The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) (47 page)

"Strap his arms into the chair," Zavros said. "Good. Thank you, gentlemen. You may go now."

A faint, hollow boom answered him. Zavros frowned when he heard the sound. This was the second time he'd heard it, at the back of his hearing, so slight that he wondered if he was imagining it. He wondered if he should investigate, but he couldn't wait to test his theories on the boy. The officers outside would sort it out, whatever it was.

The templar guards exchanged glances, and then turned and left. Zavros smiled without humour at the quick pace of their footsteps. Men like these would never have the courage it took to make discoveries such as those Zavros had made, and would continue to make. Too much of the world was controlled by men who understood the language of physical aggression, yet shied away from knowledge. When the Primate's vision for the world became a reality, Zavros planned to change that proportion.

Zavros heard the metal door to his special chamber clang heavily against its frame. He frowned, his guards should know better than to make such a racket.

Still frowning, he took out his small scissors and began to cut away the hair on the boy's scalp, quickly forgetting the guards and anything beyond the room. He then took a razor in his hand and bit his lip with concentration as he prepared to shave the top of his subject's head; he didn't want to slip here, blood was inevitable, but it made things messy.

Suddenly Zavros felt a pressure on his wrist. Whatever it was, it squeezed, harder and harder, until the razor fell out of his hand, tinkling as it landed on the hard floor. Zavros looked wildly to the left and the right but there was no one to be seen. The force on his wrist increased until with a sickening crunch he felt the bones in his wrist break. The splintering fragments meshed together and Zavros screamed with the pain of it, more excruciating than anything he had ever felt. The pulling and tearing continued, until with one last squeeze Zavros's right wrist was crushed, bones poking through the skin.

The pressure ceased, and Zavros looked at the remains of his wrist in disbelief, the shock so strong he didn't even scream. He tried to see where his assailant was, whatever it was, but there was nothing, even though Zavros had rigged nightlamps throughout the chamber so he could see what he was doing.

As Zavros's breath returned he screamed, waving his arm around. Blood splattered out onto the walls, spilling onto the ground, and dripping onto the wide-eyed boy in the chair. Every sound Zavros made echoed throughout the chamber; he was used to the screams of others, but this was the first time he had heard his own voice bouncing off the walls. The pain was so great that he gasped for breath, and in the sudden silence he heard a male voice speak arcane words.

A form materialised out of the air where before there had been nothing. A bare-chested man, his face as grim as death, now faced Zavros, peering into his eyes. Through his oculars Zavros could see the symbols that covered his assailant's face, neck, arms and chest. Zavros knew they were runes, and even against the pain he wondered what power enabled runes to be drawn on a living man. Was this some form of revenant? Why didn't it have white eyes? This man was clear-eyed and filled with rage. Zavros's assailant was aware in a way that no draug was.

Zavros knew of only one man who could survive the touch of essence. Through the haze of pain, he suddenly recognised his assailant's red hair and blue eyes. "Killian," Zavros whispered.

Killian looked at his hand. "
Lok-tur
," he said.

The runes on the palm of Killian's hand blazed red, and Zavros felt the heat pouring from it in waves. Killian lifted Zavros's wounded arm and looked at the crushed wrist.

"I can't make this too easy for you," Killian said. "The last time we met, you told me to do my worst. I remember I said I would destroy your library. Unfortunately I can't threaten you with that now. It's already been done."

"No," Zavros said. "You wouldn't. You couldn't."

"Do you really want to test what I'm capable of? The building we're standing in is the last one left in this place, Angelmar, or whatever you call it. I thought this last structure might be some kind of prison. Look what I've found instead. I knew you were evil, but I didn't realise an evil such as yours could exist."

Killian held his burning palm in front of Zavros's face. "So unfortunately I can't destroy your library because it's already gone. The good news, however, is that this time there's no one coming to help you. So there's nothing holding me back from doing my worst, as you boldly requested."

