Vivienne's lip curled. "Alaric. Has anyone seen him outside of Aceldama in ages? He huddles in his glittering city, chasing dreams while we shape the world according to his whims. The High Lady has the right of it. Let him dream on while we make our presence known to those who should have never forgotten us."
Anon leaned back, staring out the window again. "You know that Murdon must be dead. He stayed behind, but we would have heard from him by now. Perhaps the Shama slew him. Eymunder is a powerful tool, even to one as limited as a human."
"Or perhaps he fell into a gorge and froze himself solid," Vivienne said with a coy smile. "The Dragonspine, as they call it, has ever been perilous. And ever full of Banestone..." She shuddered, though Anon wasn't fooled. He supposed anyone who called this woman afraid would get their heart handed to them for their trouble.
Her tone grew serious. "Whatever the case, Murdon's failure is only a temporary setback. He and his band may have lost the Shama, but she cannot hide forever. Our Thralls are in every corner of this land. There is nowhere that she can go undetected. And once we capture her, Eymunder will be ours for the taking."
Anon frowned. "I thought that the bind between Eymunder and its wielder couldn't be severed. Even should she be killed, it will not bond to another."
Vivienne crossed one shapely leg over the other, displaying the intricate patterns on her constricted ebony stockings. "There are ways, dear Anon. There are always ways..."
Anon smiled. Vivienne would not share her knowledge, but her confidence was enough. She headed the operation in Kaerleon as a trusted vassal of the High Lady. Under her management, Kaerleon fell silently to its knees. The king was mad, and all those he trusted sent to their deaths, including the beloved Champion, Marcellus Admorran. Seeds of further chaos would soon bear fruit, and the Lion Kingdom would fall.
Anon considered it an enormous stroke of luck to have been sent to aid Vivienne. Since he arrived, he had worked diligently at every given task until he became her trusted second. And together they were on the verge of success that would cause them to advance in the High Lady's ranks even faster.
"It is beautiful, is it not?" Vivienne's black-lacquered nails tapped the window. "To move about in the day like this without the sunlight stunting our powers." Her smile widened. "This carriage is a wonderful gift from the High Lady. Just for this alone, I would serve her."
"Remember, it's just a loan," Anon said. "And we are all the more vulnerable in the open like this. A simple crack, an open door could make us just as weak and useless as they." He gestured to the crowds around them.
She was right though. He had scarcely seen the daylight since he received the Gift. Everything looked different by day. Everything glowed.
Vivienne laughed again, leaning forward to place her hand on his knee.
"Anon dear, you must learn to appreciate the moment. We may have forever, but that does not mean we have to miss the simple pleasures. And this," she leaned back against the luxuriously cushioned seat. "—is a rare pleasure indeed."
She lifted a crystal glass from its holding place by her side and gazed at him from under her thick lashes. "Now pour me a drink."
Laughing, Anon lifted the matching stein and poured the aged Runet wine for her. As the carriage rolled onto the fabled Auric Bridge, he caught sight of the same pair he had noticed earlier. It was hard to tell, but the woman's face was close to the description: young, with golden brown hair braided down her back. Could it be...?
He shook his head. Vivienne was right—the girl could be anywhere, but surely she could not have made it all the way to Kaerleon. There was nothing for her there. He saw ghosts in the fog, creating the image of the Shama because he wanted it to be her. Better to concentrate on what was in front of him. As Vivienne said, better to appreciate the moment.
He met her eyes with a smile. Snow continued to drift down as the brilliant carriage continued on its way toward the shining city of Kaerleon.
Chapter 20: Marcellus
Heavy snow fell as Marcellus crossed the Auric Bridge. Besides an icy and almost certainly fatal swim across the choppy Bay of Lions, it was the only way to enter Leodia. Although the bridge spanned nearly seventy paces across, it was thick with steady traffic that forced him to move at the pace of the masses that traveled in and out of the island.
