Marcellus nodded grimly. "He is the key, then. The wraith mentioned another name. Vivienne. That could the name of the woman who visited this Captain. Did you find out which Captain it was? What battalion?"
Dradyn stared. "It was the Lord Captain of the Imperial Guard, milord."
"Captain Pariot?" Marcellus seized Dradyn by the collar. "I had just spoken with him before the king gave me my orders. Are you sure, man?"
Dradyn was a head taller than Marcellus, who was a tall man. He was also much broader across the chest, with knotted muscles in his heavy arms. Nyori figured he could have pushed Marcellus back as if he was a child, but Dradyn only shook his head. "Rodell Pariot was demoted, milord. There is a new Lord Captain. A man called Anon Misral."
Marcellus exhaled, slowly relaxing his grip. He looked embarrassed as he released Dradyn. "Only the king can appoint a Lord Captain."
"Yes, milord. His Majesty King Lucretius dismissed Pariot and gave Anon his station, a stranger with no history known to anyone I've spoken to. Just one more example of his mad behavior."
"Strangers in the night," Marcellus muttered. "Strangers in the night."
"Milord?"
"There is only one thing for me to do, Dradyn. When you buy from the slaughterhouse, you must pay the butcher's price. Well, I have bought more than I can swallow. So the butcher must be paid."
He looked into the distance, where the dying sun cast the sky red. "I intend to do just that. Pay back all that is owed. I do not ask that you come with me, for I ride most likely to bloodshed and death."
"You ride to Kaerleon?" Nyori asked.
Marcellus stared in that direction, his expression dark. "I do."
Dradyn exhaled a cloud of resigned vapor. "I will go with you, Milord. I have lived in these lands for years, yet have never entered the gates of Kaerleon. I always said I would see the Shining City before I die."
Marcellus' grin was mirthless, fracturing his face like a crack across stone. "So you shall."
"I will go as well," Nyori said.
Marcellus stared at her a long time, his eyes piercing. It was all Nyori could do to not flinch at his expression. His face was as when they first met; fierce and feral.
"Give us a moment, Dradyn," he said.
When Dradyn departed to gather their horses, Marcellus drew closer. "Why, Shama? No slippery answers this time. Why do you keep insisting on accompanying me? Every step I take is fraught with peril. There is no safety so long as I am near."
"There is no safety anywhere for me." Nyori practically shouted the words. "Do you think you are the only one who has suffered, Marcellus? I left two dear friends behind in the Dragonspine for the buzzards to fight over. I have been hounded since I left, and will be for as long as I have what they want."
Marcellus' expression softened somewhat, though his voice was still insistent. "Then you should be with your people. What do I know of your secrets? Your people will have far more answers than I can give you. And you Sha are sworn to save lives." His jaw clenched. "I made a vow this night to take them. Anyone involved, anyone that benefited, anyone that even dreamed of harming what was mine. My path is dark as night, and will only be brightened by vengeance. You would do better to ride opposite any way that I go."
Nyori lifted her chin and met his stare evenly. "I cannot."
"Why?"
"Because I am afraid." Nyori felt her jaw tremble but clenched her teeth to steel herself. "I am afraid, and I am tired of being afraid. I am tired of running, tired of being pursued. Someone told me not long ago that I stood in the center of the maelstrom. I realize now that what he spoke of was a storm of darkness. The storm that brews around us right now. I don't know why I ended up here. But I'm not here alone. Somehow, you're in the eye of the storm as well. I felt your importance when I first met you. And every time you mention Kaerleon, I feel a pull at that word. I need to go there just as you do. Our paths are tied together, and I won't back away because of fear. I have had enough of it."
Marcellus said nothing for a moment as he pondered her words, never blinking. Finally, he sighed and nodded in acceptance. "You have already saved my life more than once, Shama. I trust you, and only you. There is no one else I can say that of."
"Not even Dradyn?"
"No one," he said. "Only you. So come, if you must. But I warn you; it will not be easy from here."
"It stopped being easy a long time ago, Marcellus."
"No, Nyori. You said that we stood in the eye of the maelstrom." He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, shadowing his face.
