"Very good."
Killian stayed silent. There were too many mysteries here. He had thought only to prevent the templars from taking the old man away before he could find out about the story. Now the initiative seemed to have been taken from him. He had lost his control of events.
The thin man handed them to a stately woman. They were seated at a glass table and given two elegant cards to read. Killian couldn’t understand the strange descriptions of food.
"Would you like me to order for you?" the old man said.
Killian nodded.
The old man waved and the woman came to their table. "My servant will have the braised wood hen. I will have the rare fillet. Please choose a suitable wine, I trust your judgement."
The woman left. "I always find it best to let them choose the wine," the man whispered.
"What is happening?" Killian said. "What are we doing here?"
The old man gestured around the empty room. "Isn’t it obvious? Privacy and security. The templars would never look in here."
"That’s not what I..."
"I know what you meant," he said. He was silent as two glasses were placed beside them and filled with a rose coloured wine. Killian could smell the rich aroma from where he was sitting. The woman withdrew.
"Try it," the old man said.
Killian took a sip. "It’s delicious. Your story..."
"Yes, my story," he put the glass to his lips. "Ah, Louan wine." He looked up at Killian’s frown. "Do you have any idea how many times I have told that story?"
"No."
"Think of how many times you have blinked. In your entire life. That’s how many times I have told that story. With absolutely no sign of success."
"I don’t understand."
"First, I need to know. Why did you come to me?"
"The story."
"What about the story?"
Killian took a deep breath. He had to know. "The part about the essence, drawn on the woman’s skin."
A glow came to the old man’s face. He took a long, drawn out breath. A smile rose, to become a broad grin. "You? It’s you?"
"I don’t understand."
"What is your name?"
"Killian."
"Killian. I am Evrin Alistair. Once I was called Evrin Evenstar. This meeting hasn’t come a moment too soon. I need your help."
56
Essence is the embodiment of life. A mighty tree grows from a seed. The tree gives shelter to birds and shade to animals. It grows old, withers and dies. As it decays, the life force of the tree sinks into the earth. The life force of a thousand trees comes together to form lignite. The relics of the Evermen process the lignite, forming essence. Understanding of the holy relics is beyond us, but one thing is clear — the power of magic is the power of life itself.
— Sermons of Primate Melovar Aspen, 535 Y.E.
"SIR, I think you had better see this for yourself," the scout said.
Miro raised an eyebrow at Bladesinger Huron, who shrugged. He glanced at Marshal Beorn and Lord Rorelan. "Come with me," he said to the two men, newly made marshals.
It had been hard going, since Mornhaven, but it was with a new sense of purpose that the army had abandoned the Ring Forts for the promised safety of Altura. They had poured down from Sark first, and then the other four fortresses had emptied themselves. Miro had formed them up quickly. There was no use delaying.
The pride of Halaran’s defences would soon be occupied by the enemy.
There had been the inevitable departure of some Halrana who had refused to leave their homeland. Miro had let them go. He could understand what they were feeling. It was still an immense army he led, perhaps four fifths Alturan and one fifth Halrana.
All of the constructs had long faded completely, there were no drudges to pull the great carts, yet the Halrana valiantly struggled to pull the wagons by hand. One day, if the Halrana Lexicon could be found and renewed, the ironmen, woodmen, bonemen, colossi, drudges and golems would fight again.
Miro didn’t have the heart to tell the Halrana about the Primate’s new method of destroying the Lexicons permanently.
For the enchanted swords and armour, the nightlamps and heatplates, it was impossible to hide the fading of the runes now. When he was alone, Miro had activated his armoursilk and zenblade. The light was still fierce, the armour supple yet strong — but for how long?
Miro kept telling himself. If he could get them to Alturan lands, they would live to fight another day.
The scout led the commanders up a hillside and over some rubble. They climbed an abutment and stood on a high crest.
"Lord of the Sky," Marshal Beorn breathed.