The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) Read online

  She pictured Miro and Ella now, remembering the last time the three of them had been together, the day Amber and Ella had graduated from the Academy of Enchanters. Amber remembered sitting close to Miro, their legs touching, both knowing it but neither moving away.

  Thinking of Miro was the only thing that kept Amber going. In the darkest days, when hope was at its lowest, she would remember his face, and the things he used to say.

  "Mistakes are there to teach you," she could almost hear his voice. "You learn from them, and you move on."

  Amber had made many mistakes in her life. But by far, her greatest regret of all was never telling Miro that she loved him.

  Amber knew it was absurd to think about it, with life in the prison camp as precarious as it was, but still she couldn't help herself. If she ever did see Miro again, how would he react to her baby?

  Igor Samson, Amber's husband, was dead, and she supposed that like so many of the women here she was now a widow, but would Amber and Igor's baby come between her and Miro? Had he found some other woman by now, and forgotten her altogether?

  Unless Amber could escape, there was no use thinking about it.

  Gazing around the camp, Amber looked again at the metal fence, memorising the layout of the guard stations, running the plan again through her mind.

  Finally she sat back down, and once more her eyes met Beatta's.

  Soon, they would be free.

  ~

  IT WAS another two weeks before the time was right. In early evening, when the camp was a scene of chaos as the prisoners fought each other to get their one meal for the day, Amber saw an older woman stumble into one of the guards near the eastern side of the fence.

  It was the signal.

  Amber nodded to Beatta, and the brown-haired Halrana nodded back. Immediately both women began to walk briskly away from the commotion, towards where a storage hut screened part of the western side of the fence.

  Amber risked a glance over her shoulder. In the distance she saw the older woman — Ness, her name was — take a knife from her ragged clothing and plunge it into the guard's chest. There was instant pandemonium, drawing guards from all over the camp.

  Amber thought about what Beatta had told her about Ness, and prayed that her sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. Ness was a distant relative of Beatta's, and she had the plague. The spots had appeared in a ring around her neck the day before. No woman over forty had survived the camp plague, and Ness was closer to sixty. But Beatta said Ness was strong, and would rather give her life to help them escape than watch as her body wasted away.

  With a knife in her hand, Ness would make a definite diversion, but she wouldn't take long to subdue. Amber and Beatta needed to move quickly.

  The two women reached the fence, and for a moment the storage hut screened them from the other guards.

  "Hurry, hurry," Beatta said, jumping from one foot to the next.

  Amber knelt at the foot of the fence and reached into her tattered tunic. She withdrew the nightlamp she had stolen and modified, and checked again where she'd scratched out some of the runes, creating new shapes out of the old.

  "I hope this works," Amber said.

  "Lord of the Earth, they've seen us, hurry!" Beatta whispered.

  Amber could hear the shouts of the guards and involuntarily turned to check how far they were away. Ness had been dealt with — the old woman's crumpled body was already being dragged away — and now six guards were running towards them, already at the storage hut.

  "Look away," Amber said. "Tish-tassine." She activated the nightlamp.

  It flared up, bright as a thousand suns. Amber could feel the heat pouring from it as all of its energy was expended in one great burst. But would it be enough?

  Amber looked back at the guards, feeling relief when she saw that all of them were in varying stages of blindness, their hands held to the eyes and screams of pain bringing even more guards.

  "Amber, come on!" Beatta said.

  The Halrana woman kicked at the fence, and Amber breathed a sigh of relief when Beatta swiftly opened up a small hole. It would be a tight fit, but surely they would be able to squeeze through?

  Amber ran forward and pulled at the broken metal, scratching her hands bloody but enlarging the hole. "You go first," she said to Beatta.

  Beatta wormed her way through the fence, and then it was Amber's turn. Beatta held out her hand for her friend, helping Amber get to her feet, and then they were both running.

  "We're free!" Beatta turned and called to Amber, a broad smile on her face.

  The ground fell away from Beatta's feet, and an expression of astonishment crossed her face as the woman vanished into the earth.