"That is over now. The storm rages inside of me, begging for release. And that is exactly what I plan to do."
THE MANOR LOOMED, AN empty and forbidding shell. Nyori heard a savage cry from inside, and something strike one of the walls. She could feel Marcellus' rage. It radiated like fire, simmering and ready to feed.
Dradyn waited on a shaggy colt. He had had laden their saddlebags with provisions and armed himself with more suitable weapons from the armory. A short sword was strapped to the saddle, and short-handled axes hung from his belt. Nyori tried not to look at the weapons.
She knew all too well their only purpose.
Dradyn sighed. "I thought that I was finished fighting. That by settling here, I'd be free of the violence that has dogged my footsteps since birth. A fool's dream."
Nyori looked at him. "What makes you think that you'll be fighting anyone?"
Dradyn looked surprised. "You have traveled with Lord Admorran some distance, haven't you?"
"All the way from the Dragonspine."
"And no blood was shed along the way?"
Nyori said nothing, recalling the Bruallians and the bandits on the road. It was convenient to forget that Marcellus was as savage as he was noble. On the road he'd been almost tender, even in the midst of his obsession to return home. He was a man of amazing contradictions, all of which seemed to confuse her.
Dradyn nodded. "Some men choose to be violent. Others attract violence despite their best efforts. Lord Admorran is of the latter. He is a good lord and kindly man. But his rage is a terrible thing. You may have heard the tales of Marcellus' vengeance, after Gaelion Pirates slew his father. It was Marcellus' fury that drove them back into the sea, slaking their thirst for plunder and carnage. The Bleeding Shores is what they called that battle, for they stained the water with blood before the day was won."
Dradyn flexed his thick fingers. "No, it is not a question of whether we will be fighting. It is a question of when, and how many will die."
Marcellus emerged from the manor door. He had donned a heavy black cloak and carried a longsword in his arms. Without a word, he lashed it to the saddle of his stallion and mounted.
"We ride."
They trotted down the icy path toward Kaerleon. In the waning light, Nyori could still see Marcellus' face. His brow was as dark as the night sky, his eyes smoldering coals, his jaw forged from iron.
Nyori glanced behind. The manor was engulfed in mist; the windows gazed accusingly at their departure. She shivered and urged her mare forward.
Marcellus took them off the road, onto trails and paths known only to him. They rode through forests twisted and black, filled with nocturnal noise and movement. Dradyn muttered under his breath, but Marcellus took no note.
Several times glowing eyes peered at them from the blackness of the brush, and Dradyn jolted, pulling out his weathered sword.
"Wolves," Marcellus said. "They won't bother us."
Their mounts were not as calm as he was. They whinnied fearfully and rolled their eyes as the scent of wolf crossed their nostrils. But Marcellus did not spare a further glance. They rode through the wood all night on old trails and passages, guided by his knowledge of the lands he knew from youth.
They emerged from the wood just as the sun gently bathed the towering spires of Kaerleon, the Shining City. The Lion Kingdom. They joined the traffic from Kingsgate, past walls so high the watchmen were just insects atop it
. She and Dradyn gaped in wonder at the city of legend, made all the more fantastic because it was completely real.
Leodia was the name of the kingdom and the provinces that formed the kingdom, but all knew the reason for its prominence was Kaerleon, where the Lion Kingdom originated. The crowds were already thick; so many that they continuously nudged and bumped against one another as they passed. She had only heard stories about the vastness of the cities. Kaerleon was one of the largest in all of Erseta. Only the Jaferian city of Hasreul could compare in size, but no good king's man would ever liken it to Kaerleon.
Marcellus pulled his hood over his head as they hurriedly rode up cobbled streets that had been cleared by the snow boys before dawn. The winter's chill did nothing to stop the steady flow of natives and visitors alike. Merchants sold their wares, while the doors of the moneylenders lined with customers. The air pulsed with the clamor of people and animals, tools clanging in the carpenter houses and smithies, and the many wagons and carriages that rolled up and down the streets. The din was incredible to her, yet she noticed the crowds paid it no mind. She did not see how anyone could be accustomed to so much noise.
