Marcellus tried not to wince at the titles.
"His Royal Majesty, Regnault Lucretius the Lionheart, bids that you enter under his eyes, Lord Admorran." Harlin pulled the silver-gilded door open. "He seeks Lord Admorran only." His beady eyes narrowed at Rodell. "Your presence is neither requested nor permitted."
Rodell's mouth tightened, but he bowed stiffly before turning to Marcellus. "I shall speak to you another time, my friend." He turned on his heel and strode swiftly away.
Harlin Masters had already assumed his impassive stance by the time Marcellus entered the Grand Chamber. It was massively rounded, grandiose with lofty marble pillars that stretched to the domed ceiling. A dark blue runner down the center of the tiled floor led to the dais against the far wall. Atop it was a great throne carved from stonewood, the rocklike material crafted by master carvers from Runet.
It was the man on the throne that caught Marcellus' attention.
Regnault Lucretius sat hunched as if in pain, an old man with unkempt gray hair to his shoulders. In his lap was his sword Majestis, the unbreakable blade of legendary kings. His gnarled hand held it tightly as though he meant to go into the heat of battle once more. His eyes flickered with strange lights beneath the shadow of his narrow, lunestone-centered crown as though reflecting lost memories. His free hand appeared lost in the tangles of his unruly beard.
"A contagion grows east of the Dragonspine. An infection that seeks to spread over the mountains, and beyond." Lucretius' voice still resonated with the power of a man who was born to lead. "Into my lands. In the villages grown men fear to go out at night, for the darkness has eyes and teeth and swallows entirely even the bravest soul."
When he looked at Marcellus, his expression brightened; for a moment he looked like the Lucretius of old. "But hope is not completely spent. For what darkness can swallow the light of Kaerleon? And you. You have performed deeds men have thought impossible. You, the Champion of Kaerleon, whom the minstrels write of, and the bards compose songs about. These halls miss your presence."
Marcellus dropped to one knee and lowered his eyes. "It is my honor to serve my king, and Kaerleon."
Lucretius gripped his black, lion-emblazoned mantle as he stood. He kept Majestis crooked in his arm as he clasped Marcellus on the shoulder. The grip was shockingly frail.
Lucretius smiled as if reading Marcellus' thoughts. "Rise, Sir Admorran. You know there are no formalities in private. I must speak to you of matters that concern the future of not only Kaerleon but the entire kingdom of Leodia."
Marcellus stood, looking his king in the eye. "Majesty, you speak in riddles. I heard you recalled the guard from the Bruallian borders. What plot have you uncovered that you cannot speak of?"
Lucretius dropped his gaze and sighed. "No plot, Marcellus. A threat. It is a threat against my last living heir."
Marcellus stopped cold. "Majesty?"
The king walked slowly beneath heavily engraved portraits of kings who gazed from the past with wise and knowing eyes. "I know you are confused. You know what happened in the Assassin Wars, when the cowardly Shoreland lords arranged the deaths of princely Alanos along with his mother, the noble queen. Yet what you do not know is there was another child, born from a common woman before my arranged marriage. The story is long, and I have neither the time nor strength to tell it. My heart grows heavy when I speak of Cantrelle, the first love of my life."
Marcellus felt a swell of curiosity at the revelation he had never imagined. True, kings were no strangers to illegitimate children, having sired bastards since the dawn of kingship. But somehow Marcellus never imagined Lucretius stepping outside of the moral lines he stressed so often. Yet no man was above temptation, a fact Marcellus knew well.
"What became of her?"
Lucretius paused to hang Majestis in its place beneath the ornately designed coat of arms that framed the throne. "In time she came to be with child. She fled after the announcement of my engagement, and I failed to find her in time. She died in childbirth, leaving me a bastard child who would never be able to claim the throne. So in secret, I had him sent away to the great learning houses in Komura, where he could be raised free from peril and learn the ways of nobility and chivalry."
Marcellus glanced questioningly. "Komura?"
Lucretius nodded. "I know it is not a godly land, but their ways are of peace, not of viciousness like their Bruallian neighbors. They aid in curtailing the Bruallians, earning them the gratitude of Leodia. Our kingdoms have long aided one another."