  Amber suddenly teetered on the edge of a wide ditch, waving her arms to regain her balance and halt her momentum. She looked down, and Beatta looked up at her with eyes wide with pain.

  The trap was lined with jagged wooden spikes, scores of them now piercing Beatta's body. Amber watched as Beatta coughed, blood spluttering from her mouth, and her friend died.

  Amber felt the rough hands of the guards grab her wrists, forcing her to the ground. She tried to look away, but Beatta still stared up at her with unseeing eyes.

  9

  ELLA woke, and for the first moments of awareness could not remember where she was. Then it returned to her: the green of the trees, the confusion and the panic, Shani's scream, the figure in black coming out of the illusion.

  She had been captured.

  The covered wagon rocked and tilted, jolting and bumping as it moved along, and Ella winced. Her head still ached, and her mind was thick and slowed.

  "Looks like you got knocked on the head pretty thoroughly," Shani's voice broke the silence. "All you've done is sleep."

  "Where am I?"

  Shani snorted. "What kind of a question is that? Let's see. You're in a dark wagon, so dark you can barely see. Your legs are tied, but your arms are free. Problem is, if you move too close to the edge of the wagon some kind of magic kicks in, and your vision goes black until you move back to the centre. You're somewhere. Does that answer your question?"

  "How… long?"

  As Ella's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw Shani sitting cross-legged a couple of paces from her. The Petryan put a hand to her head. "This is the third time we've had this conversation. Last time, all right? This time, the answer is that it's now been about four days."

  Ella rubbed the back of her head, pulling away and wincing as she felt the large bump on her skull. Her mind was clearing now, the fog lifting, being slowly replaced with anger.

  "If it's any solace," Shani said, "this is now the longest conversation we've had."

  "Has anyone spoken to us?"

  "No." Shani shook her head. "Although I think someone's popped their head in a few times. We've been given food and drink." Ella could vaguely remember cold stew and brackish water. "And we've been taken outside to get some fresh air. They can make the dark cloud stay with you, you know. You can hear, but you can't see a thing."

  "I know who it is," Ella said. "Or at least, I know who they represent."

  "Who?" Shani said. "I need to know so I can add them to the long list of people I'm going to kill once we get out of here."

  "What do you know about the Hazara Desert?"

  Shani snorted again. "Ella, I'm Petryan. Our southern border is the Hazara Desert."

  "Then you know about the tribes."

  "Those barbarians? They steal from my people, the way a flea bites at a dog. They raid our trade caravans and butcher our villagers. Some men of the tribes travelled all the way to Altura and captured an enchantress and an elementalist? I don't think so, Ella."

  Ella wondered if they would have been as bold if Bartolo had been with them. "I know it without a doubt, Shani."

  "How?" the elementalist demanded.

  "To start with, their lore. They can make illusions, impressions of light and sound that aren't actually there. Visions, like the mirages you see i
n the desert."

  "I'll agree with you, that sounds like what's happened to us," Shani said. "I thought I was going mad for a moment there. What else?"

  "And secondly, because I think I recognised the man who came out of the illusion and attacked me. His name is Jehral, and he serves one of their leaders, a prince named Ilathor Shanti, of Tarn Teharan."

  "How do you know these people?" Shani pointed at Ella's chest. "How do you know so much about their lore? What interest do they have in you?"

  "I know them because they held me prisoner for a time. We need to be careful, Shani, these men are ruthless."

  "You haven't answered all of my questions."

  "I know about their lore because I helped them to regain it." Ella hesitated. "In return, they let me go."

  "Ella," Shani said. "If we're going to trust each other you need to be more honest with me."

  Ella started to speak, and then closed her mouth. After a pause, she tried again. "Well, perhaps they didn't let me go," she said wryly. "Perhaps… I escaped."

  Suddenly Ella cocked her head. She could hear unmistakeable chanting, the throaty voice of an old woman.

  Ella was beset by darkness. "I can't see," she said.

  "I can't either," she heard Shani's voice. "It's the dark cloud I told you about."

  Ella heard the fumbling sound of someone entering the covered wagon, and instantly her heart began to race. How many were there? Were they men or women?

