The Eye of Everfell

by Bard Constantine

  Harlin looked at all the bared weapons. He licked his lips nervously. "Wait for a moment, Marcellus. For the grace of Deis, do not shed blood on the king's very doorstep!" He cracked open one of the heavily gilded doors and quickly dashed inside.

  The strange guardsmen silently faced off against the knights of Kaerleon. Despite being outnumbered by about twice their number, they did not seem at all disturbed. Nyori stared at the man in front of them, who looked back with unblinking eyes.

  The eyes. They look so familiar...

  Marcellus nodded toward the one in front. "Who are you men? Where are you from?"

  The man bowed courteously. "We are meigi from Honguo, if it pleases you. I am Shiru, the captain of these men. I have heard of Marcellus Admorran. To meet as men is an honor."

  Marcellus nodded in return, for all the world looking as though he were on a social call. He had not even unsheathed his sword. But his eyes–his eyes shimmered with fire begging for a release.

  Honguo. Nyori realized why they seemed familiar. Their eyes had the same almond shape as Han, the young man she met with Rhanu and his band of bounty hunters in the wilds. Why such foreigners where hired out in Kaerleon was beyond her, but her questions where interrupted as the doors opened wide.

  "His Majesty the king will see you now, Sir Admorran." Harlin spoke gravely, as though to salvage the dignity he lost earlier. "Only you. Remove your weapon."

  Marcellus unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Dradyn. His face was composed as a portrait. "The lady Nyori is under my protection, Harlin. She will accompany me."

  Harlin stiffened. "Did you not hear what I said, Sir Admorran?"

  Marcellus' voice conveyed the perfect degree of scorn. "Does a woman unnerve you, Harlin? You think you and your foreign guards cannot contain her?"

  Harlin's rubbery lips compressed, and his face reddened. "I am a Doorkeeper for the king, Sir Admorran. Stay your insults; they are beneath you." He nodded to the meigi.

  "Make sure you watch the woman."

  The meigi fell in behind them as they followed Harlin through the entrance. Nyori felt a presence similar to that at Marcellus' manor as soon as she passed the threshold. Her hand automatically went to the satchel at her belt. Eymunder was hidden there in its reduced size, as Marcellus had warned her the staff would attract unwanted notice.

  As the doors closed, Josef spoke in a fierce whisper.

  "We are with you, milord!"

  The doors slammed with a settling finality.

  Chapter 22: Marcellus

  Marcellus immediately noticed all the windows were shuttered and barred. The only illumination was the ghostly light from the torches placed in wall sconces about the room. Oil lamps burned as well, casting pale, shuddering light. Shadows quivered everywhere, and Regnault Lucretius was lord of them all.

  The shriveled husk of what had once been the greatest king in an Age sat on his throne. The Mace of Kings rested in the crook of his arm, gold and gleaming, tipped at the top of its crown with a glittering lunestone. Lucretius had lost the weight of health and perched upon his throne like an ungainly stork. It was as if the true king had long since died, but his skeleton still wore his flesh and pressed on. Despite the fury inside, Marcellus could not help a swell of pity for the man he had all but worshiped. Lucretius was the father he never had, the great king he and the entire kingdom adored.

  "I should have known." Lucretius' smile disappeared beneath the swath of his unkempt beard. "I should have known you would return despite all the odds against you. You always return, Marcellus. You never fail."

  Marcellus grated his words out between clenched teeth. "The Companions are slain. Jaslin—my brother, my best man was slain. My wife—my wife and child are dead! You sent me on a fool's errand, Regnault, and you will tell me why."

  Lucretius' flesh was that of a dying man, but his eyes peered at Marcellus in reptilian fashion, full of dark intelligence and cunning.

  "Yes." Lucretius smiled at the admission. "I am guilty of these things and more, but there are forces at work that you cannot comprehend. Powers so dark and terrible that I, even the mightiest of kings cannot face."

  Marcellus felt the storm build inside of him. "You speak of these wraiths, these akhkharu? Yes, I know of them. I have seen their handiwork, and have slain them with my own hands. You sold your soul and the future of your kingdom to those daemons?"

