The Eye of Everfell

by Bard Constantine

  He turned to Marcellus.

  "Sholom, Sir Knight. I am Rhanu, leader of these Huntsmen. Your skill is impressive, though I am surprised to find a king's man here fighting the odji. Is your friend all right?" The man's accent was rich and commanding. The rest of his band retrieved weapons and made sure all the wraiths were dead.

  Marcellus shook his head. "His wounds are severe. I—"

  The woman interrupted with a sharp hiss. "Listen."

  The sound of bodies wading through the tunnel became audible. The group fell into fighting stances as the splashing drew nearer.

  Marcellus heaved a relieved sigh when Nyori stepped into the chamber, illuminating it all the brighter from the glowing orb on her glimmering staff. Shiru was a step behind her. They both gazed at the scene in bewilderment. Nyori's eyes widened when she caught sight of Rhanu.

  "Rhanu? What are you doing here?"

  Marcellus stared. How can she be familiar with the Huntsman leader and his band?

  "I should ask you the same," Rhanu said. "Last we saw, you were headed toward the Dragonspine."

  "Much has changed."

  Marcellus looked closely. She was right–much had changed, starting with her. She was not the same woman he rescued in the Dragonspine. She had grown into her station, more like the Sha that he had encountered in his travels: serene and mysterious.

  Marcellus gazed up at the ceiling, where the upper floor lay. "What happened to Eretik?"

  "Dead." Shiru pulled the mask from his face. Underneath he appeared older than Marcellus, yet hard and fit. He was entirely clean-shaven, including his head. "It was hard fought, but we barely managed to overcome him. He was quite strong." Shiru did not appear discomfited to be among a room full of dangerous strangers. He kept looking at Han as though he recognized him. Han kept his eyes anywhere else but on Shiru.

  "It was mainly Shiru," Nyori said. "I know little of combat, I'm afraid." She looked at where Dradyn lay unconscious. "At least I can help here." She knelt beside him. The big man appeared unexpectedly vulnerable, broken as he was. Pity graced Nyori's face as she laid a hand on Dradyn's shoulder.

  "Marcellus, I need you for this."

  He dropped beside her. Shiru knelt on the other side. "I know a little of this, Shama. I will lend my strength as well."

  All fell silent as the others gathered around. Nyori took Marcellus' hand. Shiru placed his hand over the one she had on Dradyn's arm.

  "This will feel strange," Nyori said. "But don't pull away. I won't hurt you." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. There was nothing that Marcellus could see, but he knew that she saw the world with a different Eye.

  He gave a shuddering gasp as strength left his body. It was the sensation of being winded after a long run or a bout of training, except pulled from him in a single moment. He felt the borrowed energy flow out of him and into Dradyn.

  Dradyn's wounds closed, sealing themselves until only dry blood remained to mark them. He groaned as his eyes opened. Nyori quickly removed her hand, breaking the cycle.

  Marcellus breathed heavily, looking at Nyori in amazement. Her weary eyes were the only indicator of her effort. He figured that she had pulled from her strength as well, probably more than from him or Shiru.

  "How do you feel, Dradyn?"

  "Alive." He sat up, gazing at his newly healed body in wonderment.

  The Huntsmen murmured among themselves. Marcellus doubted any of them had seen such a display before. But considering that they hunted akhkharu for a living, there was no telling what things they had seen.

  Nyori placed her hand over her heart when she saw the slain Epanite. "Micholas..."

  "He is gone, Shama," Han said. "There was nothing you could have done."

  She gazed at the dead man sadly. "I still remember the song he sang that night."

  "His songs will remain with us," Rhanu said. "As will he, so long as we remember them."

  The distant thud of footsteps became faintly audible, as well as shouting voices.

  "The Imperial Guard," Marcellus said. "There will be many of them, and they will find a way down here soon. I don't think any of us want to be here when they do."

  The one-eyed woman whirled her sword as if in anticipation.

  "You know we do not slay our own, Meshella." Rhanu ignored her glare as he turned to Marcellus. "Can you stall them?"

