The Hidden Relic (The Evermen Saga, Book Two) Read Online Free
Author: James Maxwell
Tags: epic fantasy, action and adventure
man's throat, while the man regarded him back with coal-dark eyes. The man tried to sit up, and when Tapel pushed him back down as his mother had instructed, the stranger was too weak to protest.
Tapel's mother was always telling Tapel what to do and what not to do, when it came to the stranger. She was out a lot of the time, so it was often Tapel who took care of him.
It was only fair, Tapel supposed. It was he who had found the stranger, after all.
~
T HE armies of Altura and Halaran had met the Black Army just outside Ranalast, in a great collision of men and steel in the now-ravaged land that had once been low farmland, gentle hillocks and forested copses.
Like so many others, Tapel and his mother, Amelia, had prayed for their countrymen and their Alturan allies. Ralanast had been occupied for weeks, and all knew the attempt to liberate the Halrana capital from the ruthless soldiers of the imperial legion was a desperate gamble.
The explosions and screams could be heard throughout the day, from all quarters of Ralanast, from the dusty masons' quarter to the deserted market district. The Halrana who had stayed in their capital and not attempted the frantic flight to Altura gathered in front of the Terra Cathedral, old men and women with small children peacefully demonstrating their wish for their occupiers to leave. The legionnaires dispersed the crowd with pikes and blood-drenched swords.
Legasa Telmarran, High Lord of Halaran, and Prince Leopold of Altura fought bravely. Then, in the afternoon word arrived that the army of Alturans and Halrana was surrounded. High Lord Legasa asked for quarter, but none was given. The encirclement grew tighter, and the butchery began.
Tapel's mother had cried, and Tapel had held her hand, not sure what else to do. By nightfall, the battle was over. Some soldiers had escaped, bursting out of the enemy's net in leaderless groups, but Ralanast's last chance at freedom was over. High Lord Legasa was dead, killed in battle. Prince Leopold had fled the field.
The Black Army were here to stay.
Tapel's mother was starving, her arms growing thin and the skin of her cheeks tight like a drum. Tapel could now encircle her waist with one arm when he hugged her, and her golden hair, usually the colour of wheat in the summer, was showing more than a third grey. Tapel hadn't eaten a proper meal in as long as he could remember, and the gnawing in his stomach had become truly painful. He and his mother had long ago sold every item of jewellery, traded every last winter coat and pair of boots. Tapel knew Amelia was feeding him more than she took herself, but he couldn't help eating the food she put in front of him, and he felt guilt every time his stomach rumbled.
So,the day after the battle, Tapel did what all the other boys were doing: he went to the battlefield to search the corpses of the dead.
It was worse than he could ever have imagined. Much, much worse.
Corpses littered the field, interspersed with the familiar shapes of constructs, from charred woodmen to a shattered colossus, dwarfing the hill it had made its final resting place.
Tingaran legionnaires in black lay entangled with brown-clad Halrana pikemen. The green of the Alturan dead spotted the landscape like withered plants. The colour red was shared by all, although exposure to the air had oxidised the blood to a dark, evil shade.
The field stank, the worst smell Tapel had ever encountered. Men had voided their bowels, and had their guts ripped open by swords, their heads smashed and bodies broken. The carrion birds had started to feast, and as Tapel picked his way through the carnage, he disturbed a crow as it feasted on the matter in a Halrana soldier's skull.
Tapel wondered if the young man had left a family behind, and suddenly he was sick, falling to the earth and heaving up the contents of his stomach violently and painfully. He closed his eyes as his throat constricted, trying to use the darkness to blot out
Tapel's mother was always telling Tapel what to do and what not to do, when it came to the stranger. She was out a lot of the time, so it was often Tapel who took care of him.
It was only fair, Tapel supposed. It was he who had found the stranger, after all.
~
T HE armies of Altura and Halaran had met the Black Army just outside Ranalast, in a great collision of men and steel in the now-ravaged land that had once been low farmland, gentle hillocks and forested copses.
Like so many others, Tapel and his mother, Amelia, had prayed for their countrymen and their Alturan allies. Ralanast had been occupied for weeks, and all knew the attempt to liberate the Halrana capital from the ruthless soldiers of the imperial legion was a desperate gamble.
The explosions and screams could be heard throughout the day, from all quarters of Ralanast, from the dusty masons' quarter to the deserted market district. The Halrana who had stayed in their capital and not attempted the frantic flight to Altura gathered in front of the Terra Cathedral, old men and women with small children peacefully demonstrating their wish for their occupiers to leave. The legionnaires dispersed the crowd with pikes and blood-drenched swords.
Legasa Telmarran, High Lord of Halaran, and Prince Leopold of Altura fought bravely. Then, in the afternoon word arrived that the army of Alturans and Halrana was surrounded. High Lord Legasa asked for quarter, but none was given. The encirclement grew tighter, and the butchery began.
Tapel's mother had cried, and Tapel had held her hand, not sure what else to do. By nightfall, the battle was over. Some soldiers had escaped, bursting out of the enemy's net in leaderless groups, but Ralanast's last chance at freedom was over. High Lord Legasa was dead, killed in battle. Prince Leopold had fled the field.
The Black Army were here to stay.
Tapel's mother was starving, her arms growing thin and the skin of her cheeks tight like a drum. Tapel could now encircle her waist with one arm when he hugged her, and her golden hair, usually the colour of wheat in the summer, was showing more than a third grey. Tapel hadn't eaten a proper meal in as long as he could remember, and the gnawing in his stomach had become truly painful. He and his mother had long ago sold every item of jewellery, traded every last winter coat and pair of boots. Tapel knew Amelia was feeding him more than she took herself, but he couldn't help eating the food she put in front of him, and he felt guilt every time his stomach rumbled.
So,the day after the battle, Tapel did what all the other boys were doing: he went to the battlefield to search the corpses of the dead.
It was worse than he could ever have imagined. Much, much worse.
Corpses littered the field, interspersed with the familiar shapes of constructs, from charred woodmen to a shattered colossus, dwarfing the hill it had made its final resting place.
Tingaran legionnaires in black lay entangled with brown-clad Halrana pikemen. The green of the Alturan dead spotted the landscape like withered plants. The colour red was shared by all, although exposure to the air had oxidised the blood to a dark, evil shade.
The field stank, the worst smell Tapel had ever encountered. Men had voided their bowels, and had their guts ripped open by swords, their heads smashed and bodies broken. The carrion birds had started to feast, and as Tapel picked his way through the carnage, he disturbed a crow as it feasted on the matter in a Halrana soldier's skull.
Tapel wondered if the young man had left a family behind, and suddenly he was sick, falling to the earth and heaving up the contents of his stomach violently and painfully. He closed his eyes as his throat constricted, trying to use the darkness to blot out
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