The Eye of Everfell

by Bard Constantine

  Leilavin pointed. "Go, quickly. Place your hands on the stone, and Eymunder will be yours."

  Nyori hesitated. "I don't even know what Eymunder is. You have to be able to tell me something."

  Leilavin looked around as though expecting a sudden attack, her bloodless face half-covered by her cowl. "Eymunder is a powerful fusorb that was hidden from your world for ages. Once it aided the most powerful of the Elious. There is no time to say more, child. You must have been ushered here for a purpose. If you do not act, many will suffer for your lack of courage."

  Nyori took a deep breath. "Is this some sort of test, then? Is that why the Eye brought me here?"

  Leilavin regarded her coldly, impatience burning in her eyes. "This is no test, child. I am at the last of my resources. My realm is under attack. You appeared from nowhere, at the time of my greatest need. Perhaps this is providence. But you must act swiftly, or the two of us will die very soon. The Pale Lord is not known for his mercy."

  Nyori expanded her senses, trying to read what she could of the other woman. She had been taught to feel for intentions, whether a person meant to help or harm. But she could not read anything from Leilavin. It was dizzying even to try, as though the focus vanished in the sucking whirlpool of Leilavin's presence.

  Once the path is taken, there is no turning back. Norna's words whispered in the back of Nyori's mind. All she knew was the Pool had taken her into Everfell. The same waters stood in front of her. If it was the only way back...

  She hesitantly stepped into the blue water. The sensation was as the Pool back home–dry though wet, tingling as though seeping inside of her. She waded to the slab and stepped up onto the stone platform. The slab was smooth and glassy as though polished. Glyphs were carved around the lip, unreadable runes that seemed to murmur just beyond her understanding. The dark, liquid sky reflected across its glossy surface.

  "Place your hands on the stone," Leilavin said.

  Nyori followed the instructions. The stone hummed, warming at her touch. The Glyphs glowed like molten gold across the table's face. Nyori's fingers were pulled with irresistible force, latching to the surface as though her skin melded with the stone. She immediately panicked, trying to tear her hands free. To her dismay it was useless. There was a better chance of ripping her hands from her wrists than detaching them from the slab. She looked frantically over her shoulder.

  Leilavin smiled. "Almost there, child. Calm yourself. You will able to claim Eymunder soon. Look." She pointed.

  Nyori turned back to the table. A perfect circle opened in its center. What emerged from the cavity was a slender rod about the length of Nyori's forearm. It appeared to be glassy crystal, topped by a small orb of amber.

  "Quickly. Take the staff, child!"

  Nyori almost staggered when her hands were unexpectedly freed from their imprisonment. She flexed her fingers experimentally but didn't see any damage done. She hesitantly reached for the rod, but the table was too tall. Eymunder lay inches from her grasp.

  "I can't...reach it."

  "You must," Leilavin said. "The staff belongs to you. You have to claim it."

  Nyori stretched desperately, but the crystal rod still lay out of reach.

  Lightning forked across the ebony ocean above them. The flickering lights became agitated, scattering across the surface as though Everfell itself shuddered in fear.

  "Hurry. The Pale Lord is close." Leilavin's voice thickened with dread.

  Nyori cleared her mind as she did when Shifting. She focused on the rod. Only the rod. Not on the distance between it and her fingers, but in her grasp.

  The glassy wand slid across the surface into her waiting fingers.

  Liquid fire laced across her hands and forearms as soon as Eymunder touched her, burning patterns of Glyphs into her flesh as if tattooed there by lightning. She barely had time to register the heat before the symbols melded into her skin. Gasping, she stared at the fading characters, which pulsed in time with her rapidly beating heart before they slowly faded away as if never there.

  Leilavin was at her side in an instant, so quickly that Nyori hadn't seen her cross the waters. Her face was exultant; her irises beamed scarlet light from the shadows of her cowl. "Eymunder has bonded to you, implausible as it seems. You have prevented a tragedy, child. But now you must leave this place, or our efforts are for naught."

  Nyori clutched the crystal rod to her chest. "Bonded–what does that mean? I–"

  "Leilavin!"

  The voice that roared the name was ragged but strong. Nyori turned and saw a man staggering toward them.