  Marcellus shook his head. "It's very complicated." He pointed to the shackled corpse. "This man was the king of Leodia. There will be many questions involving his death. I doubt many will believe the answers."

  Rhanu gave him a considering look, but just nodded. "Very well. We must leave now. Do you know a way out of here? Have you a place in mind?"

  Marcellus suddenly felt exhausted. Part of it was what Nyori did healing Dradyn, but he knew the main reason. He unclasped his cloak and reverently covered Lucretius' grisly remains with it. Despite his weaknesses, the king had fought against the akhkharu's influence until the end. Marcellus could not fault him for that.

  He laid his sword across Lucretius' knees and knelt in front of the still figure. "Farewell, my king. May Deis keep you in his memory until the final day."

  Marcellus felt Nyori place a hand on his shoulder. He exhaled a shaky breath. With the deaths of the akhkharu, it was over. All the rage and sorrow that had hurtled him forward was expelled, the fires extinguished, leaving behind only an empty hollowness. There was only one place left for him to go.

  Chapter 23: Nyori

  The granite guardian loomed above Marcellus. Silhouetted against the setting sun, her spread wings engulfed him in their shadow. Heavy snow whipped against the statue's stony face without mercy.

  He had come home to his family, compelled by the irrepressible urge to be with them again. Rhanu and Shiru had advised him to move on. The storm would slow down the Guard, but they would inevitably come to Royan to seek him out for questioning.

  Let them come, he had replied. I am weary to the point of dying. I will not run.

  He maintained a vigil at the grave site since he returned home. Despite the freezing winds and pounding snow, none could persuade him to come inside. Nyori watched from the window as Rhanu stopped to crouch beside him. Rhanu clutched a Mandru-woven fur cloak of wisent fur, yet still looked about to freeze. His dark face was grave, his eyes filled with empathy. He placed a hand on Marcellus' shoulder and spoke words that Nyori was sure were meant to be comforting.

  Marcellus was silent as the statue that loomed above him. He did not appear to notice when Rhanu walked away. Darkness crept over the snow-covered lands. The dying light played tricks with the colors, casting the powdery drifts in eerily glowing shades of blue and white.

  Rhanu stepped through the door and dusted snow from this heavy cloak. "He will not leave his family. I fear for his health if he tries to stay out there all night. It gets colder by the minute. I could barely stand it."

  He entered into Great Room. The Huntsmen sat at the long table usually reserved for guests. A fire crackled in the large hearth. The men ate food from Marcellus' larders–roast hen, buttered bread, and steamed vegetables, along with mulled wine to warm their innards. Fregeror's voice boomed as he related a tale of some battle or another.

  Nyori pulled her eyes from gazing out the window at Marcellus. "He will have to come in soon. Unless he means to die out there." She wondered if he did. He had not spoken the entire ride back to the manor, wrapped in his guilt and depression. Nyori found nothing to say that could stir him from his dark mood. He had already been outside longer than a normal man could bear, but he was no longer a normal man. Not since what she did to him in the wilderness. She sighed and glanced around the room.

  Shiru had pulled Han aside, and the two spoke in low tones. They appeared to argue quietly, more of a polite debate than a burst of anger. Nyori supposed that meant that Shiru knew Han somehow. She did not know of their land or customs, but Han appeared to acknowledge Shiru as a superior while at the same time resisting his counsel. She
shook her head. Whatever it was, it was none of her business. She had enough on her mind.

  She recalled the battle in the bowels of the palace. Shiru guided her as much as he could while manipulating the debris that flew around them. Eymunder protected her from harm, and her mind flashed with memories of past battles, those fought by Teranse the Reader. She had called the fire by its name, and it responded to her command. The roar of wind and flames had engulfed her; every move teetered between survival and destruction.

  She had never felt more alive. She finally understood some of what it meant to be a warrior. She knew what Marcellus might experience in the midst of a raging battle, fighting simply to carry on. To inhale another breath. It was a potent mixture of fear and exhilaration, where reason was replaced by instinct, thinking banished by pure impulse.

