The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) by James Maxwell
Authors: James Maxwell
Tags: epic fantasy, action and adventure
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lined the walls. Layla followed. "The situation at the Halrana border is growing desperate, High Lord," Miro said. "We must divert some of the men from the Petryan border to the east."
"Yet you held," Rorelan said, "and I'm assuming it's safe to discuss this in front of your guest?"
Miro reddened. "Yes, yes of course. High Lord, this is Layla of the Dunfolk."
"The Loralayalanasa," Layla said primly.
"It is a pleasure, Layla of the Loralayalanasa," Rorelan smiled down at her.
"Yes, High Lord, we held. However the enemy's numbers are growing greater, just as ours are falling. We've questioned the prisoners we've taken. They're sending more men here, in a constant stream. When that stream becomes a river, they will push straight through to Sarostar."
High Lord Rorelan sighed. "I hear you, Miro, but it is a matter of balancing risks. When that stream becomes a river, let me know, and I will listen."
"By then it will be too late!"
"Marshal Scola has two divisions in the south, you have ten divisions in the east, and that's how it will stay until something drastically changes…"
"What about the north?" Layla asked.
High Lord Rorelan turned to Layla. "I'm sorry?"
"These men in black, we can hold them back," Layla said, "and those in orange also. But there are two demons that fight with them, like living trees. Our arrows do nothing against trees. We have lost many of my people to these demons."
"The Veznans are moving south," Miro said. "Orange is their colour."
"Which makes the demons nightshades," Rorelan said. "Scratch it, yet another thing for us to worry about. The cultivators have been quiet since the Sutanesta. I was beginning to hope that Raj Vezna's part in this war was done, and perhaps Dimitri Corizon had learnt some restraint. They've always kept to themselves in the past."
"Their High Lord has the taint," Miro said. "I saw Dimitri Corizon turned with my own eyes."
"Will you help us?" Layla asked.
"Of course," Miro said.
"And how do you intend to do that?" Rorelan demanded. "You'll never get men from the south here in time, and you told me yourself that the east is barely holding."
"High Lord, Layla's people saved us. Now they need our help."
"I know that! But like Beorn, they're just going to have to hold."
Miro pictured the small Dunfolk, gentle in nature, hunters who hid in the forest. Nightshades would tear them to pieces.
"I'll go myself."
"Miro, no," High Lord Rorelan said flatly.
"Beorn is an able commander, and he has four bladesingers with him."
"I said no! You're needed here. Your position takes precedence, Miro. People always say bladesingers are accustomed to too much freedom to make good soldiers. Free will is the last trait a commander can have. Do you hear me? You are confusing your responsibilities."
Miro turned his dark eyes on Rorelan. "We owe the Dunfolk a debt. I'm going." He followed Layla from the room, turning and speaking one last time over his shoulder. "But I'll be back."
11
M IRO sat still and silent, once more looking over water and waiting for the enemy to arrive. Yet this time was different: where before the river had been wide, with earthen banks to either side, this tributary of the Sarsen was narrower, and on both sides the thick bushes grew all the way to the water's edge. And rather than night, it was early afternoon. This time Miro would see his enemy.
Next to him, Layla sat with her eyes closed, resting in the bushes, her bow across her lap. There was a time when Miro would have wondered at her ability to sleep when in the next hour her life might be taken from her, but that was long past, and Miro knew the value of snatched sleep.
He considered trying to rest himself, but his nerves were taut and his senses heightened by fear. Fighting legionnaires was one thing, but nightshades were altogether different.
Miro had never actually run up against one, but he'd seen two bladesingers take on a single nightshade at the battle at the Bridge of
"Yet you held," Rorelan said, "and I'm assuming it's safe to discuss this in front of your guest?"
Miro reddened. "Yes, yes of course. High Lord, this is Layla of the Dunfolk."
"The Loralayalanasa," Layla said primly.
"It is a pleasure, Layla of the Loralayalanasa," Rorelan smiled down at her.
"Yes, High Lord, we held. However the enemy's numbers are growing greater, just as ours are falling. We've questioned the prisoners we've taken. They're sending more men here, in a constant stream. When that stream becomes a river, they will push straight through to Sarostar."
High Lord Rorelan sighed. "I hear you, Miro, but it is a matter of balancing risks. When that stream becomes a river, let me know, and I will listen."
"By then it will be too late!"
"Marshal Scola has two divisions in the south, you have ten divisions in the east, and that's how it will stay until something drastically changes…"
"What about the north?" Layla asked.
High Lord Rorelan turned to Layla. "I'm sorry?"
"These men in black, we can hold them back," Layla said, "and those in orange also. But there are two demons that fight with them, like living trees. Our arrows do nothing against trees. We have lost many of my people to these demons."
"The Veznans are moving south," Miro said. "Orange is their colour."
"Which makes the demons nightshades," Rorelan said. "Scratch it, yet another thing for us to worry about. The cultivators have been quiet since the Sutanesta. I was beginning to hope that Raj Vezna's part in this war was done, and perhaps Dimitri Corizon had learnt some restraint. They've always kept to themselves in the past."
"Their High Lord has the taint," Miro said. "I saw Dimitri Corizon turned with my own eyes."
"Will you help us?" Layla asked.
"Of course," Miro said.
"And how do you intend to do that?" Rorelan demanded. "You'll never get men from the south here in time, and you told me yourself that the east is barely holding."
"High Lord, Layla's people saved us. Now they need our help."
"I know that! But like Beorn, they're just going to have to hold."
Miro pictured the small Dunfolk, gentle in nature, hunters who hid in the forest. Nightshades would tear them to pieces.
"I'll go myself."
"Miro, no," High Lord Rorelan said flatly.
"Beorn is an able commander, and he has four bladesingers with him."
"I said no! You're needed here. Your position takes precedence, Miro. People always say bladesingers are accustomed to too much freedom to make good soldiers. Free will is the last trait a commander can have. Do you hear me? You are confusing your responsibilities."
Miro turned his dark eyes on Rorelan. "We owe the Dunfolk a debt. I'm going." He followed Layla from the room, turning and speaking one last time over his shoulder. "But I'll be back."
11
M IRO sat still and silent, once more looking over water and waiting for the enemy to arrive. Yet this time was different: where before the river had been wide, with earthen banks to either side, this tributary of the Sarsen was narrower, and on both sides the thick bushes grew all the way to the water's edge. And rather than night, it was early afternoon. This time Miro would see his enemy.
Next to him, Layla sat with her eyes closed, resting in the bushes, her bow across her lap. There was a time when Miro would have wondered at her ability to sleep when in the next hour her life might be taken from her, but that was long past, and Miro knew the value of snatched sleep.
He considered trying to rest himself, but his nerves were taut and his senses heightened by fear. Fighting legionnaires was one thing, but nightshades were altogether different.
Miro had never actually run up against one, but he'd seen two bladesingers take on a single nightshade at the battle at the Bridge of
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