"You have not seen him since?"
Lucretius wearily shook his head. "I dared not. Lyanne, my wifely queen, knew nothing of him, and in time she bore Alanos, the princely heir to my throne. I felt both her and my bastard child were better off without the burden of...unnecessary revelations. He knows he is a son of Kaerleon, for his retainers are men I chose myself to tend to him and protect him with their lives. Komura is the only civilized kingdom in Bruallia. The nobles there are fine men, grateful for the protective shadow of Kaerleon, for they are in the midst of many enemies.
"But they are now engulfed in war, my sources tell me. Bruallia has grown restless. Their warlord, Valdemar Basilis, has fanned this flame to a raging fire. He has his eyes set upon Komura and is intent on conquering that nation. I cannot save Komura without breaking the peace we have with the Bruallian Empire. But I can save my son. He is the hope of Leodia, Marcellus. The seed of the future must be returned to me safely. That is what you must do. That is why I have summoned you here."
Marcellus stood in shocked silence, aware of Lucretius' expectant gaze. Even at the quickest route, it would still take over a month to get to Komura. When was the last time he had ridden that long? Not since the Bruallian rebels had crossed the Dragonspine, and that was nearly a decade ago.
You have grown soft. Too accustomed to the longest jaunt being a ride to the Keep, only a one-day trip. The thought of being on the long trail through wilderness and dust, sleeping on the ground, rationing food and water...
He thought of his daughter Alexia. What would he do if she were in the same position as this bastard prince? You would already be on Shadowdancer, intent only on reaching her in time.
Marcellus quickly dropped to one knee again. "Majesty, to bring your son back safely is an honor, and I accept the task gladly. By my sword under the Light of Deis, I swear I will return with your princely heir, or not at all."
Lucretius sighed heavily and placed his hand on one of the lion statues as if for support. His eyes glistened when he raised his head. "It is as I knew it would be. You have always been the paragon of knighthood, my friend. Time and again you have risked life and shed blood for my sake. Does this yoke grow heavy upon you? Do you ever dream of something more for yourself?"
Marcellus kept his eyes downward, thinking of Evelina and Alexia. To leave them behind for the whole of the journey was something he dreaded as much as the look on Evelina's face when he would have to tell her. She knew him better than to plead for him to stay, but he knew he wounded her anew every time he broke his promise never to leave her again.
"Dreams are common to all men, your Majesty. Duty has made me a better knight. That is what holds me steady. Dreams are pleasant thoughts that fade when the day breaks, nothing more."
Lucretius turned to the window, viewing the distant mountains as if for the first time. His voice was a mere whisper. "Is life then naught but a dream? Here for a moment, then fading with the dawn? My dreams keep me awake at nights of late, for they swell with darkness and creeping things. I fear time is against us all, Marcellus. I feel it following me like a shadow, waiting for a chance to spring."
Marcellus paused, unsure of how to respond. "It should not take me long to prepare–"
"Seven morrows from now you must pick a hundred of your most trusted Companions and set forth. Until then, spend time with your family. Time is precious." The morning light bathed Lucretius' face, turning his hair into silver cords. "The end is upon us before we k
now it." He stood silent, as though no longer aware of his company.
Marcellus paused at the door. "Majesty, who are these strangers that visit you at night?"
When Lucretius turned, he was an indecipherable shadow silhouetted against the window's eye. "That is not a matter to concern you, Lord Admorran. All that should concern you are the commands I have given you. Let that be your focus until the task ends. You will leave me now, for I have much to contemplate upon."
He again turned his back, leaving Marcellus with no choice but to bow his way out.
"As His Majesty commands..."
Chapter 4: Nyori
Four days had passed since the ordeal at the Pools. It had taken a group of the Sha to heal her, the only reason she still drew breath instead of lying still as stone while her consciousness dissipated like morning mist.
"You have to tell me everything, Nyori. Every smell, every movement, every possible detail you can remember."
