The Eye of Everfell

by Bard Constantine

  He closed his eyes as if concentrating. The shattered bricks behind him broke completely loose and hung in the air, revolving. When Eretik opened his eyes, they shot forward.

  Dradyn slammed into Marcellus as the broken pieces hummed across the chamber. Marcellus' breath left his lungs as they fell heavily to the ground. The shards whizzed overhead at deadly speeds. Marcellus realized that he would have been torn apart had Dradyn not acted so quickly.

  The meigi that had fought Dradyn wasn't as fortunate. He screamed as the sharp pieces shredded him, punching through his body as if through paper. His mangled body fell beside those of his fallen comrades.

  "Stay down, milord." Dradyn shielded Marcellus with his own body. His face was tense, his eyes wide as he eyed the whirring pieces of rock that flew over their heads. "We have to find a way out of here."

  Marcellus craned his neck, looking behind. Shiru stood in the midst of the flying debris, untouched by the deadly missiles. They span around him, redirected so that they shot back at Eretik. A deadly game began, with each man trying to usurp the other's control. The pieces shattered as they collided, humming like a cloud of angry hornets. Marcellus realized Shiru had been holding back in their battle. He was far more powerful than Marcellus imagined.

  "Fight with me, Shama," Shiru said. "We cannot overcome him fighting alone."

  Nyori appeared especially vulnerable, but the chips of rock shattered around her as if Eymunder had erected an invisible protective dome. The current created by the swirling pieces flailed her hair, much like in the storm when she healed Marcellus. Her mouth moved, but the words were swallowed by the din. Still, when the fire from the torches leaped from the holders, Marcellus figured out what she did. The flames roared in the midst of the debris cloud as though alive, swirling as Eretik and Nyori manipulated them.

  Marcellus ducked his head as jagged shards of rock nearly clipped him. Having witnessed the ensuing duel of powers, he felt an unexpected reaction.

  He was terrified.

  He was used to battles involving men and horses and swords. What happened around him was unnatural. The elements were playthings to Shiru, Nyori, and Eretik. They did things spoken of in legends about the Elious, the hybrid children of the Aelon. It was one thing to listen to the stories, but another to be in the midst of one. Marcellus wormed his way across the floor, feeling the heat from the flames as they seared the air above his head in the storm of debris that flickered back and forth increasingly faster. The experience reminded him of one other moment in his life when he had been petrified with fear as flame encircled him. A pair of inhuman eyes had seared into his psyche...

  His hand closed on the hilt of his sword. Somehow the touch of the leather-wrapped hilt brought focus in the midst of the chaos. He gestured for Dradyn to follow.

  "What is it, Marcellus?"

  Marcellus pried at one of the flagstones on the floor. It easily came loose, revealing a wooden door underneath. He pulled it open, exposing a yawning mouth of darkness. The moist air tickled his nose as he peered inside. Trickling water was barely audible.

  "Get down there, Dradyn."

  "You first, milord." Dradyn bled in several places where the debris has struck him, but his face was resolute despite the fear in his eyes.

  Marcellus hesitated. The combatants were barely visible through the cloud of fiery rubble. Nyori's position was only apparent by the golden glow of Eymunder. Eretik shouted from somewhere in the whirring cloud. His voice was thick with rage.

  Dradyn placed a hand on Marcellus' shoulder. "This is her arena, milord. There is nothing we can do. But if we do not move, we will die. What use will we be then?"

  Marcellus gritted his teeth, pounding the floor with his fist. But he knew Dradyn was right. He quickly slid his legs over and dropped through the aperture. As he fell, the howling sounds of wind and fire followed him into the darkness.

  MARCELLUS LANDED IN rank, waist deep water that flowed slowly down a murky tunnel. The only light was from the opening above, which gave birth to distorted, dancing shadows. He whirled about with his sword at the ready, wary of an attack from the gloom.

  Dradyn leaped down and splashed into the fetid waters. The clamor of the battle raged above them. Marcellus prayed that Nyori and Shiru prevailed.

  "How do you know about the trapdoor? The king didn't even know."

  "He's not the king," Marcellus said. "So he doesn't know all. This passage is the last resort for evacuating the king in case of the worst scenario."

  Dradyn peered into the darkness. "What is this place?"