Killian held his palm against Zavros's forehead, ignoring Zavros's screams, searing the flesh with the intense heat. When the oculars fell from Zavros's face. Killian stooped and retrieved them, picking up the razor as he did so.

Sweat poured from Zavros's forehead as Killian held the razor out, but Killian simply bent down and cut the bindings holding the boy to his chair.

"Go, lad," Killian said. "You don't want to see this."

The wide-eyed youth shakily got up from his chair and stumbled away.

Killian placed the oculars back onto Zavros's eyes.

"It's time for me to do my worst."

~

E
LLA
saw Killian come out of the white building with the thick walls and called out to him. When she saw his face she almost recoiled — his eyes were murderous — but then she realised she probably looked little better. The things she had seen here at Angelmar would haunt her nightmares for years to come.

"Anything still standing?" Killian asked when he saw her.

"All gone," Ella said. "The prisoners did most of it." She looked out at the smoking ruins and torn fences, at the scene of terrible destruction left behind. "Zavros?"

"I found him," Killian said. "The Primate is definitely in Seranthia. We don't know where Evrin is, so finding the Primate is our next best bet."

"I thought you said he'd never talk."

"He talked."

54

A
SINGLE
flake of snow floated through the sky, twisting first one way then another in the unpredictable gusts of wind that blew in from the ocean nearby.

High in the clouds, the snowflake hovered over the immense city below, careless and unrecognising of the fear pouring from the city's residents. A puff of wind coming from the harbour pushed the snowflake away from the city, past the endless walls and further inland, where the object of the residents' fear straddled the hills around the city.

The snowflake was the first of its fellows to fall down towards the earth. As it passed the endless ranks of horsemen that had encircled the city, an undercurrent tossed it back up again, but its reprisal was short-lived, for it came back down again, and settled on the nose of a dark-skinned warrior.

The warrior brushed the snowflake away from his nose irritably. He rubbed at the thin, perfectly groomed beard on his chin and frowned. His skin was as smooth as a young man's, yet his bearing was regal and his eyes were dark. The man's hair was very long, past his shoulders, and was tied back with a golden clasp. He wore a gold earring set with amber in his left ear, and around his neck was a chain with a curved turquoise triangle.

"Tell the tarn leaders we attack with the dawn," the dark-skinned man said. His eyes blazed as he regarded the huge city below, and anyone who knew him very well would have said he was fearful.

There was only one man present who knew him to that degree, yet he was a man who would never challenge his leader.

"Yes, my prince," Jehral said.

There were two others present, a warrior in loose clothing of green silk, decorated with arcane symbols, and a woman in a rust-red robe with a white cord tied around her waist. The woman in red stood close to the warrior in green, and when he stepped forward she tried to hold him back, but he pushed her away angrily.

"This is madness," Bartolo said. "This isn't Torlac. It isn't even Tlaxor. This is Seranthia. You remember what happened the last time you attacked a fortified city with no siege weapons, don't you? You'll be sending your men to their deaths."

Prince Ilathor turned to the bladesinger. "Watch your tongue, bladesinger, else I have it removed." He waved to the hills around him. There were so many horsemen that they stretched in an unbroken line in either direction, as far as the eye could see. "There are plenty of men here who would be honoured to do the task for me."

"I'd like to see you try," Bartolo growled. He placed his hand on his zenblade.

Shani and Jehral both opened their mouths, but it was a newcomer's voice that rang out.

"Your Highness, a message." It was a courier.

"Give it to me," Prince Ilathor said. He swiftly broke the seal and scanned the contents of the scroll. He levelled his gaze on Bartolo triumphantly. "Your people are encountering fierce resistance in the west. You may go to them, if you wish, bladesinger."

"No!" Bartolo cried angrily. "Do you think I would be anywhere but here? I want to see this finished as much as you do."

"Yet it will be I who ends it," Prince Ilathor said. "I will hang this Primate from the walls before us, and I will not stop until this evil is scourged from the land."

"Many of the people in Seranthia are victims as much as my people were," Shani said. "Please, Prince Ilathor, extend these people the same mercy you gave Petrya."

