The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) Page 16

  Amber's escort promptly halted outside the tent. "For the High Lord," he said.

  One of Moragon's bodyguards came forward, a slim Tingaran who wore his sword with ease and walked with a lithe grace. "I see," the slim man said. "Here," he told Amber, "stand still with your arms to your side and your legs apart. I do not do this for pleasure." He looked at Amber's escort. "You may leave, soldier."

  The bodyguard's search was thorough, but brusque, lacking the intimacy that would make Amber feel violated. That would come, she thought.

  He met Amber's eyes, made curious by her heaving chest, her breath coming fast and strong. "He's a melding, but he's still a man," the bodyguard said. "You've done this before."

  Amber had only ever been with one man, Igor Samson, the husband she had lost. She almost cried, but she held it in. She wasn't just doing this for herself. She had to be strong.

  "You can go in now," the bodyguard said.

  Amber nodded. She stood for a moment before she could make her legs move. Her feet took her forward and she reached the door to the tent, pushing it to the side and entering.

  Swords and armour stood on racks, lining the walls at either side. The light inside the tent was dim, but a nightlamp burned at the desk where Moragon sat, a stack of papers in front of him, frowning at one in his hands. He looked up. "Who are you?" he demanded.

  Amber had seen Moragon only once before, when the new High Lord of Tingara had arrived in Halaran and followed his welcome in Ralanast with a tour of the prison camp. He was tall, at least as tall as Miro, with the muscled body of a warrior and the black eyes of a man accustomed to dealing out death. Amber remembered his former title: the Emperor's executioner. She controlled her body, preventing the shudder that tried to force its way out.

  The light of the nightlamp reflected from his shaved head, and he was clad in loose garments of black with white trim, but what drew Amber's gaze was the glistening metal of his right arm. Covered with tiny runes, the metal started below his neck and moved down to his shoulder, descending to his elbow, wrist and hand. The lore of Tingara had given him a perfect new limb, stronger than the original, if the stories were true. Amber's eyes rested on the superbly-formed metal hand and fingers that matched the pink flesh of his opposite. It even had nails.

  Amber realised he had asked her a question. She could do this, she told herself again. "I'm Amber, High Lord. I'm a gift from the men. A welcome of sorts."

  Moragon's eyebrows went up. "Come closer," he said. "I want to see if I can put a price on you. How much did they front up, I wonder? How much am I loved?" He smiled.

  Amber stepped forward, into the light of the nightlamp.

  "Are you a virgin, girl?" Moragon asked.

  "Yes, High Lord," Amber said.

  All of her hopes rested on him believing her.

  "And where are you from?"

  "I'm from Altura, High Lord."

  "Ah." Moragon grinned. "An Alturan girl. This pleases me, knowing I will be taking one of the enemy."

  Amber's heart raced. She had to do this, she reminded herself. It was the only way. She had seen the promise of death in Hugo's eyes.

  Moragon leaned back in his chair. "Come yet closer, Amber of Altura," he said.

  Amber moved forward until the desk was barely a pace in front of her. The melding had yellowed eyes, she could see now. It made him look feverish. His teeth were sharp and jutted in different directions.

  "How much are you worth, Amber of Altura?"

  "High Lord?"

  "How much did they pay for you?"

  "They… they said I would be given more food, and warm blankets, and the guards wouldn't trouble me, and I wouldn't be taken to wherever the others are disappearing to."

  "And you shall have all that," Moragon said.

  Amber inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She had accomplished one of the things she had come here for.

  "Provided you please me, of course."

  "I will, High Lord," Amber's voice trembled.

  "So, a proud Alturan girl — for I can see you are proud, Amber — gives herself to the enemy for nothing more than some scraps of food and a blanket to keep her warm at night. It's good to know Alturans value themselves so little."

  "Yes, High Lord," Amber said.

  "Remove your shoes and your dress," said Moragon, still sitting at his desk.

  Amber heard the command like a stone hitting her stomach. Lord of the Sky, she could do this. She kicked off her shoes, and then slipped the strap from her left shoulder, followed by the right. Swallowing, she reached down and pulled the bottom half of her dress up to her hips, revealing the small scrap of white underwear she wore underneath. She then gathered the dress and pulled it up and over her head, letting it fall to the ground.