The red-tiled roofs of the masonry were barely visible, covered in snow and laced with icicles. The buildings were crammed together, some several stories high, linked by streets both wide as boulevards and narrow as alleys.
They rode past bakeries with shelves of bread and pastries, smithies where fires already roared, and stockyards where lumber and firewood were sold. The City Watch rode by from time to time. Marcellus ducked his head and pretended to be interested in the tables of the sellers until they passed. Once he deemed it safe they continued, passing the stable yards, large warehouses, a tented Rhoma carnival show, the office of the magistrate, before passing through the gates into the Inner City.
She figured the Inner City was where the wealthier inhabitants dwelled. The blue-tiled houses were of brick and placed stone. Great inns sprawled, filled to bursting with traveling nobles and affluent patrons. The noise was somewhat slighter there, and more of the carriages and wagons were covered. The streets were paved with smoother stone as well, so the wheels whirred easier.
They passed the Great Hall, where the judges sat in their council, and the Collegian, where the learned men discussed philosophy and the matters of reason, where the brightest minds went for higher learning. The massive cathedral of Divinity was a remarkable sight, a mammoth building that dwarfed those around it, with great spires that seemed to try to rival those of the Royal Palace. The Sword of Deis topped the spires, emblazoned on the banners and windows.
The Palace itself sat atop a high hill overlooking the city; strategically placed to have a view of any approaching enemy. On its backside was a sheer cliff, leaving it approachable only from the front.
That would only impress those interested in defenses. She was no different from any others who came from leagues around to gaze upon its beauty. She noticed Dradyn appeared at least as awestruck as she.
The foundations were cut from the blue-flecked stone of the hill. The rest was similarly fashioned, a gleaming palace cut from marble, a poem of a city snatched from a minstrel's dream, with grand towers and spires jutting toward the clouds above the great stone walls. The rooftops were tiled blue and gold, with golden flags flying from the turrets. Above the main towers flew the standard of the Golden Lion.
They approached massive iron-wrought gates, engraved with a lion battling a maned serpentine creature with large eyes. The carvings and gold color by no means diminished the intimidating weight the gates possessed. They were built to keep even the most desperate, powerful enemy outside the walls. The Gatekeepers that stood guard outside were merely for show, in their blue and black tabards covering their shirts of mail. Golden-plumed gleaming helmets set atop their heads, all which turned toward Marcellus and Dradyn as they approached.
"Dismount." Marcellus practically leaped off his horse. He still wore the black and hooded cloak, which was probably the reason for the guards' wary looks.
"Stay here until I call." He strode toward the guards, who silently watched him approach. Once he was close enough, one of the men held out a hand to halt him.
"Tread easily, you who approach the Lion Hall. State your business and be quick about it."
Marcellus ducked his head and spoke quietly. "I come from Bruallia with urgent news for His Majesty, King Lucretius. Let me pass."
The guard gave Marcellus a sneering glance. "I have no orders to allow passage of any messengers, save those who bear the signs. Best you be about your vile business before I have you clapped in irons for disturbing the peace." The other Guardsmen gathered, smirking at the impending humiliation.
Marcellus stood quietly for a moment, allowing the lead guard to realize his threats had no effect. Nyori noticed with certain satisfaction that the guard's expression changed from vindictive to slightly uneasy. He licked his lips nervously and blinked as Marcellus looked at him from the shadows of his hood. The man glanced back at his fellows, and when assured they were there to back him, opened his mouth angrily.
Before he could speak, Marcellus pulled back his hood and cloak, displaying the Silver Horn emblazoned across the chest of his dark blue tabard, the uniform of the Champion of Kaerleon. The guards fell back in astonishment, and their leader could only gape, dumbfounded.
Marcellus spoke softly. "Do not act as if we have not met, for we know each other well, Josef, son of Geor. Or have you forgotten when I saved your life when you froze in fear at the charge of the rebels of Brumar? It appears the hospitality of Kaerleon has grown just as cold since I was last here."