  Lucretius hurled the Mace of Kings across the room, where it struck a priceless display of Destinian porcelain. As the pieces shattered, Lucretius stood and became a powerful specter in the flickering light. The meigi were barely visible, silent shades of men who did not even blink at the explosion of rage.

  "You dare to pass judgment upon your king, you who have never borne the burden of lordship? You destroy one or two of the Gifted and think you have won a war. You wretched fool. If you knew what I know, you would tear your own eyes out to stop seeing the black future that awaits; you would slit your own throat to end your agony."

  Lucretius' eyes lit so wild that Marcellus took a step back despite himself. The king's voice filled the room, pounding the walls like heavy waves.

  "What stands against you is older than time, darker than any shadow, and more powerful than the wind that drives the sea. Who can stand against such? Not the king, Sir Admorran. We are but men. It is not in us to stay the path of gods."

  He paused and grimaced sourly. "Yet what is that to you, the Champion of Kaerleon? You see the Gifted as just another enemy to conquer. That is why they ordered your death, you and the faithful Companions who served you."

  Nyori stepped close and laid her fingers on Marcellus' arm. "He is one of them," she whispered. "I can sense it."

  "And so the Shama reveals herself," Lucretius said as he stepped from the dais. "Your whisper is a shout to my ears, Nyori Sharlin. We have been searching for you. Had we known you would willingly deliver yourself to us, we wouldn't have bothered."

  Marcellus stood in front of Nyori. "You speak with a poisoned tongue that flickers from another man's mouth. That is why you shun the sunlight. What did you do with the king? Did Lucretius fight against your control once too often? Is that why you finally slew him and stole his face?"

  "You have gone mad, Marcellus." Harlin stepped to Lucretius' side with a hand on the pommel of his poisoned rapier. "Have you come this far only to make wild accusations? Your words are treason. Stand down, or I will kill you."

  Marcellus could feel, rather than see the dark figures circling them. Nyori's breathing quickened, her hand drifted to the satchel at her belt as she drew closer to Marcellus.

  "You are a good king's man, Harlin," Marcellus said. "But you protect an imposter. Have you not heard his words? Think, man! Do not let your loyalty blind you from the truth."

  Lucretius laughed. "You reveal your ignorance with every word, Marcellus. This man is bound to me by forces beyond your understanding. His only thought is to serve me. And these meigi are bound by contract to kill at my order. Would you like to see a demonstration?"

  He casually raised his hand. "Kill the man. Capture the woman."

  As the meigi's silent blades unsheathed, Harlin struck like an unfurling whip, as though his heavy bulk was weightless. Marcellus heard the wasp-like hum as the slim blade nearly grazed his cheek. He seized Harlin's wrist and plunged the blade into the chest of an attacking meigi. As the poisoned blade killed instantly, Marcellus snatched the meigi's sword and whirled. The razor edge sliced through Harlin's throat with barely a sign of passing. The Doorkeeper clutched his neck with a gurgle as he sank with widened eyes. Both men's bodies struck the floor at the same time.

  Nyori snatched Eymunder from her satchel, but stumbled over Harlin's legs. The glittering wand skidded from her hand across a room full of shifting bodies. Marcellus cursed as he engaged with the next shadowy figure. He risked a glance at the king. Lucretius strode away with a dark-armored bodyguard of five men. He reached into a depression in the wall and pressed. A hidden doorway ope
ned, and they disappeared inside.

  "Stay clear of the fighting, Nyori!" Marcellus wasn't sure if she heard him and prayed that she stayed out the way. Fortunately for her, the meigi appeared focused on their order to kill him.

  He growled and stabbed through the man he fought, then rolled to avoid a whistling slash from behind. His counterattack was off balance, but he felt the shock of impact. The shadow screamed as Marcellus quickly rose to parry a blow from a third foe. He knew he would not last for long against such skilled opponents. The vengeance he sought was a fading dream, replaced by the bloodstained reality of the shadowy death that danced around him.

  The doors opened, flooding the room with light. Josef led the young knights of Kaerleon into the fray, shouting battle cries.

  "For the Golden Lion, and the Silver Horn!"

  "For the glory of Kaerleon!"