  "Catacombs. The pagan kings of old lay here." Marcellus touched the moss-slicked stone, trying to feel his way forward. "There is a trough along the walls. It had oil in it the last time I was down here."

  "I have flint, milord. Stand back."

  Dradyn he struck the flint against the steel of his dagger blade. He leaped back as the oil caught flame. The fire ran along the trough, lighting up the tunnel.

  They waded past the rune-encrypted walls and breaks in the tunnel where stairs led to ancient stone mausoleum doors engraved with unreadable characters. It wasn't long before Marcellus cursed and snatched his sword out the scabbard.

  Dradyn sloshed over. "What is it?"

  Marcellus put his finger to his lips, pointing to the door in front of them. It was closed, but muddy prints tracked across the thick-layered dust.

  He spoke in a hushed tone. "Someone's been here. Might be our captain and his lady friend. It's the perfect place to hide."

  Dradyn drew a deep breath. "The perfect place to hide a body. Let us pray that it will not be ours. There is no sunlight down here to protect us."

  Marcellus nodded, pulling open the door. The stench rolled over him like invisible fog, saturating the air with the reek of decay. Marcellus' eyes watered as he gagged. It took all of his resolve to look inside. His breath caught at what he saw.

  The remains of King Lucretius were shackled to a stone chair. He was stripped naked, his flesh white wax, his veins blackened webs that laced the skin. Lucretius' mouth was an open wound, gaping wide in a silent scream. His blackened pupils bulged from the sockets from when he died screaming for mercy or a quick death.

  He received neither. Torture was evident by missing fingers, savaged flesh, and shattered bones protruding from the skin. It had been a long and agonizing death.

  Dradyn doubled over, retching silently. Marcellus tried not to follow suit. He forced his mind to see past the horror, to stifle the grief that threatened to flood his resolve. Lucretius was dead. Marcellus' mission was to find his killers and make them pay.

  "I don't understand," he said. "Why torture him like this? He was already in their power."

  "Because we had to have all that he knew." A voice spoke from the darkened side of the room. "And he resisted."

  A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped from the shadows. His face was the type women would fancy, strong and square jawed. Black hair fell to his shoulders, and he wore the uniform of the Imperial Captain. Anon Misral, as Dradyn had named him.

  Anon continued calmly. "All part of the process of stealing one's life, of course. Memories are ours for the taking once we break a person. Some fight to the end." He gestured to the grisly corpse.

  "Others yield with little resistance." The raven-haired woman that emerged beside Anon was pale and slender. Her bold nose made her appear hawkish, but her gleaming eyes and full rosebud lips gave her a captivating type of beauty. Her black, richly embroidered silks fine enough for a ball instead of the tomb. Marcellus figured her to be Vivienne, Anon's mysterious lady friend.

  "You must be the legendary Marcellus Admorran. You have no idea the trouble that you've caused us, do you? Your meddling is at an end, Sir Admorran. Your trespassing triggered an alarm that brought us instantly to you."

  Her eyes glimmered when she glanced at Lucretius. "Still loyal to your king despite all that he did to destroy you. At least he died with some amount of honor. Your wife certainly
didn't put up much of a fight." Her lips parted as though savoring the memory. "She was a weeping, simpering mess. We pulled all that we needed from her with ease before we killed her." Her plump lips curled back in an animal grin, teeth flashing in the dim torchlight.

  Marcellus should have been furious, but rage had fled in place of fear. His hands trembled, his heart pounded as if seeking an escape from his chest. Flight was his only thought, yet his legs stood rooted in place; his breath clawed like a wild beast trapped in his throat.

  "It is the darkfear." Dradyn choked, paralyzed as well. "Strike if you can!"

  Vivienne strode slowly, graceful and deadly as a jungle cat. Marcellus could not break free from her hypnotic gaze. His arms trembled as he strove to fight her hold, sweat dripping from his brow. His hands barely kept their grip on his sword.

  Vivienne grinned as though she knew how feeble his efforts were. Her hand softly traced his jaw line with her finger.