"No," the prince said. Even Jehral's eyebrows rose. "I must not show weakness to this enemy, who uses the dead to kill the living, and kills the living to bring the dead to life. I have been weak, and now I must be strong. Jehral!"

"Yes, my prince?"

"I gave you an order. Tell the tarn leaders. We attack with the dawn."

~

S
TORM
clouds gathered over Seranthia before the sun had fully set, plunging the city into darkness. Yet these storm clouds produced no rain, and as sheets of light flashed from one cloud and then another, no thunder could be heard. Forks of lightning plunged down to strike the earth, yet caused no destruction. The sky grew ever darker, and the ordinary citizens of Seranthia locked their doors, held their children close, and prayed to the Evermen for deliverance.

Some brave ones climbed up to the top of the Wall and came back down white-faced, reporting what they had seen with voices that shook. Clouds were moving against the direction of the wind. Ghostly figures could be seen riding about the hills, and dust storms billowed up and then vanished again just as quickly as they had appeared.

The Akari were bad enough; what could the denizens of Seranthia expect from the ruthless warriors of Raj Hazara? What were these creatures they rode? The drunks and children told tales of the barbarians who hated the idea of walls, or any kind of structure at all for that matter, and travelled the world tearing down any sign of civilisation they found, slaying all they came across. The learned men knew in their hearts the darkness that lived within the core of Tingara, and the evil that had been done in the Tingaran Empire's name. Any conqueror of Seranthia would have a score to settle.

The fear was the great leveller. It could be felt throughout the market houses in the financial centre, in the docks and taverns, and in the Imperial Palace itself. The rough men of the streetclans armed themselves, and the ships of the imperial fleet took stations outside the harbour, ready to face any attack from the sea. The city's landward gates had been closed long ago.

Seeking solace, many of Seranthia's residents headed for the Imperial Palace. There were so many of them that the Grand Boulevard became choked with their numbers. They knew the Primate was in residence. Why didn't he speak?

By the middle of the night, they gave up waiting for the Primate to show himself, and went home.

At dawn, the desert warriors attacked.

55

F
ROM
his vantage high in the Imperial Palace, Primate Melovar Aspen could see everything.

He liked being at a height. There was something about looking down on the people scurrying like ants below that lifted his spirits. He imagined a bird of prey must feel the same way, wheeling and spying out the land before seeing a victim and then hurtling down, flying through the air with claws extended to suddenly strike, before flying up into the air again to devour its prey.

Melovar often visited the Imperial Palace's highest room when he was feeling troubled. It reminded him of his workroom in Stonewater. The view from here wasn't quite so impressive, but it was high enough for Melovar to watch his doom unfold.

From his vantage he could see over the Wall, and his gaze was on the west as he watched the battle outside the gates of Seranthia. The Primate almost laughed; he had been deceived, or perhaps he had deceived himself. While he had been busy worrying about the Alturans and the Halrana, a greater enemy was rising in the south, closer to his borders, with only Petrya between them. He was going to be defeated by an enemy he knew almost nothing about. Zavros would smile and say something about the power of knowledge.

Melovar heard footsteps behind him but he didn't bother turning. He knew Moragon was out there, fighting to the last, and so was Dain Barden. The Primate held the Evermen's book in his hand; he carried it with him always, although why he still bothered to carry it around he didn't know. Did Dain Barden still think the Primate knew where the scratched relic was? The Primate knew he had been caught out in his lie, for if he knew where the powerful weapon of the Evermen was, surely he would have used it by now.

Behind him, a throat cleared, and Melovar turned irritably. "I left orders I was not to be disturbed."

"Your Grace," the templar said, "the harbour is still clear. The imperial fleet is at sea. We do not doubt High Lord Moragon's leadership, but it is safer if you take a boat now, while it's still easy to do so."

"Why?" the Primate said. "If they win they'll just follow me to Aynar. I prefer to stay here where I can watch it all unfold. Our enemy has proven to be quite resourceful. How do I know there isn't a surprise waiting in the harbour?"