl, responding to a harsh tone with tears, to a smile with laughter. She reminded Miro of Amber.

"What are you thinking about?" she said.

"Hmm? Nothing."

"Tell me."

"No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about… about the Prince."

"You were kissing me, and thinking of another man?"

He laughed. "No, nothing like that."

Miro continued to stroke her, his hand travelling from her back over her hip, feeling its curve. She had the most curvaceous body — her breasts full, her nipples large, thighs soft and white.

"Mmm," Varana said. She rolled onto her back and grinned impishly at the obvious suggestion. Miro smiled along, his hand tickling her flat stomach.

Miro bent down and kissed her left breast, before taking the nipple into his mouth, pulling on it gently. Becoming filled with arousal, he stood up and threw off his clothes, before moving onto the space Varana made for him on the cushioned bed.

Miro resumed where he’d left off, kissing her breast, the smell of her bringing forth his passion.

She whimpered, "And the other one."

He chuckled and moved to Varana’s right breast, his lips teasing. Miro’s hand came up and squeezed the breasts gently as he kissed the nipples in turn, devoting his attention first to one, then the other.

Varana shifted her body, and her legs were on either side of Miro’s waist as he moved down her body, kissing her stomach, then the soft hair below her navel.

A clarion sounded. The noise was unmistakeable.

"No!" cried Varana as, cursing, Miro rose. "Just ignore it!"

Miro dressed quickly, first pulling on his woollen undergarments, then the armoursilk above. He slipped on the soft shoes and then above it all he slung the zenblade in its scabbard over his shoulder, feeling it hard against his shoulder blades.

Miro looked out of the window as he dressed. He could see a great commotion in the town square. Half-dressed soldiers were running to get the news, then running back into their billets to grab their gear.

"What is it? Tell me what it is!"

"I don’t know," Miro said as he turned to the door.

"You’re leaving! I know you are!" Varana cried.

Miro looked over his shoulder and moved to face her. She sat up naked on the bed, her beautiful body abandoned before it could be given the homage it deserved. She was quivering, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"I don’t know what it is. I’m going to find out," Miro said.

He opened the door and left her there.

~

T
HERE
was a crowd gathering outside the town hall, soldiers and locals, all sharing anxious expressions, desperate for news.

A messenger had arrived from Altura, the
raj hada
on his cloak proclaiming him an official courier. He must have come from the High Lord.

Miro stood aside to let Marshal Sloan past, flanked by two aides. Blademaster Rogan came past a moment later, the soldiers making ample room for him to pass.

The crowd grew; rumours abounded. Miro saw Bartolo some distance away and nodded a greeting. Ronell was near the other bladesingers, standing somewhat apart, unmistakeable by the scarring on his face, the empty sleeve of his armoursilk. There was no friendship there, only enmity.

It seemed like an age that they stood, waiting for news. Any news.

Finally Prince Leopold came to stand on a podium facing the soldiers and townsfolk. Rogan and Sloan murmured behind him, deep in conversation.

"I have now received word from High Lord Tessolar. He sends his deepest respect and honour for the soldiers of Halaran and Altura who now stand together in this great army." There was a ragged cheer from the soldiers. "People of Raj Halaran, soldiers and citizens alike, your High Lord needs you. He is beset by enemies on all sides. He has with him the greatest part of your armies as well as many of Altura’s best men. He is cut off from all supply and communication. He needs our help."

Prince Leopold paused, gazing around him, sensing the mood. They had been good to the men, these Halrana of Sallat. They had housed and fed them. Many of the soldiers had met women among the townsfolk, women whose men had been gone for month upon month, with not a word or message to keep hope alive.

Miro realised what was going through the Prince’s mind. He thought he knew what was coming next.

"And so it is our duty that calls us forth, to do battle against a remorseless and unyielding foe. People of Sallat, we thank you, from the bottom of our hearts. Your kindness and your generosity will not be forgotten. As we leave on the morrow, we leave with the memory of your spirit in our hearts, for you are what we are fighting for." His head bowed for a moment. Miro had to admit, he was quite an orator. "May the Lord of the Sky raise you up." He touched his lips and forehead in the Alturan manner. "And may the Lord of the Earth bless you always." He pressed his palms together.