  Marcellus winced as her fingernail slashed across his chin. She laughed as she licked the drop of blood that beaded on her finger. "Such brave men, to believe that you can truly defeat us. I can hear the clamor upstairs. Do you think that your Shama can overpower Eretik? He was killing her kind back when being called a Sha meant something." Her voice purred, and her smile never slipped as she dropped her hand to Marcellus' chest. The air rippled in front of her palm.

  Marcellus' breath exploded from his lungs as an unseen force struck with staggering power. His feet left the floor, and he struck the brick wall with a boom that caused dust and chips of mortar to shower from the ceiling. His chest felt broken; black specks flickered across his vision as he fought to rise. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered why he could not evade her attacks as he did Shiru's.

  "Perhaps it is time for you to adopt a new guise, Anon," Vivienne said in the same cool tone. "Captain of the Guard has been useful, but to be the Champion of Kaerleon..." She clapped her hands gleefully. "A definite step up for you."

  She did not even glance as Dradyn yelled and swung his short axe toward her head. Anon appeared seemingly from thin air, seizing Dradyn's wrist and squeezing. The axe fell harmlessly as Dradyn's bones snapped like old chalk. Dradyn snarled; tears trickled from his eyes as snatched a dagger from his belt.

  "Get out, Marcellus!"

  The dagger sunk deep in Anon's shoulder. He didn't even wince. His grin was fierce as he snatched Dradyn up by his throat and shoved upwards. Dradyn's head plowed through the low plaster ceiling with a crunching sound. White dust fluttered down on Anon's head and shoulders like newly fallen snow.

  Blood fanned across Dradyn's brow. His muscles knotted as he tried to free himself, but Anon's fist slammed into his chest with such bone-crunching force that Dradyn was limp even before his body struck a pillar several paces away. The crumbling masonry burst apart and half-buried him.

  Marcellus struggled against the fear that flailed his mind. He snatched up his sword and rushed at Vivienne, swinging desperately. She avoided his every slash and thrust as though her bones were made of water. Her delighted laughter mocked him as her movements blurred, too swift for him to follow.

  He didn't feel the pain from the unseen blows until after she stopped moving. The sword hit the floor as his arm went dead, his body next as his legs gave way. His breath gusted against the dusty ground. Blood tricked from his mouth, pain coursed across his body. Out of breath and unable to move, he knew only death remained.

  Strong arms hoisted him upward as though he were a child. Anon's gloved hand gripped his chin, snapped his head back, and lifted him so that his heels left the ground. Marcellus sensed Vivienne approach, felt her hot breath stir the tiny hairs on his neck, heard her tongue slide across her teeth as she brought her mouth to his ear. One hand stroked his chest as she softly whispered.

  "Your pain will be over soon, foolish man. Soon you will join your family while Anon lives on as you. In a way that means you will never die."

  Marcellus tried to struggle, but Anon held him easily. Vivienne's fingers hooked into Marcellus' chest, her eyes blackened as though eclipsed. He gasped when fiery needles stabbed his flesh, and his strength faded as if she drained the rivers of his soul. In his mind he saw the waxen faces of the corpses left behind by the akhkharu, knowing he would soon become one of them. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he glared at her with all the defiance he could muster.

  Icy heat flared across his chest. He recalled the glimmering Glyphs that branded across his skin in the wilds. The storm awakened and surged inside of him. He heard the thunder rumble in his mind; the room seemed to flicker with lightning.

  Confusion flickered across Vivienne's face. The needles vanished as she took a wary step back.

  "Anon, I believe this one has been warded. Some barrier interferes with my purge."

  "What? Impossible." Anon dropped Marcellus and spun him around. "Only a Theurgist could create a ward, and..."

  Something whirred through the air.

  Vivienne stiffened with a grunt. When she turned to face the doorway, Marcellus saw a dagger handle protruding from the back of her head. Blood oozed around the wound, but she did not appear to consider it more than an annoyance. They all stared at the black-clad stranger in the doorway.

  Marcellus thought at first that Shiru had returned, for the look of the tunic was similar, and the newcomer had his face covered too, showing only the same dark, curiously almond-shaped eyes. But the dark armor differed slightly, studded with silver spikes on his shoulders, gauntlets, and greaves. In one hand he held a strange weapon: a short, curved blade attached to a long leather-wrapped handle; in the other was the razor-edged dao sword the meigi favored.