Mistress Ayna was only a few years older than Nyori's five and twenty, yet the small age gap was a wide divide when one was as talented as Ayna was. Her amber-colored eyes focused as if she was determined to solve the mystery by sheer willpower. Nyori's small room seemed extremely cramped with Ayna and her daunting presence crowding in.
Though Nyori earned high praise for her progress, Ayna had stunned her mentors at a far earlier age. Although still considered young, she served as one of their most gifted leaders. It was said Ayna learned to translate Glyphs before she learned how to walk. A slight exaggeration, but not by much.
Outwardly, Ayna was a complete contrast to Nyori. Ayna's raven tresses cascaded to her shoulders in shimmering waves and her skin was copper-toned, where Nyori was light and her long, sandy-colored hair pulled into a simple braid. While mosaic patterns of beads and polished stone decorated Ayna's burgundy-shaded dress, Nyori still wore the simple mouse-colored garb of an apprentice. And where Ayna's dress accentuated her womanly hips and bosom, Nyori's dress revealed...not much at all. She sighed.
"I told you everything already. A hundred times over, Mistress." How long have we been at this? Time spent repeating variations of the same story made hours feel like days. Ayna was not harsh, but she was ever insistent; her gaze interrogated without cruelty, yet her will was indomitable. Sweat beaded on Nyori's brow from the effort of trying to recollect memories that faded like dreams.
The remembrance of what occurred was hazy at best, much like Everfell itself. Halladen had been abuzz since the incident at the Pools. Many of the men had donned arms, and scouts ranged the vicinity. Everyone seemed to step as though expecting a sudden attack. Fear and uncertainty lay in the eyes of many; a foreign expression to a place that had only known peace as long as Nyori had dwelled there.
Nyori wanted to be out among her people, her adopted family. She wanted to let them see that she was all right and in good health. Perhaps it would ease their minds and help to dampen the anxiety that hovered over the abode like clouds heavy with the threat of rain. But Nyori had been closeted away as soon as she was declared well, and Ayna had beat her over the head with questions ever since.
Nyori had forgotten how small her room was because she was rarely in it. She didn't have much in the way of possessions, and she liked to spend her time pestering the elder Sha for lessons or picking their brains with one of the million questions that flooded her mind. She used her room for sleep more than retreat and barely decorated it beyond the plain but sturdy furniture she inherited from its last occupant. In her seclusion the walls seemed to press in, the ceiling lower every time she looked up. She didn't know how much she could take of the suffocating atmosphere.
"Again, Nyori. Perhaps we can find a clue in what you may have missed before."
Nyori sighed. "It is like I told you. The Eye of Everfell flashed like lightning. I was...taken. When I could see again I was somewhere else entirely."
"You were fortunate." Ayna's quiet tone gave her words extra weight. "Without the focus to link back to your Outer mind, you may never have woken again. But that is not the only danger you faced. You physically vanished, Nyori. That has never occurred in the history of our dealings with the Eye."
Nyori hunched her shoulders uncomfortably. "I never tried to go anywhere, Mistress. I would not know how even if I wanted to."
"I know." Ayna's eyes narrowed in thought. "Yet that is exactly what you did. Or, what someone allowed you to do. The Threshold you entered is a mystery as well. If you did not summon it, then the question remains–"
"Do you know how it could have happened?" Nyori wasn't sure she wanted to know. The look on Ayna's face only confirmed her fears.
"I have not been idle while you recovered from your ordeal. This will be difficult to understand, Nyori. I'm afraid the truth may be more than you can bear."
"Tell me." Nyori was surprised at the steadiness of her voice.
"You truly were physically taken into Everfell."
Nyori's head throbbed as the memory resurfaced. "I had thought Everfell was just the name of the Eye. You know of it?"
Ayna's eyes were distant as though seeing something beyond the walls of the tiny room. "Yes, I know of it. It is a realm outside of our world. A place where time does not operate as it does here. Nor many of our other natural laws."
"I don't understand."
Ayna sighed. "Nor do I. Not much. It sounds easy to understand when explained in the safety of the seminary, but Everfell is far more complex. The best description for it is the 'expanse in between realities.' You have to understand that up until now the Pools have been used to view a motley of visions at the point of convergence we called the Eye. It provided views of past events, even glimpses of the future."
