Quick as a snake, Evrin's hand slipped through the bars and, ignoring the fierce heat, he gripped the hilt and pulled it through. The scratched thing was heavy, and Evrin sighed, he'd never been one for swords.
He activated three more sequences, careless to how much of the sword's energy he was draining. Evrin swung at the bars, and with three mighty blows and a shower of sparks he sliced through them like a scythe through wheat. On the other side of the hole the old man had created the templar stood gaping, and Evrin was relieved to see the man's eyes were clear of yellow.
Evrin felt the strength in his arms giving out, and took the sword in both hands. He swung the sword in a great sweeping arc in the direction of the templar's head, a clumsy blow that missed, but nevertheless shocked the templar into fleeing.
Evrin surprised and then cut down one of the more sadistic guards before the others leaped away from the blinding light of the blade.
This old man still had some strength left.
Once outside he'd discarded the sword and then hidden among the poor of Salvation — just another dirty pilgrim — before hobbling out of town, the wounds from the explosion at the Pinnacle still causing him to wince with each step.
Evrin's thoughts returned to the present. Here he was, leaning against a tree, when he needed to get up, and take action.
"Scratch you, old man," he cursed himself yet again.
Rather than destroying what he'd gone to Stonewater's summit to destroy, he'd helped the book to fall into the worst possible hands. Perhaps the Primate had already figured it out.
There was no other course of action. Evrin needed to enhance the protection around the pool of essence. The book was gone, and only by going to the relic itself could he keep it safe.
Evrin finally stood up, ignoring the pain in his bruised body. He walked back to the road and looked along it, away from Salvation, before beginning the long walk to Seranthia.
~
ONLY much later did Evrin think of visiting the Temple of the Sky in Salvation, and by then it was too late to turn back. He could have used Killian's help, but he didn't know if the lad had waited for him, or if Killian had even made it out of Stonewater alive.
As he walked along the road towards the great city that men once called the capital of the world, Evrin realised that while it was too risky for him to go back to Salvation, he may be able to send a message.
It took a few tries, and a near-beating from a protective farmer, but Evrin finally found a pious woman who felt sympathy for the old pilgrim and promised to get his message to the Temple of the Sky in Salvation.
"Come to Seranthia," Evrin wrote. "Meet me at the dock, at a tavern called The Floating Cork."
Evrin was going to need a scrill and essence. He needed to visit one of his caches; yet another reason to get to Seranthia.
Perhaps Killian would find him, and Evrin would get some help.
Either way, with help or alone, Evrin was determined to see this thing through.
17
THE squat trader ship rolled on the waves like an old drunk, showing too many years yet too little sense to head for home. The mast tilted one way, then another, as howling winds buffeted the sails and the huge waves threatened to tip the ship over again and again.
Ella balanced precariously on the poop deck, at the ship's stern above the cabin the captain called his own. She held onto a stout rail with either hand, shifting her weight from one hip to another, gazing out at the stormy sky and thinking dark thoughts.
Ella saw a figure climb up the ladder up to the poop deck, and realising who it was, she laughed. In sodden wet clothing, Jehral looked like nothing so much as a black housecat that had fallen into the bath.
Jehral glared at the young enchantress. "You are insane," Jehral shouted at her above the wind. "This is a major storm. Don't you realise that?"
The ship crashed into the sea with a boom, and a great wave of spray crested their heads, falling down and soaking them both to the skin. Jehral cringed, but Ella laughed again; she was already wet, what did it matter?
When they'd reached Castlemere, Jehral and the Hazaran wise woman who summoned darkness at Jehral's command had guarded Ella and Shani while they awaited their transport. Ella had tried to engage Jehral in conversation but he silenced her with a glare, and if that didn't work the darkness soon came over her. He still hadn't explained what Prince Ilathor wanted with her.
Then Ella and Shani were again put into the covered wagon. It rumbled and bumped over the cobbled stones, and they soon heard the sounds of the sea — the crashing of waves and the shrieks of seagulls. Dressed in their simple garments, without their tools, the two captives had struggled, but it was no use. They were bustled onto the Castlemere trader ship and left in full daylight with the changing of the tide. Rescue from Miro or his men was now out of the question.
A week later, Jehral had finally let Ella and her Petryan friend out of their locked cabin. "There's nowhere for you to go," he'd said, gesturing to the open expanse of the ocean, "and I doubt either of you know how to sail."