  At least she thought he was a man. He could have been Leilavin's brother: his face was nearly as bloodless and bore similar fine-boned features. But where her eyes were rubies, his were sapphires; shimmering and cold as frozen lakes. His armor appeared to be beaten sheets of silver chased in ivory, once wondrous but now scarred and battered, stained in blood and muddy earth. His face and long silver hair were sullied as well, haggard and worn from pain and exhaustion. Every step he took seemed to take great effort, as though flesh had failed him and he stood upright solely from some inner defiance or indomitable will.

  A torrent of rain dropped from the sky at his appearance, immediately soaking them to the bone. Nyori did not need Leilavin to name him. She already knew who he was.

  The Pale Lord.

  Nyori's breath caught at the sight of the naked sword in his fist. It was a sword of minstrel's tales, a weapon that belonged to warriors and kings of myth and legend. The blade was long and edged on one side, slightly curved to give it a graceful appearance. The blade's surface was blue-tinted and reflective as rippling sheets of glittering ice. Unreadable Glyphs were etched across it in gold. An obsidian orb centered the crosspiece, darker than any black Nyori had ever seen.

  "I have destroyed your Reavers," the Pale Lord said, his eyes fixed on Leilavin. "They will torment my people no longer. I met them on the high passes and cut their numbers in half. Those that remained to guard this Threshold sought to ambush me as I arrived. Their husks lie outside the gates. All of their might was nothing against the bearer of Mothros." He hefted the sword, which flashed like liquid starlight.

  "At what price, Alaric?" Leilavin stood in front of Nyori protectively. Her silken robes clung to her slim form, soaked through by the downpour. "That blade had a different name once. The Paladin cast it aside when it was called Nemon. The Shadow Prince corrupted it soon after, dubbing it Mothros, the Devourer of Souls. It feeds on a single soul now. Look at your hair. Your skin. It has fed well on your essence. Soon all of you will be lost."

  Alaric's face contorted in heated rage, though his words were spoken between vapor-clouded breaths, exposing his fatigue. "My soul is strong enough. Enough to finish your Reavers. Enough to force my way into your aether-realm and claim what is mine."

  "Eymunder is not yours, Alaric. And it never will be."

  Alaric drew close enough for Nyori to see the blue veins that crisscrossed his face beneath the almost transparent skin. His features appeared to have once been handsome, but now his bones pushed against the flesh, molding his face into a living skull. He looked like a dead man except for his glimmering eyes.

  "My claim is as good as yours, Leilavin. You deceived my people with your fickle promises. You have cursed our existence, but I will redeem us. The price I paid to wield Mothros was not merely to slay your Reavers. It was to bring me here, to your sanctum. Eymunder is the salvation of my people, and I will have it. Step aside."

  Leilavin's voice was almost smug. "You know I cannot wield the staff. But Eymunder has been claimed." She pulled Nyori forward, placing her lily-white hands on Nyori's shoulders. "A descendant of the Elious has claim by right of blood. You cannot deny it, Alaric."

  Nyori expected Alaric to explode with rage, but he only gazed at her with his glimmering eyes. She thought she saw sadness there, almost hidden in the smoldering blue fires.

  He returned his gaze to Leilavin. "I expected you to
have a last act of deceit, Leilavin. It would be so unlike you to surrender without one. You expect me to walk away because this waif has claimed Eymunder? What good will it do her? Her people have forgotten the ways of Apokrypy and know nothing of the Crafts. They are only shadows of whispers, sparks that flicker briefly and die when expelled from the fire."

  He gazed at the iridescent sword in his fist. "What is one more life taken compared to the black deeds I have already done? Her death is inconsequential; a mere hastening into what is already inevitable. It means nothing to me. I expected better of you, Leilavin."

  He turned his gaze to Nyori. She saw the fatal verdict in his sapphire eyes.

  Leilavin shoved her forward. "Go, child!"

  Nyori opened her mouth, but she was already falling. She caught sight of the rage and confusion on Alaric's face as he stretched out his hand to her.

  She tumbled into the blue-frosted waters of the Pool.