  It was freedom.

  Or at least until Eretik died. Unable to ward off both Shiru and Nyori, he finally lost his focus. Engulfed by flames and torn to ribbons by the razor-edged rock shards, his screams still resounded in the back of her mind. Shiru had made certain to behead what was left of Eretik, resulting in the body combusting into glowing flames.

  You killed a man. The accusing voice stabbed Nyori with guilt. The Sha were especially careful not to use their powers in ways that would harm another person. Nyori knew her actions would draw criticism. She wondered what any of her peers would have done if placed in the same situation as her. It was easy to speak of benignity until you were pursued by inhuman beings that would never rest until they killed you.

  She remembered the false Evelina's words. Our eyes are everywhere. There is nowhere you can go where we cannot see you.

  Nyori turned from the window and gazed at the Huntsmen. She wondered which of them was a Thrall, spying for the akhkharu. Which of them would eagerly betray her, report their actions and location. Which of them would kill her if so ordered. Was it just happenstance that Rhanu and his band were in the same location? Or were they manipulated into that position just as she and Marcellus were? And if so, to what purpose?

  Shiru was another mystery. He was no mere leader of a foreign bodyguard. His mastery of Apokrypy proved he was something much greater. She wanted to speak more with him on the subject but didn't know whether he could be trusted. His appearance was suspect, especially in Kaerleon, where the akhkharu had made their bid for power.

  Everyone except Marcellus had huddled together earlier, conceiving a plan for their next move. Nyori knew it was time to leave. Mistress Anya's voice whispered in her mind, telling her where she needed to go. Nyori would meet up with Anya on the road, and there they would determine their next move. Unable to completely trust her newfound allies, Nyori had told them that she was returning to her home in Halladen.

  Upon hearing her decision, Rhanu and the Huntsmen volunteered to escort her, insisting that the trek was long and fraught with dangers. She couldn't disagree but wondered again on whether any or all of them could be agents of the akhkharu. There was little she could do, however. Journeying alone would be foolishness in the face of what pursued her, so she was forced to accept the aid of the Huntsmen. Dradyn had agreed to accompany them as well if Marcellus could be persuaded to join.

  That was still the missing factor since Marcellus went straight to his vigil as soon as he arrived at the manor. He had not left his post in front of the winged statue since that moment.

  Nyori turned her attention back to the window. It was fully dark, the falling snow barely visible. No doubt one of them would have to drag Marcellus inside. She would not let him die from grief and shame, no matter what he desired. And she could not imagine traveling anywhere without him along for the journey. They had been through too much together.

  She gasped as she peered deeper into the darkness. Marcellus was nowhere in sight. It was as though he had vanished, and only her expanded senses revealed that he had not. But he was not alone.

  There was something terrible out in the storm with him.

  Chapter 24: Marcellus

  The looming statue called to Marcellus surely as if it spoke aloud. He heard a voice clearly, calling his name.

  "Marcellus..."

  Time flashed backward...

  "MARCELLUS ADMORRAN!" Evelina trotted up on a white mare. She rode straddled, not with her legs on one side like the ladies of the court. One would think she was a common woman, with her unadorned blouse and divided skirts. Soft leather knee-high boots covered most of her legs, but a glimpse of her thighs still flashed as she rode. Her reddish-gold hair bounced lightly, and a warm smile dimpled her cheek.

  He drank in the sight.

  She pulled rein beside him. "My lady mother told me you were leading a patrol this way."

  "Yes, milady." He gestured to the lines of men lined up in the meadow some distance away. Jaslin's hair glinted in the sun as he rode the lines, instructing on sword etiquette. "Just breaking in some greenblades dreaming of knighthood."

  To his surprise, she burst out laughing.

  "You should hear yourself," she said between giggles. "Talking like you are so much older than they are. You were a greenblade yourself not too long ago, Marcellus."

  He smiled ruefully. Just a year ago he wasn't even a greenblade; he was the Coward's Son. Now he was a Knight of the Sword. The lowest rank, to be sure, but among the youngest to attain it, and knighted by Lucretius himself.