"But where did the Eye come from?"
"We do not know. It and the Pools have existed before the Sha settled here. We believe they are a construction of the Aelon, though why they left it operable is puzzling." Ayna's brow creased in thought. "Perhaps they knew this day would come."
"Aelon? But they are just stories..." Nyori's protest faded under Ayna's severe stare.
"The stories of the Aelon and their hybrid children, the Elious, are generally accepted as legends. Yet the tales of Stygan the Dreadlord, Talan the Dawnrider–they are all more fact than fable. There is a reason we remember the Aelon as myths and minstrel tales. Because they want it that way. But the Sha know better. Your education has only begun, but you must learn on the move now. Know this: the Aelon were the beings of power the stories claim them to be. They guided our civilization from dwelling in caves to ruling in grand palaces."
Nyori considered the stories she had heard since she was a child. The Five Sages. Stygan the Dreadlord. Reynar the Frey, beautiful Lian–Queen of Dragons, Riodran the Just, Teranse the Reader. Then there was Talan the Dawnrider, who led the children from the evil City of Glass and battled Anko, the Shadow Prince. And of course Brandon, the great Paladin who bore the sword Nemon.
Her breath caught. "The sword...it is the one from the stories—"
Ayna nodded. "Nemon. The Soul Net. It contained one of the more powerful fusorbs, called a Geod. Geods are much more powerful than standard fusorbs and far more scarce. Only five are known to exist, one for each of the Five Sages. Nemon's Geod was altered forever when Brandon freed those imprisoned and then disowned the weapon. Afterward, it was corrupted by Anko the Shadow Prince, who named it Mothros–a parasite that poisons its bearer slowly, draining their vitality until they fade into husks of their former selves. Then...death."
"How is that possible?" Nyori asked. "How can any mere object have such power?"
"We do not know the construction of the fusorbs of power, only that the Glyphs engraved on them bind to each fusorb their powers. We have many theories on how the Glyphs work, but it is impossible to prove any without a fusorb to study."
She glanced at the rod that lay on the table between them. "At least not until now."
Nyori followed Ayna's gaze. Eymunder was rather ordinary looking in t
he face of legends told about the fusorbs. She racked her brain for stories about the crystallized wand, but couldn't think of anything that would be of use. Supposedly it was used by Teranse the Reader in the casting of Apokrypy, but Nyori had no idea what Apokrypy was other than some arcane incantations that granted the speaker uncanny powers.
Ayna idly toyed with the net of tiny disks entwined in her hair. "So. The Eye transported you to Everfell, where you met a woman who claimed to be Death."
Nyori froze. "What? She told me her name was Leilavin."
"Leilavin is an ancient name. Older even than the stories you heard as a child. But the name when translated means Death in the True Verse."
Suddenly Leilavin's pallid skin and crimson eyes took a much more sinister tone. Those cold fingers had touched her. Nyori shuddered inwardly.
Ayna went on, unaware of Nyori's discomfort. "Of course, a name can be used by anyone. Legends say she was an Aelon before she took that guise. But that is neither here nor there. Without any more information, let's move to the next event. She led you to a table that somehow was able to identify you from reading your hands, which allowed you access to Eymunder, a fusorb believed long lost like so many others. And after being identified by the Glyphs at the table, you were able to bond with the fusorb."
Nyori picked up Eymunder. There was a glyph carved in the amber orb on top. It looked very much like an eye. Numerous other glyphs were engraved along the length of the wand as well.
"What do you mean by 'bonded'?"
Ayna tapped the tabletop. "Set it back down."
Nyori obeyed. Ayna stretched out as though to seize Eymunder. Her hand stopped just short. Her arm stiffened, but nothing more happened. It was as though an invisible barrier prevented her from touching the rod. She finally winced and withdrew her hand. "My fingers have gone numb. You see what I mean now. No one can touch the fusorb except you. It belongs to you and you alone."
The Eye of Everfell Page 4