  The waters that had only been knee-deep were suddenly fathomless. They flashed as they swallowed her. A monstrous undertow yanked her; streaks of inverted light whipped by as she was pulled at impossible speeds, ever faster until the water glistened like liquid glass. The Eye of Everfell drew nearer, filling her vision, only this time it was aflame, searing in spite of the waters that surrounded it. The stone melted like heated wax, tears of melted stone flowed into the flagstones. The Eye saw through her, into her, before her body rushed toward her, or she rushed toward her body. She Shifted in wild desperation...

  Time unfroze as she emerged from the pool with a roaring gasp. Daggers of fire stabbed her lungs; liquid spewed from her mouth as she flailed before sinking again. Shocked, urgent voices became audible.

  "There! She came up there!"

  "How could she..."

  "Grab her before she sinks again!"

  "Where did she..."

  "That's it! Hold her..."

  Gentle arms supported her. She was lifted, only half aware the chamber was now crowded with Shama and Shado, their male counterparts. One of the Ternion sisters spoke in a commanding voice, great and terrible.

  "You will not disobey the laws of this place, no matter what the cause! Leave matters in our hands before you blight this chamber with your trespass."

  Anxious and confused voices smothered the air with questions as the others obeyed, but the only voice Nyori focused on was Norna's, cool and soothing in her ears.

  "That's it. Just breathe, Nyori. You're going to be all right."

  It hurt just to move, to open her mouth to ask. "What happened, Mother Ternion?"

  Norna's eyes were troubled. "You vanished. We don't know where you went. Or how you got back. All we know is after you disappeared, things changed within the Eye."

  "What...what do you mean? What changed?"

  Then she felt it. The weight of Eymunder tugged like a bar of iron in her hand. She painfully lifted her arm to gaze at the crystallized wand.

  Norna looked at her pityingly. "Everything, Nyori. Everything has changed."

  Chapter 3: Marcellus

  You are summoned. Come at once.

  The message awaited Marcellus Admorran as he rode in from the pasture with Alexia laughing delightedly in his lap. Despite her tender age of four, she adored horses. Even Shadowdancer seemed only a plaything to her, regardless of the stallion's fearsome size and temperament. Alexia had begged to ride until Marcellus finally relented. The day was warm for the autumn season, the wind mild as it whisked through her red-gold hair. Her excited squeals brought laughter to his heart as he remembered the first time he rode a horse, so many years ago. Shadowdancer had trotted as though stepping on clouds.

  It ended too soon.

  Evelina waited at the stables with a young, blue-coated courier in tow. She smiled, but worry clouded her eyes. Marcellus placed Alexia in her arms as he dismounted and turned to the courier, who handed him the small scroll with a salute.

  Marcellus dismissed the lad with a gesture. "See Master Huib for your coin, boy."

  The lad nodded and dashed off. Marcellus turned the scroll over. A rearing lion topped by a crown pressed into the blot of wax that sealed it.

  "The king's own standard."

  He broke it and read the words. Looking up, he met Evelina's eyes. She held Alexia to her. Both gazed at him with identical somber expressions.

  Evelina nodded. "Go."

  SHADOWDANCER'S MUSCLES churned as the stallion galloped down the darkened path. Trees and brush became insubstantial blurs, but the unease Marcellus tried to ignore only grew more distinct. It wasn't as though he hadn't been called to the Royal Palace many times before; there were endless invitations to banquets and tourneys that requested his presence. The difference was those invitations were all issued by the king's secretary. The words on the scroll were hastily scrawled, but he recognized the king's handwriting. Questions fluttered in his mind like startled doves as Shadowdancer hurtled through the night.

  Marcellus arrived as the morning rays bathed the mountains. The shopkeepers were just opening their doors, and the sweep boys worked their brooms on the cobbled streets. Only a few glanced up as Shadowdancer trotted up the road to the Royal Palace.

  He paused only to see Shadowdancer was stabled properly before reporting to the king.

  The doors to the Grand Hall were usually open, but two men garbed in the sturdy blue and gold tabards of the Imperial Guard stepped forward as he approached. With formal severity, they crossed their silver-gilded halberds to bar his path. Marcellus once knew every man of the Guard, but the pair in front of him were strangers. Their eyes glowered from beneath their crested helms.