  Amber heard Moragon's breath catch as she hung her head, her eyes closed, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her bared breasts. It was cold in the tent, and she felt her nipples stiffen.

  She opened her eyes. Moragon started intently at her, his eyes travelling up and down her form, from her calves, up to her thighs, at the white undergarment that covered the area between her wide hips at the fork of her legs. His gaze ran over her flat belly and narrow waist to the pink nipples at the tip of her breasts. He finally looked into Amber's eyes.

  "Turn around," Moragon said. "Let me get a good look at you."

  Amber slowly turned.

  "Stop," she heard his voice while her back was still to him. Amber halted her spin, for some reason more fearful now that she could no longer see him, her chest rising and falling.

  "Take them off," Moragon said.

  Amber again reminded herself why she was doing this. She had more than herself to worry about. She had to live.

  She pushed the undergarment from her hips, moving her legs to allow them to fall to her ankles. Amber kicked them away.

  "Good. Now turn around again."

  Amber turned, and felt fear course through her. Moragon was up from his desk, standing close, in front of her. He looked over her one last time, his eyes burning over the most intimate parts of her body.

  He suddenly grabbed Amber's arm and twisted it behind her back. He pushed her down to the hard floor.

  She cried out.

  ~

  WHEN he was finished, he did what all men did, closing his eyes and rolling over, heedless of the hard floor.

  This next part was important.

  Amber thrust out her hand to where a glistening sword stood on a rack nearby. She could just touch it with the tip of her finger. Amber ran her fingertip over the edge of the blade, making no reaction as it sliced through her skin. Compared to what she had done here, the pain was nothing.

  Amber thrust her hand down between her legs and let the blood drip onto her thighs.

  She nudged Moragon. "See, High Lord," she said, gesturing with her head.

  Moragon opened his eyes, looking to where she indicated.

  "I told you I was a virgin," Amber said.

  Moragon saw the blood, and then grunted. "Are you still here, girl?" He sat up. "Get out of here."

  Amber shakily stood, ignoring the messages of pain her body sent her. "Yes, High Lord." She looked for her dress, hurriedly pulling it on, and then slipped the heeled sandals back onto her feet.

  "You'll get your food, girl."

  "Thank you, High Lord."

  Amber left the tent, trying to walk tall, ignoring the shared glances of the bodyguards; they'd probably heard everything.

  "Here," the bodyguard who had searched her said, "I'll get you an escort, to take you back to the camp."

  Amber didn't reply. She was already planning.

  With increased freedom, she would be able to do more to help the other prisoners.

  She would wait three weeks, and then she would visit Moragon again.

  This next time, Amber would tell him she was carrying his child.

  22

  "THE gaps in a legionnaire's defences are in the throat, the pit of
the arms, and the lower legs. Go for the throat first, but don't be afraid to hold him off and await your opportunity. Your opponents will be armoured and will tire faster than you will. Use this to your advantage." Rogan paused for breath, and one of the young Halrana raised his arm. "Yes?"

  "What about the other men, the ones who aren't legionnaires? There are all sorts in the Black Army."

  "That's a good question," Rogan said. "I spend most of my time talking about the legionnaires for two reasons. One is that they're the toughest soldiers you'll face, heavily armoured and well-trained with axes and swords. Another is that they're the leaders here. I don't want you to be afraid of them, I want you to go to them, take them out first. With the Tingarans out of the picture, the other soldiers will bolt. But," he finished, "never fear. I won't go easy on you. I'll also spend some time showing you how to fight against pikemen and macemen, and how to find the weak points on an imperial avenger."

  Rogan straightened from the diagrams he'd been drawing in the sawdust he'd scattered over the expanse of the storehouse floor. His leg pained him and he winced, leaning on the walking stick. "Use the wooden swords and fight in pairs. I want to see bruises, but no broken bones, understand?"

