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The looming statue called to Marcellus surely as if it spoke aloud. 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 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. A ghostly voice called out, echoing around him in the storm.
"Marcellus..."
He shuddered but refused to rise. Dying as close to Evelina and Alexia as he could was more than he deserved. He looked up but found no solace in the face of the statue. Her eyes bore into his, silently accusing him of the neglect that led to their deaths.
His trembling hands went to his sword hilt. It jerked and rattled as he forced his stiff fingers to close and pull the weapon out clumsily. As he stared at the glimmering blade, he recalled how easily he had slain so many men. It was only fitting that he met the same fate.
The hilt vanished in the soft snow as he placed the point against his chest and closed his eyes. It could all be over. All he had to do was lean forward and put his body's weight on the blade. The suffering, guilt, and pain could finally end. He felt the point prick his flesh, the tiny dot of blood that slowly spread.
Do it. End it now—there's nothing left for you. Do it. Do it!
"No." He swatted the blade away with a sob. Snow fluttered from his head and shoulders when he staggered to his feet, covering his face. "So many people I have slain ... but I cannot even slay myself. I am worse than a coward."
"No. The time has not yet arrived for you, Marcellus Admorran."
He slowly dropped his hands, staring as the snow stopped its whirling. No—it continued to swirl about, around him as if some invisible barrier had materialized around the garden. All was eerily silent. And the disembodied voice ... it sounded unlike any he'd heard before, yet seemed so familiar.
He turned and saw the black-robed figure. There was no flutter of the silken robes, no disturbance that betrayed the act of movement as it drew closer to him. Or was he drawn to it? The figure's approach was almost hypnotic. Marcellus fell back to his knees, shaking his head as a wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed him. Still, he felt the figure's approach until it stood directly in front of him.
With the greatest reluctance, he raised his head and peered into the depths of the hood. Two crimson orbs glowed from the darkness, piercing through clothing, through flesh into the very core of his soul. Marcellus trembled anew, but no longer from the cold.
"Do you know who I am, Knight of Kaerleon?" The words were crystalline, spoken from an inhuman throat.
Slim white hands slid from the ends of the wide sleeves to slowly clutch the edge of the wide hood. With a deliberate motion, the cowl swept back. A woman's cold and captivating face gazed at him with calm so intense it bordered on menace. Silence surrounded them as though a mere whisper would shatter the stillness and bring the fury of the storm upon them in an instant.
He knew exactly who she was, though she had many names.
To the Elious, she was Leilavin. In Jafeh, they called her Hamaraj. To the Norlanders, she was Heldra; in Byrthon, they called her Giltra. Many names in many lands, but the common name was simply Death.
Her unblemished skin seemed cast from the purest porcelain, her ivory hair held in place by obsidian daggers. Ruby eyes glowed from soot lashes, and her blackened lips curved in an almost smile.
Her multi-layered robes were black and gray silk encircled by an ebony corset embroidered with skulls. An hourglass hung on one side of her wide sash; on the other was thrust a small sickle. A stole of raven feathers hung from her shoulders. If he stood, she would only be at his chest, but she towered over him like the Spire of Khelios. He was grateful to be already on his knees in the almost overwhelming power of her presence.
Leilavin was a legend, a story told to wide-eyed children by traveling meisters. But only weeks ago, the akhkharu had been children's tales as well. She was as real as the snow around them, regal as the forest, older than the mountains.
"Yes, Mistress," Marcellus said. "I know who you are. You have come to take me to join with my family, and I am ready."
The echoing sound of silver bells tinkled merrily. "You presume much, Marcellus of Kaerleon. Who are you to tell me when you are ready?"
"I do not understand, Mistress."
"Look at me."
He hesitantly raised his eyes. Once again, he was paralyzed by her deadly magnetism. She gazed at him as a tradesman did a tool to see if it fit the task.
"Why is that you seek to die when you still have much to do, Marcellus?"
Marcellus gazed at her in confusion. "There is nothing more. I have avenged my family and have nothing to hold me here."
"Do you believe I am here to take you, Marcellus?" She smiled, white teeth glowing from ebony lips. "If I wished for your death, all I had to do was let you fall on your sword."
"If not..." He frowned in puzzlement. "If not, then why are you here? You have naught to do with the living, do you?"
Again, the mysterious smile. "I am concerned with my affairs, little man. That is enough for you. You know something of the akhkharu, do you not? Will you let your family's killers run free to destroy more lives while you moan and wallow in your misery?"
Marcellus' head spun with uncertainty. "I have destroyed the akhkharu responsible for killing my family. What more have I to do with those monsters?"
"Such a typically human way of thinking." Leilavin shook her head. "You chop off a finger and think the body will fall; chop off a branch and think you have felled the oak. I am surprised that a famed soldier like yourself would make that mistake."
"I am a soldier no longer. I dedicated my life to protecting the glory of Leodia, yet could not protect my own family. What kind of a man am I, then?"
She drew closer, each tiny step majestic and terrible. "Such sorrowful words. Yet was it not you who sent so many fathers, husbands, and brothers to their deaths? What makes you believe I care more for your plight than theirs?"
"If not, then take my life now, Mistress. I give it gladly." Marcellus extended his sword, his head bowed.
Again, the silver bells tinkled. "If I granted every petition for death, this world of yours would be a lonely place. Mortals—always rushing where you do not belong. I will take you when it is time, Marcellus. For now, I have a task for you."