  Before he could open his mouth, a familiar voice spoke up.

  "Easy, lads. Know that the man you seek to obstruct is Marcellus Admorran, Champion of Kaerleon."

  Rodell Pariot wore a wry smile. Though several years older than Marcellus, only a few strands of silver lined his neatly trimmed coif and goatee. The streaming sunlight from the high windows caused the Golden Lions on his high collar to shine, as did the crowned shield on the left breast of his gleaming cuirass, marking him Captain of the Imperial Guard.

  As the guards fell back stammering apologies, Marcellus clapped Rodell on the back. "Rodell, I almost did not recognize you. I see you have traded the black for white."

  Rodell gave a good-natured laugh as he adjusted the cuffs of his richly embroidered ivory doublet. "I have indeed. I no longer have to deal with blood or mud stains as I did when serving as a Ranger. White suits me well, I think. I apologize for my men. It's been some time since Marcellus Admorran has graced these halls. See what happens when you neglect your social obligations? It appears your legend is more familiar than your face these days."

  Marcellus waved a dismissive hand. "I came as quickly as I could. Yet not even in my haste could I ignore that the mood is dark inside these walls. The king has not taken ill, has he?"

  Rodell's smile never slipped, but his eyes flicked toward the guards, who had returned to their original stations. "Nothing of the kind. The days are odd, Marcellus, as are the whims of the king. Seeing you should lift his spirits, so let us not tarry."

  As they passed out of earshot, Rodell's cheerful demeanor toppled. "You have been sorely missed. His Majesty has not been himself of late, and many are concerned, myself chief among them."

  Marcellus frowned as their footsteps echoed loudly. The Hall was usually thick with servants, messengers, and petitioners. Now it stretched from door to door with an almost mocking emptiness.

  "I have just arrived, and I find myself concerned. You have a hundred other duties to attend to, yet I find you guarding the Hall. What is Lucretius thinking?"

  Rodell shrugged lightly. "Thinking appears to be the problem. Having me on guard duty is the least of his eccentrics. Did you know he has recalled the sentinels from the Bruallian borders?"

  Marcellus frowned. "I did not. We have always maintained a strong presence on the border. Bruallian raiders constantly wish to test our stre
ngth. Has he given a reason?"

  "None. He has refused to see the emissaries from Epanos and Runet. Instead, he allows them to be insulted and sent back to their kingdoms with even more reason to chafe at their treaties with us. All the while strangers come under cover of darkness and are given instant audiences with his Royal Majesty."

  "Strangers?"

  "Yes." Rodell's expression was grim. "None know who they are, or where they hail from. Secretive types who speak to none but him. He even dismisses his counselors. He is rarely seen in the day any longer. He roams all night wandering the corridors like a specter, frightening the servants and talking to the air. He may have become mentally unhinged. It sometimes happens to men like him when the strain becomes more than they can bear."

  Marcellus scrubbed his closely cropped beard. "I do not like the sound of this, but I cannot imagine Lucretius gone mad. Perhaps these strangers are the cause of his changing disposition. If they are, I would know the why of it."

  Rodell nodded. "You are the man to find out, for certain. But we approach other ears, so let us say no more."

  Several guardsmen lined the walls, but it was the Doorkeeper that stood before them. Harlin Masters was not at all tall, and his blue uniform strained around his portly form. The heavy material made him appear even more rotund, but unlike the others, he wore no armor. His black leather jerkin bore the crest of his position; two swords crossed over a crown.

  Harlin's heavy-jowled face bore little expression as he regarded them. Then again, nothing seemed to interest or impress Harlin much. Perhaps that was why he was a natural choice for such a job.

  "Who wishes to seek an audience with the king?" His voice boomed throughout the corridor. His right hand was on the pommel of the rapier at his side. Despite his bulk, he could move with surprising swiftness. Marcellus once witnessed Harlin strike a man faster than the eye could follow. An instantly fatal toxin laced the rapier's edge, the reward for any who tried to test his resolve.

  Rodell followed protocol. "Imperial Captain Rodell Pariot, along with Sir Marcellus Admorran, Champion of Kaerleon, First Knight of the Lion Guard, and Lord of Royan."