The Auric was a remnant from the Age of Illumination, when the Aelon still dwelt alongside men. It appeared as if constructed from a single unit of pure frosted glass, connected only at the ends where the bridge met the opposite land masses. There was not a single ridge to disturb a foot or wagon wheel, and despite appearing to be slick as ice, it provided sure footing.
Nyori was wrapped in silence as she rode beside him. Her head swiveled as she took in the sights of Kaerleon for the first time. She kept her thoughts inward, not bothering to speak of surely had to be wondrous to her. She had been subdued ever since the unfortunate incident in Parand. It was not the first time they had encountered raiding parties on the long trek back. The roads were thick with bandits taking advantage of Leodia's disarray. The Shama didn't understand that talk would not sway such men. Marcellus knew better, but somehow her soundless disapproval irritated him like an itch he couldn't scratch.
He should have heeded her warning to avoid the main road, but he had not wanted to slow down. Because of his stubbornness, he had to kill those men. The Shama had amazing powers of perception, something he had not truly believed until she had proven herself right time and again. She had other powers as well. What had happened in the wild...
HIS EYES SNAPPED OPEN. Light flooded his vision, and something terrible howled around him. He shielded his eyes. It took seconds to realize a massive storm rumbled all around, yet the rain didn't touch him. Lightning struck everywhere in rapid succession, tearing the brush and small trees apart in sizzling pieces.
Nyori stood in the midst of it all, bathed golden in the light of her upraised staff. Tiny Glyphs patterned her arms and hands, tattoos of light that shimmered from her skin. Her face was tilted upward, her eyes closed, her face lustrous. Her hair and clothes flailed in the wind, but she didn't appear to notice. The storm raged around them, but Nyori stood undaunted as if the gale were hers to command.
Fire writhed across Marcellus' chest. He stared disbelievingly at the runes that blazed across his skin as if painted by the lightning...
MARCELLUS GAVE NYORI a sidelong glance. The cryptic characters had quickly faded from his skin and disappeared. He still wasn't sure what she had done, or if much of what he'd seen had been a fever dream right before awakening. But he had been different since that moment. He rarely felt tired, and when he moved against the bandits, it was as if he felt the storm inside of him. He flowed like the wind, faster than he ever had in his life. He felt alive as though for the first time.
Nyori hadn't explained anything except that she'd restored him to full health. When he tried to press the issue, she told him that she was forbidden to reveal the secrets of the Sha.
There wasn't much he could say to that.
A pair of Jaferians rode beside them. Thick headdresses covered their heads and fell to their shoulders. Tasseled cloaks made of sheep's wool draped over their robes, and each had the customary curved scimitar strapped to their saddles. The nearest one rode a testy Barbar, who stretched out to nip at Marcellus' horse. The rider jerked the reins in time and murmured an apology.
Marcellus nodded and rode on. In his mind he saw Shadowdancer once again, body pierced with arrows, struggling to rise...
No. I won't think of that right now. All that matters is getting home.
They passed merchant wagons from Runet and Jafeh, lords and ladies in their carriages from Parand and Doric, a train of soldiers on foot in from their patrol, and a crowd of Norlanders who roared and shouted loud enough to be heard over everything else.
Marcellus rode without notice; his face lost under his wide hood. His concentration only slipped once, while passing a gleaming carriage. The entir
e coach was lacquered in white, even the wheels which whirred silently on the road. The windows were reflective, burnished like mirrors and impossible to see into. A hunched, dwarfish man in black livery held the reins in the seat in front of the carriage, a tall-brimmed hat atop his wide, misshapen head.
Marcellus stared for but a moment before he resumed his trance as the end of the bridge drew near.
Nyori did not speak, seemingly absorbed in observing the crowds. He doubted she had ever seen such a mass before. He could not help the swell of admiration that suddenly bloomed. He'd set a pace that would have wearied even the most experienced rider, yet she had not complained.