Without another word, Prince Leopold left the stage.

Miro met Bartolo’s eyes. Bartolo shook his head, a sad gesture. The soldiers around them tried to avoid the eyes of the townsfolk, but it was impossible. There wasn’t a soldier that didn’t feel a terrible guilt. They had brought their strength and protection to this town. In return Sallat had given everything. Without them the town would be a tempting target for the enemy.

That night Miro made love to Varana remorselessly, as if to blot out the guilt and pain. She didn’t say a word, only clung on to him tightly. They spent their last night together in each other’s arms. Miro tried to sleep, but the tears falling soundlessly down Varana’s face stabbed at his heart like the sharpest knife.

"I’m sorry," he whispered into the night, too softly for her to hear. "I’m sorry."

~

T
HE
bladesingers were posted along the flanks of the army, the first line of defence in case of trouble. Scouts were sent in all directions. Mortar teams were evenly spaced along the line of the column, ammunition near at hand. The enchanters had been placed with the most important of the workers at the rear of the column, surrounded by elements of the Alturan veterans. They were ready to move out.

Some of the townsfolk waited in a small crowd to see them off, but most had either stayed indoors or were already at work, trying to get whatever crop they could out of the dry winter soil to help replace the stocks that had been devastated by the army.

Still it was with red eyes and occasional sobs that the crowd — mostly women — watched the soldiers depart. Miro had looked for Varana but hadn’t seen her. It was better this way; they’d said their goodbyes the night before. Gazing stone-faced ahead of him, he looked about for any sign of trouble, willing some of the enemy to take him on now.

Miro was near the front of the column this time. He watched Prince Leopold conferring with one of the officers, waving his arms vigorously as he talked.

A scout ran up, red-faced and exhausted. He touched his lips and forehead in a token of politeness before gushing out his report.

"Imperials, sir. A whole host of them," the scout pointed in the distance. A great dust cloud had risen on the horizon.

"How many?"

"Thousands, perhaps half our number."

"They know we’re here?"

"I don’t think so."

Then Miro realised where the scout was pointing. In the direction of Sallat. "No," he said. He hadn’t even realised he was saying it.

One of the officers spoke up. "Prince Leopold..."

"There’s nothing we can do," Prince Leopold said, his face like stone.

"Lord Marshal..."

"I said, there’s nothing we can do!" Prince Leopold met the man’s eyes. The officer dropped his gaze.

Already grim faces turned ashen. Miro tried desperately to think of something, anything, to take his mind off Varana. It was hopeless.

~

V
ARANA
busied herself about the house, the familiar chores soothing frayed nerves. Her eyes were red. She had watched the men leave, trying not to attempt to pick out Miro’s form, but her eyes were already roving. It wasn’t too hard, there were so few of the self-possessed men in green silk. She’d watched his tall figure with his long dark hair while pretending not to, finding reasons to stop by the window. Many of the townsfolk waited until the very end, waving pathetically until the last man was out of sight, waving until there was nothing but the trodden earth to show they had ever been there.

He won’t come back, she kept telling herself. He won’t come back.

Varana now glanced at the timepiece on the wall, a valuable artefact that had been in her family for generations. Its runes still glowed with life, nearly as bright as they had been a hundred years ago.

Only a few hours had passed since he had left. It felt like a lifetime.

Varana sighed and suddenly fell down on the bed, sobbing into the pillow. She could still see where his weight had pressed down on the blankets. She could still smell him in the fabric.

At first, the screams didn’t register, so lost was she in her misery. Then they joined into a chorus, and leaping out of the bed, Varana ran to the window.

People were running down the main street, some carrying bags of possessions, others carrying children. They ran with expressions of terror on their faces — the kind of terror that could be felt and communicated with a single glance at a stricken face.

Some of the town’s men were running in the opposite direction, carrying ancient swords and wearing steel caps. A score of young lads shouted to those around them, urging them to join the fight.