The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) by James Maxwell
Authors: James Maxwell
Tags: epic fantasy, action and adventure
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his temples, and then he shook his head, grinning without humour. Protect Ella? Control her? He'd like to meet the man who could do that.
He cursed himself for not seeing the truth behind Jehral's questions. He hadn't been interested in an alliance at all. Ella was the one the desert warrior was interested in all along; how could he not have seen it?
What would the men of Raj Hazara want with his sister? Was it something to do with the lore she had helped them to rediscover? Did they simply want someone with her skill to help them further? How worried should he be?
Miro tried to tell himself the Hazarans just wanted more of Ella's help, but he knew so little about them. Jehral and his friend Hermen Tosch had managed to capture an elementalist and a skilled enchantress. Whatever else, they were dangerous men.
Miro paced as he wondered what to do. He had vowed to never again let those close to him fall into the hands of his enemies.
Like a dog scratching at a wound, Miro's mind returned to the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta, and the last time he had seen Amber. He had nightmares about it, dreams where he was cutting through the press of the enemy, slashing through warrior after warrior, seeing her auburn hair and green dress vanishing into the endless ranks of the Black Army. No matter what he did, he couldn't get closer to her. He screamed her name, but she never turned around. And she was always going in the wrong direction, away from safety.
Away from him.
He had lost so many friends in the war. Blademaster Rogan, the man who taught Miro to fight. Tuok, the soldier who taught Miro the ways of the world. Ronell Kendra, the bladesinger who finally conquered his fears, fighting to his last breath. Varana, the gentle Halrana woman who only wanted to be loved, and who Miro had left behind in the doomed town of Sallat.
Miro had promised himself that the next time he saw Primate Melovar Aspen, it would be at his enemy's demise. He had promised himself that never again would he leave someone he loved to face his enemies without his protection.
He stopped his pacing. "I'm going after them."
"Miro, let me go," Bartolo said.
"You are not going," Rorelan said. "Miro, you know you have responsibilities here, and," he continued, "we have, what, four bladesingers left besides the two of you? Bladesinger Bartolo, I forbid you to go also. You will be needed for the war effort."
"High Lord, it was my fault!" Bartolo bristled. Bladesingers were considered free agents, generally able to make their own decisions about how best to serve Altura.
Marshal Beorn rushed into the room, stopping when he saw Miro. "Lord Marshal, we're under attack. A force is testing our defences in the woodland to the east, near the Halrana border. We need you."
Miro turned to High Lord Rorelan, and then to Bartolo. He threw up his hands. "Bartolo, go after them. Look after my sister."
"Lord Marshal, I forbid…" Rorelan began.
Miro fixed Rorelan with a stare. The Alturan High Lord met his gaze, and then faltered. "He's going," Miro said.
Bartolo put out his hand, and Miro gripped it in return. "I will find her," Bartolo said. "I won't let you down."
Miro nodded, at a loss for words. He watched his friend dash out of the room, and then grimly followed Beorn, to discover what the enemy were up to this time.
6
N O man or woman without desperate business wandered the corridors of Stonewater during solace. In these two darkest hours of the night, farthest from both dusk and dawn, the priests were silent, noise was forbidden, and even the patrolling templar guards halted their pacing, standing still and meditative during this time of contemplation and prayer.
The stationary nature of the guards made Sabithe's task that much easier. He crept along the gallery, moving from column to column, using them to hide his form, and fought to keep his breath even and quell the raucous beating of his heart.
Sabithe was a priest, and had little
He cursed himself for not seeing the truth behind Jehral's questions. He hadn't been interested in an alliance at all. Ella was the one the desert warrior was interested in all along; how could he not have seen it?
What would the men of Raj Hazara want with his sister? Was it something to do with the lore she had helped them to rediscover? Did they simply want someone with her skill to help them further? How worried should he be?
Miro tried to tell himself the Hazarans just wanted more of Ella's help, but he knew so little about them. Jehral and his friend Hermen Tosch had managed to capture an elementalist and a skilled enchantress. Whatever else, they were dangerous men.
Miro paced as he wondered what to do. He had vowed to never again let those close to him fall into the hands of his enemies.
Like a dog scratching at a wound, Miro's mind returned to the battle at the Bridge of Sutanesta, and the last time he had seen Amber. He had nightmares about it, dreams where he was cutting through the press of the enemy, slashing through warrior after warrior, seeing her auburn hair and green dress vanishing into the endless ranks of the Black Army. No matter what he did, he couldn't get closer to her. He screamed her name, but she never turned around. And she was always going in the wrong direction, away from safety.
Away from him.
He had lost so many friends in the war. Blademaster Rogan, the man who taught Miro to fight. Tuok, the soldier who taught Miro the ways of the world. Ronell Kendra, the bladesinger who finally conquered his fears, fighting to his last breath. Varana, the gentle Halrana woman who only wanted to be loved, and who Miro had left behind in the doomed town of Sallat.
Miro had promised himself that the next time he saw Primate Melovar Aspen, it would be at his enemy's demise. He had promised himself that never again would he leave someone he loved to face his enemies without his protection.
He stopped his pacing. "I'm going after them."
"Miro, let me go," Bartolo said.
"You are not going," Rorelan said. "Miro, you know you have responsibilities here, and," he continued, "we have, what, four bladesingers left besides the two of you? Bladesinger Bartolo, I forbid you to go also. You will be needed for the war effort."
"High Lord, it was my fault!" Bartolo bristled. Bladesingers were considered free agents, generally able to make their own decisions about how best to serve Altura.
Marshal Beorn rushed into the room, stopping when he saw Miro. "Lord Marshal, we're under attack. A force is testing our defences in the woodland to the east, near the Halrana border. We need you."
Miro turned to High Lord Rorelan, and then to Bartolo. He threw up his hands. "Bartolo, go after them. Look after my sister."
"Lord Marshal, I forbid…" Rorelan began.
Miro fixed Rorelan with a stare. The Alturan High Lord met his gaze, and then faltered. "He's going," Miro said.
Bartolo put out his hand, and Miro gripped it in return. "I will find her," Bartolo said. "I won't let you down."
Miro nodded, at a loss for words. He watched his friend dash out of the room, and then grimly followed Beorn, to discover what the enemy were up to this time.
6
N O man or woman without desperate business wandered the corridors of Stonewater during solace. In these two darkest hours of the night, farthest from both dusk and dawn, the priests were silent, noise was forbidden, and even the patrolling templar guards halted their pacing, standing still and meditative during this time of contemplation and prayer.
The stationary nature of the guards made Sabithe's task that much easier. He crept along the gallery, moving from column to column, using them to hide his form, and fought to keep his breath even and quell the raucous beating of his heart.
Sabithe was a priest, and had little
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