  "These humans are getting more brazen, aren't they?" Vivienne's hand drifted up to the dagger handle that jutted from her skull. She yanked it out and examined the crimson-stained blade almost curiously.

  "Brazen, or insane." Anon stepped toward the stranger, gripping Marcellus by the throat so hard that he gagged. "Drop your weapons, human, or your comrade dies before your eyes."

  The stranger did not spare a glance at Marcellus. "He is not my comrade." He spoke in the same soft accent of the meigi. "So I will not drop my weapons. I am here to destroy kuang-shi. Whether you kill him or not, the result will be the same."

  Marcellus took advantage of the momentary distraction by shoving his head back against Anon's face as hard as he could. Anon's grip loosened as he sputtered and reached for his shattered nose.

  The stranger leaped forward.

  Marcellus dove for his sword. He saw blurs of movement from the corner of his eye. Impossible as it seemed, the stranger was a match for Vivienne. She hissed like a cat as she tried to dodge the flashing blades.

  Marcellus' hand closed on the hilt.

  Anon yanked his sword out of the sheath so forcefully that the scabbard burst apart. The pieces floated across the room in petrified time.

  The newcomer was more than a match, it appeared. Vivienne's flaming body fell beside Marcellus, minus her head.

  Anon's eyes were wild when he roared. The torchlight reflecting off his sword turned it into a blade of fire.

  The stranger clenched his fist, and something shot from a slot in his gauntlet. Anon looked at the bolt embedded in his chest in shock, sword still upraised. Blood trickled from his bottom lip. He still wore the same puzzled expression when the stranger's blade struck his head from his shoulders.

  Marcellus rose to his feet as the flaming body struck the ground and burst into a cloud of glowing ashes. He looked at the stranger, who calmly retrieved his weapons.

  "Who are you?" Upon a close examination, the stranger appeared to be around the same age as Nyori. It seemed impossible for him to be so skilled.

  The man bowed respectfully. "I am Han, a Huntsman. We have been tracking these kuang-shi for months now."

  "Huntsman?"

  Han glanced at Lucretius' corpse passively. It was clear that he had seen the same many times. "Yes. We track the kuang-sh
i, and we destroy them."

  "There are more of you?"

  Han gestured toward the door. "My brothers sweep the other tombs. There are sure to be more of these kuang-shi hidden here."

  Marcellus paused in the process of examining Dradyn. The man was battered and unconscious. Several bones appeared to be broken, including possibly his skull. "More, you said?"

  As if to answer, spine-tingling howls and shrieks resounded from outside the tunnel. The door burst inward off its hinges. With flashes of glimmering eyes and bladed weapons, the room filled with new assailants.

  Cursing, Marcellus struck as fast as he could. There was little room to maneuver, but the akhkharu seemed as confused as he, as though they fled from something else. Despite their poor fighting skill, he knew their sheer numbers would overcome them quickly. At any second the outstretched hands would pull him down and drain his life-force...

  Another sound erupted, human voices shouting battle cries. Men who could only be Han's companions joined the fray. Huntsmen, as Han had named them. And he was right. They knew how to slay akhkharu, and did so with gusto.

  A hulking Norlander with thickly braided crimson hair struck the wraiths with a keen axe like a mad forester. The short, dark-haired man beside him who looked to be from Epanos wielded short swords with deadly efficiency while dressed in a coat and trousers finely embroidered as if for a feast-day. A one-eyed woman fought as well. Her golden locks flailed as she snarled as fiercely as her foes and attacked with sword and shield, heedless of the blades that whirred around her.

  The fourth warrior was a brown-skinned foreigner that whirled a wakiza. The long blade was attached to an extended hilt that allowed for dexterous use. It hummed as he danced from one akhkharu to another. Fire and blood seemed to follow him as he left severed limbs and heads in his wake.

  In less time than seemed possible, the room filled with flaming bodies and ghostly, fluttering ash. The stench became even worse if such was possible.

  The battle was not without casualties. The Epanite swordsman was impaled to the wall with a spear. The woman looked up from examining him and shook her head sadly. The dark-skinned warrior nodded. They lowered the slain man to the ground, and the man bowed his head over his fallen comrade. "Farewell, Micholas. May your songs ring merrily in the halls of Janadaus until we meet again."