Amber couldn’t watch. This was the father of her child. Her husband. She couldn’t look away.
He crested the hill. Ignoring the man in white, he went for the Emperor. The sword turned blue with fire. Igor leapt forward.
Countless thousands of people watched Igor Samson, Master of the Academy, plunge his custom-made zenblade into the chest of Xenovere V, Emperor of Tingara. He withdrew the blade. The man in purple crumpled to the ground, and then keeled over.
Amber put her hand to her mouth in horror as Igor was in turn cut down from behind, a sword blade penetrating all the way through his chest.
As he fell to his knees he looked out over the battle below. She could swear he met her eyes. Then the light went out of them.
Igor was dead.
Amber cried out as if in physical pain. Father Morten looked up at her in concern. She started to run. Down the steep hillside she ran, not knowing where she ran, or why, her legs just carrying her forward.
Shrubs tore at her ankles, gravel slipped under her boots, and Amber’s breath came in and out of her chest in sobs and heaves.
She reached the rafts. An enchanter was hard at work, a rope in his hands as he pulled a raft in to shore. One glance told Amber he was holding the bits of wood together by lore alone; hastily scrawled runes glowed on the motley collection of planks.
"Take me across," Amber said.
"Are you crazy?"
"Now!" she screamed.
The enchanter looked at her green dress. "Get on."
The crests and troughs of the river surged in a turbulent fury. The raft threatened to tip with every wave, and that was with just the two of them. Amber could only imagine what it would be like, crowded with a host of refugees.
Igor! She knew he was dead. They were all dead. Ella. Igor. Even if Miro wasn’t dead, he soon would be. She’d tried so hard. She’d done her best. The arrows of the Dunfolk hadn’t been enough.
Now Amber raced to be with the only man who had ever loved her. She could see it now. She had been so blind!
In her crazed state he was out there still, battling through hordes of the enemy to protect her.
The raft smashed into the opposite bank. Amber fell out onto the bank, half in the river. She pulled herself up by her arms.
"Igor!" she cried.
She ran in the direction of the fiercest fighting.
66
Pain is inevitable.
— The Evermen Cycles, 8-11
KILLIAN opened his eyes, and panicked. He was blind!
No, not blind, but there was something obscuring his vision.
He tried to move, and winced in pain. He was pinned down, something heavy holding him in place. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he realised it was a massive piece of rock. Another boulder lay across one of his legs. Behind his head he could feel hard stone. He was covered in rubble.
He coughed; dust filled the air. The last thing he remembered was the beast. He had set the explosion. The beast had nearly killed him. With sudden force the memories returned. The refinery! Evrin had said he needed to destroy the refinery above all else!
With a great surge of strength, he kicked forward with his free leg. Stars sparkled in his vision, and he nearly passed out again from the pain, but something moved. He kicked out again. The rubble shifted. Wriggling his knees he finally managed to free enough space to kick out with the full strength of his legs. He heard the crunching sound of rolling rocks. A spot of light showed near the lower half of his body.
He next tried to move his arms. His left arm screamed in pain. Killian cried out aloud.
Then he stilled, his breath coming ragged. Had he heard something? Then it came again. A shriek, followed by a beastly roar. Somewhere in the distance. The creature. It was still alive.
Killian imagined the creature finding him trapped in this way. He remembered the screams of the man in the woods of Petrya. They had lasted until dawn. There was some twisted streak in the woman — she enjoyed seeing pain. He imagined her looking at him, laughing in her rasping croak as she clicked her fingers together and prepared to watch him squirm.
Panicking in earnest now, Killian ignored the pain in his body and kicked out with his arms and legs. He pushed his head upwards, feeling the weight of the rock above move slightly. He took a deep breath. He pushed again, with every bit of strength he possessed.
His head burst free of the pile of rock. He reached out with his arms and freed his body. Scrabbling over the rubble, an eye out for the creature’s white dress, he crawled and pulled his way out. He stood panting, the massive rocks littering the floor in all directions.
He was at the very base of the shaft. He looked up. He had fallen the entire height of the mountain, and then been crushed by the immense weight of hundreds of boulders.
He looked down at himself. He felt pain all over his entire body. Still, he didn’t even have any broken limbs. Half of the runes on his skin had faded, the rest glowed faintly silver.