He frowned. "What task?"
Leilavin's mouth tightened. "The akhkharu are an abomination, a mockery of the balance of life and death. They are a desecration of the natural order, defaming the harmony in nature. I need you to tip the scales back to balance, Marcellus. I need you to become my warrior, my sword to strike into the heart of the akhkharu. I need you to become my Reaver."
"Reaver?" The world spun around Marcellus. He gazed around at the silent snowstorm. The manor was not far. Would Nyori look out the window and see him speaking to the air? I've gone as mad as Lucretius. Could a man know such a thing? Did Lucretius realize it when he passed beyond the borders of sanity?
Leilavin did not appear to notice his discomfort. She circled him like a panther toying with its prey. "Once, I sent out the Reavers to destroy the akhkharu and nearly succeeded. But Alaric secured a fusorb, a weapon that greatly amplified his power. He destroyed my Reavers and left me greatly weakened. His ilk has dwelled in the shadows, manipulating your world as they have seen fit. A push and a kingdom topples. A whisper and a mighty king succumbs to madness."
Marcellus eyed her warily. "I am only a man. What can I do that you cannot?"
Her crimson eyes flashed. "Do not pretend that you are only a man, Marcellus Admorran. Not when you have been ... altered."
The Glyphs blazed brightly...
Marcellus unconsciously touched his chest.
Leilavin smiled knowingly. "You are stronger than you have ever been. Faster. You do not tire as other men do, and you also heal swifter. The Crafts of the akhkharu have little effect on you. You have been warded, Marcellus. The Shama did not tell you this?"
"Warded? What does that mean?"
She laughed. "Your ignorance is amusing. Your kind knew such things once. You know of the Elious, yes?"
Marcellus thought back to his childhood. The stories he heard before he grew old enough to dismiss them. "They were the offspring of Aelon and humans. They possessed some of the powers of the Aelon, yet were less powerful and mortal."
Leilavin continued to circle him. "There was another way to become an Elious. The Aelon would sometimes honor a human for their deeds of extraordinary valor. Such humans were warded. In your case, you are reborn from the storm. Lightning contains certain properties necessary for life, and the Shama used them to bring you back from the brink of death. The ward was the only way to bind those properties so that you could survive."
Leilavin paused. Her eyes grew distant as if forgetting Marcellus. "She should not have been able to complete such a complicated bind. The child has received help, it seems."
Her gaze sharpened. "Warding is only the first step to becoming an Elious. I can complete the process. No weapon of this earth will harm you. The Crafts of the akhkharu will be useless, and all those less powerful will be at your command. One thing you must do. Strike down their king, Alaric Aelfvalder, and the rest shall fall easily. He is the architect of the plot against Kaerleon and against you. Only then will your vengeance be complete. Only then will you ever know peace."
Vengeance. Marcellus bent to retrieve his sword. It gleamed as though anticipating being used again.
Leilavin nodded, the smile still on her face. "That is why you cannot slay yourself, Marcellus. Deep inside, you know your task is not yet complete. Quit now, and your true Companions will have died in vain. Your king will have died in vain. Your family—all in vain. Is that what you wish?"
Marcellus heard his own words repeated in his ears. Anyone involved, anyone that benefited, anyone that ever dreamed of harming what was mine. His heart pounded. "You can do this? You can give me the power to destroy them?"
The black rosebud lips curved. "More than you believe possible if you will kneel and serve. What you need will be drawn to you, Marcellus, I swear it. You will be able to fulfill this task. Accept my offer. Become my Reaver."
For an instant, he wavered. The bargain was against everything he had learned, everything he had fought for. Death was not an ally. She was the enemy. The enemy of man, the enemy of Deis.
And what has Deis done for you? What have your lofty beliefs gotten you? All you love lies cold at your feet!
Marcellus raised his head and met her scarlet stare. "Very well, Mistress. I accept your terms."
Movement caught his eye. He turned, already knowing what he would see.
She pressed against the invisible barrier, shouting indistinguishable words as she vainly pounded the transparent surface. Her eyes were wide in fear and concern. The staff in her hand shone like a golden lamp.
I'm sorry, Nyori. I don't have your strength. I told you before what I had sworn to do.
Leilavin's eyes never wavered from Marcellus' face. "The Shama can do nothing more for you. The decision is final, and you belong to me now."
Marcellus looked into her eyes and gasped. The unseen barrier dropped, and the storm surged inward, roaring as though furious at being held back.
Leilavin took his head in her hands. Her touch made the snow seem warm, her grip unbreakable, her scent of freshly overturned earth. Her fingers traced across his forehead; his brow felt aflame. Her raven stole enveloped him like great black wings and wrapped him in their embrace. In that darkness, her face and eyes glowed as she drew him close and kissed him deeply.
Cold.
Marcellus tried to jerk back, but he was frozen; hoarfrost coated him and seeped inward until it covered his bones, his marrow splintered and shattered in a million icy pieces. From that tundra came a bloom of heat, a single blue flame that flared and bubbled through his veins.
He heard his voice wailing in agony as though it were someone else. The feeling of falling overwhelmed him, of floating into eternal darkness. Emotion, pain, and suffering—they did not exist there.
Only fire.
So, this is what it feels like to die...
A terrible scream rent through his consciousness. His last sight was of a gargantuan horse hurtling through the flames toward him with eyes of darkness and hooves flickering with silver lightning.