  As the men chose sparring partners Amelia came over and stood by Rogan, looking worriedly at the strange mixture of young and old men fighting in the makeshift arena. "I hope you know what you're doing," she said.

  "He does," said Marcus Toscan, the flaxen-haired soldier Rogan had met in this very storehouse. The Halrana swordsman looked at Rogan but spoke to Amelia. "I've never met anyone like him."

  Rogan harrumphed. The few months he'd known Marcus had been long enough for the young soldier to idolise him. Having young Tapel following him around was bad enough. "Are you sure we're safe here?"

  "We're safe," Marcus said. "It's a good plan."

  With the population of Ralanast and its surrounding areas starving and disease rampant throughout the conquered land, Amelia had come up with a surprisingly cunning strategy for the small army they were building.

  The men of Halaran were dying.

  The friends of the resistance conducted mock funerals, burying empty boxes in the earth and donning the black of mourning. Inventing causes of death was a simple matter; in fact, the women said it gave them a sense of relief to know their fathers, husbands and sons were being kept hidden, far from the watchful gaze of the occupiers.

  The deserted storehouses in Ralanast's once great cargo district provided the perfect refuge and training ground. The buildings were large enough for many men to sleep, eat, and fight, and the district was a warren of buildings and alleys that only a Halrana could find his way through. The Black Army never bothered to patrol.

  That only left the question of supplies — food, water, clothing, and weapons. Once again, Amelia proved herself, finding a way to solve two problems simultaneously. The wives, daughters, mothers and sisters of course wanted to visit their men, but if too many came too often or all at once, it could spell catastrophe. Amelia put out the word that with the cemeteries full, the dearly departed would have to follow a certain route out of the city via the cargo district. If the mourning parties were made up of all women, and the box on its carriage was full of potatoes, well, he was a big man wasn't he?

  As the network of the resistance grew in size, and hope began to return to the citizens of Ralanast, Rogan's thoughts again turned to the prison camp, just a half day's journey from the city. He knew thousands of Alturans and Halrana were being kept there, and that the Halrana would be fearful of fighting if they had loved ones in the camp.

  Rogan knew the prison camp was the first place they needed to free.

  There would be men in the camp who would fight, adding to their numbers, but the effect on his men's morale would be even greater. Knowing the prisoners were free and seeing their fellows rise up against their occupiers would cause even the most jaded Halrana to join the fight.

  "It's time to send word to Sarostar," Rogan said.

  "Are we ready?" Marcus asked.

  "We're not ready," Amelia frowned. "Even I can see that."

  "No, we're not ready," Rogan said. "In three months, perhaps four, we'll be ready, but it's now time to plan. I'm going to tell the Lord Marshal in Altura, and you can tell your Prince Tiesto, Marcus. It's presently the middle of spring. We'll be ready at the end of summer."

  "The end of summer. So long?"

  "I don't know what support we can count on from Altura, but it will take them months to fight their way here even if they are able to. The end of summer, Marcus."

  Marcus hesitated but then nodded. "I'll tell Prince Tiesto."

  "I need to get home," Amelia said. She paused, as if about to say something, but didn't. Instead she quickly leaned forward and kissed Rogan on the cheek. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow," she said.

  Rogan watched her go, a startled expression on his face. Amelia left the storehouse, closing the wooden door behind her.

  "What was that?" Rogan said to Marcus.

  Marcus laughed; it was a big hearty sound that poured from his chest. "There's no better man to lead this resistance," he said. "But when it comes to women, you're as big a fool as the rest of us."

  23

  "I FEEL like I have my skin back," Shani said, grinning.

  "I know exactly what you mean," Ella said, surprised at the amount of pleasure she felt to once again be wearing her green silk dress.

  "Does your enchantress's dress protect you from the heat?"

  "Certainly does. I'll warrant you're feeling better."

  Shani looked happier than Ella had seen her in weeks. "Compared to baking under the sun, it's like being inside a shadow. Anything that can protect me from a fireball can certainly deal with this."

  Ella looked at Jehral, who led the way, riding slightly ahead of them, the near-black coat of his horse shining with sweat. Unlike his two companions, Jehral had no magical protection from the intense heat, yet he seemed completely at ease in his desert garb.