  She listened, and caught the sound of a single newcomer, breathing slowly in and out.

  "Remove this darkness, Jehral," Ella said. "I know you're there."

  Ella heard movement, the sound of turning, and then a voice spoke outside. The sound of a man's breathing came again, and Ella tensed.

  Then Ella could see. The relief was intense, but she tried not to display any emotion.

  Ella's eyes again adjusted to the low light. Jehral crouched just inside the covered area of the wagon. Ella thought they had once been friends, of a kind, but now he sat still, regarding her with an expression close to anger.

  "Ah, you are awake, and feeling better, I see," he said. "It is good to see you again, High Enchantress Evora. Or should I say… Enchantress Ella?"

  Ella caught a frown from Shani.

  Jehral had changed subtly since Ella last saw him. The metal circlet he wore at his brow now appeared to be made of solid silver, and he wore a sash of yellow over his black clothing. In the manner of a raj hada, the sash was decorated with a stylised desert rose.

  "You look well, Jehral. It's good to see you again, too. Now," Ella said, colour coming to her cheeks, "let me go. There is a war going on. Let me return to my people."

  Ella prepared to activate some of the sequences in her dress. The words on the tip of her tongue, she looked down, and then realised. Her dress was gone. She was wearing a plain yellow tunic. Looking at Shani, she saw that the elementalist's red robe was also gone, and in its place her friend wore a faded brown smock. Shani's red cuffs were nowhere to be seen.

  "Where's my dress?" Ella said.

  "They took them," Shani said, sighing.

  Ella glared at Jehral. "Who, exactly, took them?"

  Jehral actually blushed, the first time Ella had seen the desert warrior anything but poised. "Not I. We have an elder with us."

  "But you looked, didn't you?" Shani challenged.

  Jehral raised his chin. "I have taken a wife, Petryan. No, I did not."

  "Will you let us go?" Ella asked.

  Jehral looked puzzled. "Why would I let you go, when I have gone to such lengths to capture you?"

  "No one asked you to," Ella said.

  "Ah, but someone did. My prince asks, and I obey."

  "What does he want with me?"

  "That, Ella, he will tell you himself."

  "And why is Shani here?"

  "Because it was easier to take her, too, and because I suspect, Ella, that you may cause trouble."

  "I'm never easy, barbarian," Shani growled.

  Jehral ignored her, and addressed Ella. "I'm pleased to see that you have recovered." He prepared to depart.

  "Jehral, will you at least tell us where we are?" Ella asked.

  "We're half way to Castlemere, on the Basch Coast. Contrary to what you may believe, no one will find us, Ella. This wagon is one of forty in the train, and thirty-nine of the forty are legitimate traders."

  "Jehral," Ella said. "We used to be friends. Must it be like this?"

  Jehral came forward, his eyes blazing, and Ella shrank bank. "You lied to me, to my prince, to all of us. You took our knowledge and then you left us."

  "I had to help my people!" Ella cried.

  "Your name was a lie, and so was your position. You stole a great deal of essence from my prince's very tent."

  Jehral turned and exited the wagon, sealing it shut behind him with angry tugs at the material, but not before making one last statement.

  "And one more thing," he said. "You owe me a horse."

  Then he was gone.

  "Scratch you!" Ella cried after him.

  She'd been taken from her brother after they'd only just been reunited. Every second took Ella further and further from where she wanted to be.

  "He seems angry," Shani said, "and I'll bet this prince he cares so much about is even madder."

  "Shani, I have to get back to Altura," Ella said.

  "Why?"

  "Because there's a war going on!" she cried.

  "And you want to fight?"

  "Yes!"

  "Think, Ella. Whatever this prince wants from you, do you think it will involve keeping you out of harms way?"

  Ella thought about what Shani had said for a moment. Could she help Miro by aiding the prince? She then noticed that the Petryan woman was creeping steadily towards her.

  "What are you doing?" Ella asked.

  Shani darted forward and yanked several threads of golden hair from Ella's head. Ella yelped.