Nyori needed to rest more than he did. It took reminders from her that neither she nor the horses could match his pace. They had spent nights in the open when no town was nearby, under trees in freezing rain and snow with only a small fire and each other for warmth, huddling under the blankets. Fully clothed of course, but any other time those nights would have been distracting had his every thought not been on the journey home. He didn't know if she felt any similar discomfort. Probably not. She was from the Steppes, after all. Her people lived a different way of life.
He did not understand why she insisted so strongly on accompanying him. It would have probably been safer with the Mandru. All she had told him was that it was vital that she go with him to Kaerleon. She said that everything that happened to both of them centered around that city. When he persisted with questions, she simply told him that it was the 'certainty of knowing,' apparently another gift of the Sha that he wasn't meant to understand.
When she turned to him, he looked the other way. He had no desire to see the quiet accusation in her eyes again. The death of the bandits on the road still haunted her. She did not seem to realize how dangerous the world was. Or how unavoidable it was that you might have to kill to survive.
I apologized. What more does she want?
Once off the bridge, the traffic continued onward to Kingsgate, the large trade town before Kaerleon. Far in the distance, he saw the towering spires of the Shining City jut against the horizon like mountain peaks. Even then his heart was tugged toward the city he loved all his life, the city he had sworn to die protecting. There was where all the answers to his burning questions lay.
But something more important lay in another direction. Without hesitation, he turned off the road and plowed through the snow in the direction of Royan.
Even blanketed in white, the surrounding forest and hills were as familiar as his own face. He passed by tall spruce trees he had seen as a boy as they rode on a path where elk still crossed. To his left, the snow-capped peaks of the Cannias Mountains stood strong against the white sky.
"This is where you grew up, milord?"
He was almost startled by Nyori's voice. The shadow of her wide fur-trimmed hood almost smothered her face, but she did not seem as upset as formerly.
"These are the fields and lands owned by folk I had grown up with." He looked around. "Everything looks the same as when I left." For some reason that gave fuel to the sputtering, flickering spark of hope in his chest.
"Nyori, I apologize for not going immediately to the Palace. But as you know, my family has not heard from me, and what they have heard has more than likely been terrible rumors. I sent a bird from Letega, but there is no telling if it arrived. I must go to them first."
"I understand, Sir Admorran."
He turned to her. "What's wrong?"
Her faced was upraised; snowflakes drifted on her brow. "What do you mean?"
"You've never called me 'Sir' before. The formality is unsettling."
Her shoulders hunched, and she suddenly appeared almost shy. "When we met in the mountains...you never told me who you are."
"I told you my name."
"You didn't tell me who you are. Divia's light! You are not just a knight or warrior–you are the one! The Champion of Kaerleon..." She shook her head. "So many stories. There are so many tales of the things you've done."
Marcellus shook his head dismissively. "The title or stories mean little to me. Right now all I want to be is Marcellus the husband and father."
She looked at him with a small smile on her face. "I understand. It's just...did you truly slay a dragon?"
Marcellus shrugged. "I cannot remember."
She swatted his arm. "You can't remember?"
"It's hard to explain. Perhaps I will share the story with you one day."
She tilted her chin high with a teasing smile. "Well, I suppose this means that I can truly boast."
"Of having met the Champion of Kaerleon?" He raised a wry eyebrow.
"No, of defeating the Champion of Kaerleon. I had you at my mercy in the Dragonspine, remember?"
Despite his anxious mood, Marcellus laughed.
They rode in silence for a while. The snow seemed thicker, as though the weather sought to forestall them. Marcellus tried to prepare himself for what lay ahead. His mind flickered between hope and despair so often that the conflict became maddening.
Finally, he spoke. "Shama, I have seen that you possess remarkable...foresight into matters. If there is something I should know about what lies ahead, tell me now. Please."
He was not sure, but she seemed to pause before answering.
"What lies ahead is...clouded." She lifted a hand as if she could touch the invisible barrier. "The more we approached Leodia, the darker the haze became. I can sense nothing of what may come. But I will be alert to whatever I can decipher, Marcellus. Do not worry."
