A series of runes on the tablet began to glow silver.
At the same moment the construct kicked out with its front legs. It snapped forward with its head, lunging from side to side. If it was an animal, it would have snarled. It would be devastating to anything in front of the drudge.
Evrin shrugged. "A useful trick, to use against anyone with an eye to stealing cargo. Now. Some of the sequences are based on touch, others a spoken activation sequence. Others yet use a combination. Some don’t require the controller at all. I’ve heard an incredibly skilful animator once controlled an iron golem with voice alone. I haven’t seen anything like that myself, of course, but I imagine it would have been something like the song of your bladesingers. Only perhaps even more complex."
Ella could believe it. She’d heard of some controllers having as many as ten thousand matrices. She felt a new respect for the animator’s art.
"What about the rate of lore-drain? How long will a single essence charge last?"
"Lore-drain?"
Ella cursed herself. "It’s just a term I picked up somewhere. It means how many uses can be had from it once it has first been constructed doesn’t it?"
"Yes, it does. It depends on the construct. It actually has little to do with the strength of the creature and more with the agility and complexity. So a big lumbering drudge doesn’t use much, while an iron golem, a complex fighting machine, uses a lot."
Ella nodded.
Evrin turned. "Have you had friends at the Academy of Enchanters, Ella?"
At the mention of the Academy, Ella started. "No, no. Nothing like that."
Evrin shrugged his shoulders and settled back in his seat. Ella decided to wait a while before asking any more questions about animating.
36
Open your eyes, and all is revealed.
— The Evermen Cycles, 18-29
"BLADESINGER Miro. Please, take a seat," Blademaster Rogan indicated a chair.
Nodding in acknowledgement, Miro sat down and faced the Blademaster. Next to him sat Marshall Sloan. Miro guessed the Marshall had been appraised since his initial debriefing.
"Have you taken refreshment?" Rogan said.
Miro nodded.
He had gone straight to the Blademaster with news of the Veznans’ subversion to the Black Army’s cause. It hadn’t gained him the reception he had thought it would. He had been told to say nothing to anyone, and then been called to this clandestine meeting.
He still bore the scars of the experience, both inside and out. The cultivators’ defences had been formidable; he had been lucky to escape. It had come down to a pitched skirmish on the outskirts of Rosarva. Not one of his Veznan pursuers had lived to tell the tale of the black-clad bladesinger with the ghostly blue sword.
Most of all he couldn’t believe the truth of what they were fighting. They were all pawns. Nothing but pawns! Men were dying in their thousands day by day. Towns and cities were burning, bodies being piled up and buried in mass graves.
Miro seethed inside. Now that he knew the culprit, he wanted nothing more than to lay the truth out to the lords and commanders and point the swords of their armies in the right direction. He knew it wouldn’t be that simple though, not with the houses all allied against them. With the cultivators joining the cause of the Black Army there were now four raja against two. They didn’t stand a chance.
"So the Primate has discovered a new secret. It’s something to do with essence. Is that correct, Miro? And he’s using it to turn the High Lords to his cause?" Marshall Sloan said.
Miro frowned. "As I said to Blademaster Rogan, he has created some new substance from essence. He calls it elixir. Where essence creates magic, elixir destroys. And where essence is a deadly poison, elixir gives powers of rejuvenation. The Primate is giving the High Lord’s a simple choice — to join his cause and gain these powers, or he will conquer their house and use this substance to permanently destroy their Lexicons and all their lore with it. I saw him give it to the son of the Veznan High Lord. It drove him mad, mad enough to kill his own father. And it does give abilities. I saw him slice Moragon’s hand and it healed in front of my eyes."
"Hmm. It seems a little far-fetched," Marshal Sloan said, watching Miro carefully.
Miro sighed, "At least, that’s what you think Prince Leopold will say, isn’t it?’
"Well grasped," the Marshall said. "That is the truth of it. Don’t worry, I believe you Miro, though the Skylord knows how we are going to get out of this mess."
There was one piece of information that Miro had not dared to mention. He couldn’t believe it himself; he didn’t see how it could be possible.
For his whole life he’d had the same dream. A man held him. Miro was powerless to stop him; there was no strength in his arms. The man held a knife to Miro’s throat, its razor sharp blade glistening. Miro felt terrified. He could never forget the man’s face.
And now he’d seen the man in the flesh.