  "Too true, milady."

  Shadowdancer thrust his muzzle out to her in a familiar way. She laughed delightedly and stroked his narrow muzzle.

  "He still remembers me!"

  "Milady, you are not easy to forget." He placed his hand on hers. She looked startled for an instant. Then color flooded her cheeks as she smiled shyly at him. She withdrew her hand slowly, delicately clearing her throat.

  "I...the reason I came, that is, was because I wanted to bring this to you." She thrust a basket at him hurriedly. He could smell seasoned roast, potatoes and sweetbread wafting from it. "Mother thought you...you and Jaslin, that is...might be hungry, so I made a meal, just in case you wanted to..." She paused.

  "Eat?" he asked helpfully.

  "Yes, that's it." She blushed even harder. "I apologize, milord. I am not usually so clumsy in my speech."

  He smiled. "I do not wish for you to call me 'milord.' We shall make a pact now that you shall call me Marcellus."

  "And that you should call me Evelina, not 'milady.'"

  "Very well, Evelina. Thank you for the kind thought. I will enjoy this, especially since your hands prepared it."

  Her smile practically made his heart ache. "It's nothing. I do hope you enjoy it."

  An awkward silence stretched for a moment. Marcellus found that his words tumbled over one another in haste to leave his mouth.

  "Well, I suppose I should be heading back," she said.

  He caught her hand gently. "Wait. If you are not in a hurry, perhaps you'll honor me with your company. Surely you did not expect me to dine alone."

  "But what about Jaslin...your men–"

  He laughed as he dismounted. "I'm their commanding officer. I don't have to stand sweating in the hot sun. I have had my share. Let them have theirs. Come." He extended his hand. After a momentary pause, she smiled and took it. He gently helped her dismount.

  Time flashed...

  MARCELLUS KNELT IN front of the monument with his face pressed against the freezing stone. Nothing was visible with the snow swirling furiously around him. The statue was the only thing that existed in the white world, the only thing that mattered. Snow baptized his head and shoulders and already buried his legs. But floating in the white void, anchored only by pain and sorrow, he no longer cared. Only one thought remained, one notion that sparked in his mind. With a ragged whisper, he named that which pained him even beyond his yearning for death.

  "Evelina..."

  The wind snatched the name from his lips and carried it to the frosty beyond, where he could hear it again in his ears, from all around.

  Time flashed..
.

  "EVELINA!" HE PUSHED through the stream of servants that scurried about carrying supplies, armor, and weapons. She had volunteered to run the servants that catered to the needs of the knights and their lords. When he protested, she told him it was the only way to stay close to him. And like every other time, he relented. Now, at the most crucial time, he could not find her.

  He craned his neck and looked over the heads of the milling crowd for a flash of her red-gold hair. He saw nothing and grimaced in frustration. He had to see her before time ran out.

  He caught the arm of a servant girl hurrying by. Startled, she nearly dropped the basket of laundry she carried.

  "The Lady Evelina, have you seen her?"

  She curtsied politely. "She is with the Matron in the infirmary, milord."

  "Thank you, miss."

  He made his way to the infirmary. Grievously injured men lay in lines of cots attended to by the Matrons, the black-robed healing women in service to Deis.

  Marcellus scratched his newly grown beard. There were too many injured, entirely too many in such a short time. Worse, there were many more tents in different encampments with the same situation. The rebel Norlanders were a fierce lot and dedicated to their cause. Theron, their new king, was reportedly fighting more insurgents in the kingdom of Glacia, unable to send men to round up the rebels in Brumar. That left Lucretius no choice but to order a siege on the city for fear of the insurgency spreading further down into his kingdom. The cause was a good one. The results were not on par with the cause.

  That was why Marcellus had to find Evelina.

  He finally saw her applying bandages to a wounded soldier. Her face was more careworn, her eyes raw from a lack of sleep. He should have made her stay at home with her mother. He knew that every wounded man made her think of him and wonder if one day they would bring him in on a cot, or worse.