Josef's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he found his voice. "Lord Admorran! It was said you were slain in the fields of Bruallia—there was a funeral for you in the tombs of the kings."
"I can assure you that I am no ghost. But I cannot tarry here, for my business is with the king. You must take me to him at once."
Josef saluted. "I will take you right away, milord. But I cannot promise he will see even you."
"Why?"
Josef gestured toward the morning sky. "It is not yet full morning. His Majesty is rarely seen while the sun shines anymore."
A few moments later their footsteps echoed down the halls of the palace. They were flanked by a number of young knights who had joined Josef as a guard of honor. Nyori looked over her shoulder. The guards must have run and spread the news.
Nobles, lords, and ladies of the court trailed closely behind. It was almost amusing to witness them try to retain their dignity while peeking around the knights for a glimpse of Marcellus Admorran. Nyori began to understand the extent of Marcellus' reputation even when in the Mandru caste, but she saw firsthand his impact on his people. Here was Kaerleon's favored son, their Champion; the man who escaped the very jaws of death to return home.
Josef walked beside them with an air of self-importance spoiled only by the reverent looks he gave Marcellus. "Milord. I want to let you know that whatever happens, I am your man to the death. I am with you."
Marcellus glanced at him with narrowed eyes. "What do you speak of, man?"
"The king is mad, milord. He sent you to your death. All know of this, though no one dares to say so out loud. He has caused Kaerleon to become a laughingstock. Before long the provinces will begin to test their strength against us. But now, with you back from the dead...I feel like you can change how things are done, milord. You are the one to lead us."
Marcellus stared straight ahead. "You dream, knight. This is no minstrel's tale. There will be no returning hero. My business is with the king. Everything else is ashes."
Josef's expression grew startled. "Milord?"
Marcellus ignored him. They reached the end of the Great Hall, where the Doorkeeper stood stoutly, accompanied by a small squad of strangely attired guards. They were garbed head to toe in black: armor and tabards, and snug hoods that hugged their faces behind steel face guards. Only their dark, unimpressed
eyes were visible as their hands hovered over their short swords.
Nyori exhaled softly. Word had spread quickly, indeed.
"Who comes to see the king?" The rotund man's voice boomed, but there was sweat on his brow, and the quick glances from his beady eyes were definitely nervous.
Marcellus answered in a loud, clear voice. "Marcellus Admorran. Lord of Royan and anointed Champion of Kaerleon. I have business with the king today, Harlin Masters. Neither your blackguard nor your poisoned blade shall bar my way."
Rumbles of approval rippled behind them from the still-gathering crowd. Harlin's eyes flicked their direction for a moment before settling back on Marcellus.
"Marcellus Admorran is dead, impostor, and you dishonor his memory by claiming his name. Stand down, or you shall be humbled before this crowd and put in the stocks for your treachery."
There was a scraping sound. Dradyn stood beside Nyori and Marcellus with his sword upraised. "This man is my liege lord, and Champion of Kaerleon. Let anyone who would call him an impostor face me now."
Harlin's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me, farm hand?"
In unison, the black-armored guards silently unsheathed their own slightly curved, single-edged blades. Ghostlike, they assumed fighting stances.
Marcellus stood protectively in front of Nyori. The gathered nobles gasped and drew back, unwilling to leave despite the threat of violence.
Nyori heard other swords unsheathe behind her. A ring of grim-faced knights of Kaerleon joined Marcellus with naked swords in their fists.
"Have you lily-gutted excuses for soldiers gone mad?" Harlin's jowls shook in his fury. "You dare to call yourselves king's men, drawing steel in my presence? Sheathe your swords and report to your captains for punishment. That is an order!"
The men said nothing, though a few shifted uncomfortably. Josef's face had hardened to the mask of the warrior as he shouldered his way to the front of the knights. "The king replaces us with these foreign men from lands no one has seen, milord. They are not to be trusted!"
Marcellus stared at Harlin. "The sanctity of Kaerleon is above all things. Even his Majesty. You will take me to him, Harlin. Or men will start to die right now."
The Eye of Everfell Page 26