  The lithe combatants readjusted their attack to meet the men of Kaerleon with quick and grisly efficiency. The meigi wielded a number of strange and new weapons–three pronged daggers, star shaped throwing blades, hooks and spiked orbs on whirling chains. The battle that should have been easily in the knights' favor instead turned out to be an evenly fought, close quartered bloodbath.

  Dradyn fought his way to Marcellus' side. He brandished a keen war axe, perfect for the close-quarter fighting. After dispatching his opponent, he slung the sword belt from around his shoulder and handed it to Marcellus. "The Shama opened the doors, milord. We saw what was happening."

  Marcellus buckled the belt quickly and whipped out the gleaming blade. "I am in her debt again, it seems. Where is she now?" He looked around. The knights were keeping the meigi occupied, though at great cost. Already more had died than their foes.

  "Here, Marcellus." The corner of the room brightened as Eymunder flared in her hands, once again a glittering staff.

  I thought for sure that she would have run. Instead, she risked her life to recover her staff. Marcellus had to admire her courage. She might have claimed to be afraid, but time and again proved that she was anything but fearful.

  He dashed to the hidden doorway where the king had fled. "Quickly then, while we have the chance."

  He plummeted down the stairs into the depths of the shadows. As the clamor of fighting echoed behind them, Nyori brightened their way with the light of her staff.

  "Where does this passage lead?" Dradyn asked as they half-stumbled down the winding, wickedly sloped stairs. The air in the narrow hall was old and musty, thick with dust that had lain undisturbed for years. It now rose in a powdery haze from the men who fled ahead of them.

  Marcellus followed without regard for safety. He skipped two or three stairs with every step, the naked sword in one fist and his other hand sliding against the dusty brick walls to counter his suicidal descent.

  "This was a secret escape route for the king and his family in the case of the direst circumstances. Not many know it exists. No more questions."

  A whistling noise made him duck, and a throwing star clattered against the wall where his head had been. He barely saw a dark figure duck back into the shadows. He cursed and began his breakneck decline anew.

  They caught up with their quarry at the point where the stairs ended and opened to an equally dusty rounded chamber illuminated by a few fluttering torches. Marcellus stopped and turned to Nyori.

  "Wait until we clear the room, then follow. Understand?"

  She nodded. "Go."

  Marcellus dashed forward and rolled, avoiding the sword thrusts he knew were waiting for him. As the two men missed, he bounded up with a whirling sweep that cut down one of the surprised meigi.

  A whirring sound alerted him to the other, who swung a spiked mace on a thin chain. Marcellus caught the chain on his blade and pulled, snatching the weapon from the attacker. The meigi never hesitated, flowing into a spinning kick that caught Marcellus hard in the chest. He fell backward toward another warrior who rushed at him with a trident spear.

  Dradyn flung an axe past Marcellus' head and struck the spear-wielding man in the chest. As their bodies collided, Marcellus snatched the axe out and hurled it at his still-advancing opponent. The meigi dodged it with insulting ease.

  Marcellus rolled to his feet. He and Dradyn faced off against three shadowy figures. Lucretius folded his arms and viewed the battle as though a spectator in the arena from his stance at the far side of the room. Marcellus ignored the king, focusing on the foes in front of him. They were all that stood in the way of his vengeance.

  They would not be enough.

  He feinted a strike at the one to his right. As the man instinctively jumped back, Marcellus switched in mid-swing and struck at the man to his left. His sword bit deeply in the man's side, biting through the armor. As the warrior sank without a sound, Dradyn engaged the other.

  Marcellus returned to the first man, barely parrying a vicious thrust, then a second, and a third. He knew he had been lucky against these men so far, but now he was fully engaged in a one-on-one with Shiru, their leader. The man had all the speed of a striking cobra. The air rang with their furious strikes and counter-strikes; their blades caught the torchlight and sent it flashing back across the chamber like lightning.

  Marcellus felt the storm surge inside of him. His sword blurred in his hands as he flowed from one attack to the next. He was the wind, and his sword was lightning.

  Shiru's eyes widened as Marcellus slashed, cutting deep into the meigi's protective vambrace. Marcellus pushed as the blade caught the flanges, forcing Shiru's arms to twist awkwardly. Marcellus took advantage by punching Shiru in the face as hard as he could with his free hand.

