"That's not true!" the younger Halrana said.
"Hush, Marcus," the older man said. "Yes, there are farmers and wives, craftsmen and priests, all working for our cause."
"But no soldiers?" Rogan said. "No warriors?"
"We are still in the process of… recruitment," the older man said. "Now, I think we are long overdue for some introductions."
"I think I know who you are," Rogan said. "You have the look of a Telmarran about you."
"He is High Lord Tiesto Telmarran, Alturan," the younger man said, "Legasa Telmarran's nephew and heir to Halaran. My name is Marcus. Marcus Toscan." He raised his chin with pride. "I'm the one who got him out of Rialan Palace before the Black Army arrived. And you are?"
"For now he's the heir," Rogan said. "When Ralanast is back in Halrana hands, then he can call himself High Lord. But to do that, you're going to need my help."
"Who are you?" Marcus demanded.
"My name is Rogan. Rogan Jarvish. Nearly twenty years ago I fought in the Western Rebellion at my High Lord Serosa's side, fighting with your people against the Emperor." Rogan's voice was grim. "Prince Tiesto, I fought with your uncle, Legasa, in the great battle where we tried to free this city." He took a deep breath. "I was a bladesinger of Altura, and then I was the leader of all the bladesingers. I've led the world's finest swordsmen in too many battles to count, and I've trained more soldiers than there are stars in the sky."
Prince Tiesto and Marcus exchanged glances.
"It's true!" Tapel piped. "I found him on the battlefield. He has a zenblade. I can show you!"
"I can help you liberate this city," Rogan said. "There will be those among the townsfolk who know how to fight. Some will be old men, veterans of the Rebellion like me, but they will be dependable, and they can help the younger men. And," Rogan paused, "the one who commands the forces in Altura was one of my students. Let me help your resistance. When I tell him we're ready, he will come."
Prince Tiesto looked at Rogan's scars and then at Marcus, evidently contrasting the two men. "How will you know?" Tiesto asked.
Rogan grinned. "Trust me. When we're ready, you'll know it, too."
13
THE Primate studied the book the old pilgrim had rescued from the destruction at the Pinnacle. He'd locked himself in his study, examining the damaged pages, desperate to unlock the secrets within. The only people he allowed to see him were Moragon and Zavros, the former to discuss the war, the latter to discuss the mystery of the book.
Primate Melovar knew, deep inside, that the book offered him the potential to turn his fortunes and salvage his dream to unite the peoples of the world, if he could only discover its secrets.
His withered and emaciated frame was thinner than ever from lack of food and drink. The thirst for the knowledge burned within him, and he translated day and night, working with the unstoppable energy of the fanatic. He'd learned to live with the pain of his wounds now; if anything the remorseless agony of his burned flesh drove him on, the fire in his blood reminding him he might not have much time left.
Now Melovar Aspen was coming close to the truth.
"Primate," a deep voice spoke, "you asked to see me?"
Primate Melovar tore his gaze away from the silvery writing of the Evermen and the strange drawings and diagrams. Their rune-based writing was so fresh in his mind that he was having difficulty reading the dispatches his second-in-command brought him.
"Moragon, please, come in," the Primate said. He noticed Moragon's gaze flicker to the book. "Let me share some of what I've learned with you."
Moragon came to stand beside the Primate's desk, and looked askance at the book of the Evermen. The Primate could almost see the thoughts crossing the melding's face. They had replaced many of the templar leaders with those more malleable, and now those who depended on the elixir were fewer in number. The raj nilas, that incredible substance that extended the lifespan and bestowed powers of regeneration, would last a small time longer, but it would still run out. The Primate had promised Moragon a plan, yet here he was instead, obsessed with this book. What of the plan Moragon had been promised?
The Primate opened the burned and withered pages of the ancient book and pointed to a diagram, the lines shining silver. "See, it's some kind of structure, built to a strange shape. There's a pool in it. And that symbol on the pool? That's the symbol of essence. The Evermen used essence just like we do."
"A pool of essence?" Moragon raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard of so much in one place. It would take centuries to accumulate."
Primate Melovar smiled with thin, broken lips, and as he did they cracked and bled over his teeth, the acid sizzling on his tongue. "Nor have I. The dimensions… This isn't a small pool, Moragon. It's dozens of paces wide. This is more essence in one place than anyone living has ever seen."