The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) by James Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page A

faster without having to construct a tower: the lore depended on a fair line of sight. She took a pyramid of quartz from her workbag: a primary reflector that could be activated rather than a link in the chain. Ella then removed essence, gloves, and a scrill for fusing the reflector in place, and set to work.

    The observatory was lit on all sides by the fierce afternoon sun by the time Ella was finished and had completed her tests. The Hazaran elders—the keepers of their lore—were quick to grasp the way the reflectors functioned. At any rate, they would only need to know the activation sequences to call for help. If another house called, the color that sparked within the pyramid-shaped prism would say enough.
    With a relieved sigh, Ella thanked the elders and put her tools away as they left.
    Only then did she remember the banquet.
    “Scratch it,” Ella said under her breath. She was playing two roles at once: enchantress and diplomat. She couldn’t let one suffer for the other.
    Another steward encountered Ella at the bottom of the steps leading down from the observatory tower. “Ah, Enchantress, we’ve been looking for you. The kalif awaits your presence.”
    Ella groaned and glanced down at her plain clothing. With a sigh, she followed the steward through the palace to a raised terrace overlooking the bustling city below. Even from this height Ella could hear the cries of the hawkers in the streets, though the sound was partly drowned by men’s laughter and the clinking of plates and glasses. She wished she wasn’t late; all eyes would be on her.
    A long banquet table stretched to fill the terrace. Servants poured red wine and whirled away with empty dishes. As she approached from behind, Ella saw Ilathor’s broad back while Jehral sat at his right hand. On Jehral’s other side a woman turned and Ella caught Zohra’s eyes on her. Ella smiled in greeting, but Zohra didn’t smile back.
    The steward indicated the empty seat at Ilathor’s left hand. Evidently this was where Ella was supposed to sit.
    Ilathor and Jehral stood as they noticed Ella’s arrival, and she blushed when the rest of the Hazaran men followed suit. Seeing their elaborate costumes, with the men looking regal in black and yellow silk and the women beautiful in sweeping pale dresses, Ella wished she’d taken the time to return to her chambers to change, even at the risk of being further late. Here she was, hot and sweating , coming straight from the endless observatory steps.
    “May I present Ella Torresante of Altura, the sister of the high lord and an Academy-trained enchantress,” the kalif said. “We owe her everything, for she helped us regain our lore and take back our rightful place among the houses. We owe our conquest of Petrya to Ella, and I ask that everyone make her welcome.”
    Ella smiled, feeling her cheeks flush as she took the seat proffered to her while the men resumed their places. The kalif rattled off a series of introductions, with Ella nodding so many times she felt like a puppet on strings, knowing she would never remember any of the names.
    The man to her left, a heavyset tarn leader with curled moustaches , spoke as if resuming a heated discussion. “As I said, Kalif, we have finally achieved stability. If this force comes from across the sea, what use would they have for the desert?” He turned to Ella. “Perhaps, Enchantress, you could shed light for us?”
    “Saran, please,” Ilathor smiled, “leave her alone. This is supposed to be a banquet.”
    “No,” another man spoke. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
    Ilathor sighed wearily and nodded to Ella.
    Ella chose her words carefully, thinking of reasoning these practical men would understand. She’d evidently arrived at an important time. “First, let me ask you a question,” she addressed Saran, the man on her left. “Are you entirely self-sufficient in the desert?”
    “Well,” Saran harrumphed, “not entirely. We mine gold, and gold