  Shiru staggered but quickly counterattacked with a stiff kick hard against Marcellus' chest. The meigi somersaulted backward and landed in a crouch. His fingers made elaborate gestures as though he traced symbols in the air before speaking a foreign command.

  "Huoyan."

  The torches flared: sputtering flame leaped from the holders, almost alive as the fiery cords darted toward Shiru's hand like flaming serpents.

  Marcellus felt the Glyphs flare across his chest as if in response.

  Shiru pointed, and the fire roared toward Marcellus, who threw his arms up, desperately trying to shield his face despite the futility. The blaze seared around him, crackling furiously. The scent of scorched dust stung his nostrils.

  When he opened his eyes, he stood in a circle of fire. Somehow the flames never touched him.

  Shiru dropped his hands and stared. He gestured sharply to his comrade, who immediately broke off from fighting Dradyn. "Impossible. You are not one of them, are you?"

  Marcellus looked uneasily at the circle of fire that slowly died down around him. "One of who?"

  "The Gifted, of course." Lucretius' voice changed. It was lighter, less ceremonial than before. He gazed at them as if they posed no threat. "Or the akhkharu, as your kind fearfully labels us."

  A ripple blurred across Lucretius' face like the heat shimmers of a mirage. His wrinkled skin firmed and smoothed, his eyes grew inky as they darkened from blue to brown. His nose narrowed, and his lips thickened. When the bushy beard dissipated like smoke, a much younger, golden-haired man stared at them imperiously.

  "You were right, Marcellus," he said. "Your king is dead. He became quite uncooperative after he was forced to send you on the mission that was supposed to result in your death and ignite a war. But you just don't believe in dying, do you?"

  Marcellus and Shiru shifted stances, both facing off against the false king. It was the unspoken condition of truce: unity against a stronger enemy.

  Shiru confirmed that with his words. "Our contract was with Regnault Lucretius. We owe no allegiance to a kuang-shi who wears his face. You will answer for your deceit."

  "Who are you?" Marcellus demanded. "What do you want?"

  "My name is Eretik," the akhkharu said. "One of the Gifted, as I'm sure you know by now. As for what we want, it should be obvious. We want everything."

  "Enoug
h of this." Marcellus raised his sword.

  Eretik smiled and lifted his arms.

  Marcellus' blade was snatched from his hands with irresistible force. Shiru's sword was no different. It drifted toward Eretik along with Dradyn's axes and the blade from the meigi.

  The weapons span around Eretik in inter-crossing circles, whirring and glinting in the torchlight. "I'm afraid that you're at a disadvantage," he said. The smile widened across his face. "I don't know how you managed to escape my brethren at your manor, but your luck has run out."

  Marcellus stared at the hovering weapons. His throat felt dry as a bone, his hands naked without a blade in them. He had seen many staggering sights in the short period since he returned home, but nothing prepared him for Eretik's uncanny powers. For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Marcellus felt helpless.

  The chamber flushed golden as Nyori stepped from the stairwell with Eymunder shimmering in her hand. "Luck ran out for your friends, akhkharu," she said. "Because those at the manor are dead."

  "Your speech is courageous," Eretik said. "But I can hear your heartbeat, Shama. It quivers, betraying your fear. I thank you for bringing the fusorb. The High Lady needs it." He stretched out his hand.

  Like the weapons, Eymunder was snatched from Nyori's grasp so forcefully that she stumbled forward and nearly fell. Her eyes widened as the staff flew toward Eretik's open hand.

  The air shimmered just before it reached his palm. The staff flashed, and a thunderclap resounded, rumbling the chamber walls. Eretik flew backward and struck the wall with tremendous force, shattering the bricks. The weapons stopped spinning and rained down haphazardly in a clash of ringing metal.

  Eymunder slowly floated back to Nyori's hand. "No one can take Eymunder from me, akhkharu. I think you understand that now."

  Eretik wiped blood from his lip as he staggered to his feet. He clutched his hand and winced. "No so long as you're alive, it seems." His expression was furious. "That won't be long, I assure you."