  "Your hair stands out better than any signpost," Shani said. "Next chance we get, I'm leaving this on the trail."

  "Who for?"

  "For whoever your brother has sent after us."

  10

  THE enemy came in a wave of soundless black shapes that poured over the ridge and down to the wide, shallow river. Against the stormy night sky, Miro struggled to estimate their strength.

  "It's a full attack," Beorn whispered hoarsely in his ear.

  The black shapes hit the river, here where the enemy had discovered a place the Sarsen was shallow enough to be forded. They were immediately slowed by the water as they began to wade towards where Miro and his men sat in hiding, protected by the thick trees that lined the Alturan side of the border.

  It was only the second night attack they'd faced. The enemy commanders were trying new tricks, some that worked and some that didn't. Miro wondered if night attacks would now be the norm.

  For the hundredth time, Miro wished he could use the shadow effect of his armoursilk, but he knew it was more important to his men that they see their leader, fighting wherever the battle was thickest. At least he would be able to call forth the armoursilk's full strength.

  He did have one surprise of his own in store for the warriors of the Black Army. Hidden in the forest were the four other bladesingers who had survived the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta. The world's finest swordsmen had activated the cloaking effect, the low tones of their sonorous chanting unheard against the gurgling of the river.

  Miro scanned the black dots in the river; there were too many to count, but he needed to get an overall feel for their numbers in order to determine how many precious prismatic orbs he should expend. So much of the fighting was like this now, assessing the enemy's strength before expending irreplaceable orbs and draining enchanted armour and swords to repel them.

  "Every fourth man to throw a prismatic orb," Miro whispered to Marshal Beorn.

  "Every fourth? It's a full attack, Miro, I would have at least said every third."r />
  "Every fourth," Miro said firmly. He agreed with Beorn, but there were no more orbs in their stockpiles. Each man here carried three, and that was it — for the duration of the war.

  Beorn passed down the news while Miro watched more and more of the enemy enter the water, each Black Army soldier's sword held above his head with the water reaching to his waist. Miro reached over his shoulder and drew his zenblade; it was almost time.

  As much as Miro would have liked to wait until the enemy reached the bank, and fight them from the height of land as they emerged tired and wet from the river, he knew he couldn't afford the risk. This was where the darkness gave the enemy extra protection, for there was too great a chance that some would slip through Miro's terribly thin defences and regroup on the Alturan side. Miro knew his men wouldn't survive an attack from the front and the rear, and these men were the only protection Sarostar had.

  Marshal Beorn was good, and Miro didn't even hear the command for the men to throw their orbs. He saw the tiny specks fly through the air, and caught the shouts of the enemy as their fear and surprise was carried across the water. They now knew their crossing had been detected, and the black specks could only be one thing.

  The explosion of the prismatic orbs was devastating.

  Miro almost felt sorry for them. An underwater explosion sent bigger shockwaves over a longer distance than one in the air, and the pandemonium was instant as men screamed in pain; water fountained into the air and body parts flew in all directions.

  But any sympathy Miro felt was short-lived. This was his homeland they were attacking, and these men were either mindlessly following the orders of their leaders or were attracted to the carnage by nature.

  "Attack!" Miro cried, the shout instantly echoed by his men.

  Even as the Alturans and Halrana-in-exile who made up Miro's army surged up and out of the protective forest, the enemy launched their own volley of prismatic orbs.

  Miro had already started his song, feeling the armoursilk come alive around his body, hardening and settling tightly around his skin. A detached part of his mind noted that the enemy's volley was no greater than his own; Ella's theory was holding up; the Alturans weren't the only ones running short of essence. The rest of his mind recoiled in horror as the land erupted around him, gouts of flame and earth rising high above their heads, tearing men limb from limb. The scene was lit up, the darkness banished in lightning-like flashes. An Alturan soldier to Miro's right was flying down the bank to the river, screaming and snarling, when a small sphere hit the ground at his feet. The man wore enchanted armour, but it still wasn't enough, and the explosion tore him into two parts. The snarl was still on his face as he died.