  Ella was pleased to see she still remembered how to ride, swiftly forming a rapport with her horse, a bay gelding named Afiri. Shani had taken to riding with surprising ease. If anything Shani saw her ability to subdue her own horse as a challenge. There was little the athletic Petryan didn't seem capable of.

  Looking around her, Ella wondered how Jehral was managing to navigate across the unbroken expanse of the desert. Here in the deep south the formations of rock were a rare occurrence, and one dune appeared the same as the next.

  Shani must have been thinking the same thing. "Take care, man of the desert. If anything happens to you out here, we're dead."

  Once the decision had been made, their departure from Agira Lahsa had been swift. Ella saw the city only once, on their way through, but what she'd seen had amazed her. When the work of rebuilding was done, the hidden city would rival any of the other houses' capitals, with a population to match. Ella was thankful the Hazarans were on her people's side.

  They'd now been travelling for weeks, mostly by night, but also riding by day to make up time. Shani constantly urged them forward, fearful for her people and desperate to be at Torlac for the confrontation to come, while Jehral longed to be once again fighting by his prince's side. Ella had decided she could do more in Petrya than she could back in Sarostar. She'd heard Miro speak on strategy enough to know that if Altura's southern border was secured from Petrya, the allies could start to consider a re-conquest of Halaran in the east.

  If Halaran were freed, maybe they could find Amber.

  "We're running low on water, desert man," Shani said.

  "To be expected," Jehral said. "We can only carry so much, and we're now nearing the half-way mark. Soon, the Oasis of Lyra will be in sight."

  "So what's the plan?" Shani asked. "Get in, grab water, and get out?"

  Jehral didn't smile at her levity. "Something like that."

  "Can you tell us what it looks like?" Ella asked. "This Devil of Lyra?"


  Jehral shrugged, his attention on the horizon. "I have never seen it. The creature stays clear of large groups of men. I have never gone to the oasis with fewer than ten score."

  "You must have heard rumours," Shani said.

  "Some say it is a kind of serpent. Others that it is a worm. I have heard it has many teeth, rows of them, and it is impervious to the stroke of a scimitar."

  Shani looked down at the red cuffs she wore at her wrists. "Let's hope it doesn't like fire."

  "No, Petryan," Jehral said. "Let us hope we don't see it at all."

  The three riders continued in silence for a time. Ella watched the sun move inexorably to the horizon, falling as if made heavy by a hard day's work, finally glowing against the dunes, spilling radiant light on the sand, making the riders' shadows long and tapered.

  Ella thought about Miro, fighting constantly to hold against the attempts of the Black Army to penetrate Alturan lands. She wondered about Layla, the Dunfolk healer, hoping the small woman was alive and safe from harm. Amber's face swam in front of her vision; she was so soft and gentle, always laughing or crying; the chances of Ella's tender friend surviving capture by the Black Army were low.

  Finally, Ella's thoughts turned to Killian. Her intuition told her he'd been successful; that something he'd done had affected the enemy's supplies of essence. It was the only reason Altura had lasted so long. She knew, though, that there was more to Killian's quest. He burned inside, desperate to know who he was, and about this power he possessed.

  Fingering the pendant she wore at her neck, Ella looked over at the red bracelets Shani wore at her wrists, contemplating the myriad of symbols that had been drawn with essence on the cuffs, giving Shani the ability to control the elements. Killian could wear those symbols on his skin. His skin! Like Shani, he would still need the knowledge, but the feats he was capable of, if he only had the knowledge, were staggering.

  The sun dropped past the horizon, and stars began to appear in the night sky. The temperature fell away, and Ella felt a great relief; even with the protection of her dress, the heat was uncomfortable. Still, they rode on. After some hours the moon rose, casting a glow over the dunes, shimmering over the sandy ocean. Ella shivered as the night grew cold, feeling her dress adjust to compensate. Looking over at Shani she saw that her friend wasn't coping with the chill as well as Ella was — the elementalist's robe was built to withstand heat, but not cold. The three travellers rode on.