The sky had darkened, and the wind's bite had much sharper teeth when they arrived at his holdings. They passed the cottages of the folk who worked the land. Their chimneys funneled smoke, and candles winked in some of the windows.
His heart pounded as they approached his manor, the welcome sight of white stone and blue tiled roofing. The Silver Horn banner unfurled in the wind.
Something tickled his cheek. The tears ran unchecked as for the first time in so long. The flag still flew. His House still stood, and that meant his family had to be all right.
They had to be.
The horse was too slow. He leapt off its back and began a stumbling trot toward his home, where the warmth awaited him. Where the love awaited him. He heard his laughter soar on the wind. Nyori said something, but he could not hear her. The snow blew in his face, sought to blind him, the wind pushed against his advance. He laughed at their feeble efforts. If Stygan himself emerged from the ground in all his ebony glory, Marcellus was sure he would tear the Dreadlord to pieces.
The manor drew closer. Marcellus felt the weariness lift from his shoulders and sweep away in the wind. His feet were feathers, his arms were wings; he no longer felt the ground under his feet. He sailed like a child through a meadow, unhindered by the snowdrifts.
The heavy iron gates were unlocked. He pushed through easily and strode down the familiar granite-paved path. The blushing light in the windows beckoned; the smell of the chimney smoke perfumed the air.
A large man draped in a heavy grayish cloak walked slowly in front of them. He toted a heavy bundle of firewood in his arms as if they were twigs. He turned, hunched in uncertainty. His beard was generously sprinkled with gray, but he dismissed the indication of age with his powerful stature.
"Who are you?" The man's deep voice was suspicious. "It is too late to come begging. Come back tomorrow."
Marcellus recognized the baldheaded, dark-brown face of the groundskeeper. Dradyn was an experienced soldier in his past days, coming into the service of Lucretius late in his career. Marcellus took him in when he was retired, and the man worked for him ever since.
"It is I, Dradyn."
Dradyn jerked in recognition and immediately fell to one knee. "Lord Admorran! Long have we waited for this day! We had feared you were—"
Marcellus nodded hastily, pulling the man up. "My wife, Dradyn–my daughter. Are they all right? Are they safe?"
"We had heard so many different rumors—"
>
"Dradyn–my family! Are they all right?"
Dradyn nodded. "Yes, milord, they are safe. But—"
"Where, Dradyn, where are they now?"
"Why, here, milord. I have to—"
Marcellus let out the breath he hadn't realized he held. His knees almost failed him, but he managed to steady himself. "Take me to them."
"Yes, milord. But if I may—"
"Now, man. Whatever it is, can it not wait?"
Dradyn bowed his head. "Forgive me, milord. I know you are anxious to see them, and you need warmth and rest. But I must stress that we speak on the morrow. It is a matter of life and death."
Nyori had caught up at that moment. The look on her face indicated that she heard Dradyn's cryptic words. The burly groundskeeper eyed her questioningly.
"This is the Shama Nyori. She is under my escort."
Dradyn took the news as though Marcellus regularly arrived with a strange woman in tow. He quickly led them past the stone arch and into the front doors.
They passed the sitting room and went down the hall into the Great Room where Dradyn practically forced him to sit in one of the easy chairs. "I will bring your family right away. Lady Nyori, you may come with me." He bowed away quickly, leading Nyori to the guest rooms. She threw one anxious look over her shoulder, and then they were gone.
Marcellus heard Dradyn down the hall, clapping his hands loudly. "Awaken, everyone!" His voice reverberated along the walls. "Our lord has returned!"
Doors opened. He heard feet running to and fro. Lily, one of the servant girls, peeked in the room. She put her hands over her mouth with a gasp and quickly ducked back out.
Marcellus stood and paced like a caged wolf, surprised to be so nervous. When he turned, he caught his reflection in the mirror.
The Eye of Everfell Page 23