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Yanus fell from the ebony cliff, bathed in his own inky blood. He fell forever, howling with maniacal laughter as he plummeted toward the fiery rivers below. Twilight screamed her challenge while she reared and flailed her silvery hooves. Fountains of flame stretched out below them like yearning fingers. On burnt-out paths, twisted creatures toiled at blackened machines, enormous compilations of cogs and gears that towered and belched smoke into the fire-soaked sky.
Dhamphir soared above on leathery wings, shrieking with fear and outrage. An imposing building towered above all, an ebony array of towers glistening like wet ink. Its sleek orderliness was a bizarre contrast to its surroundings. A figure stood on one of the ramparts, cloaked in shadow. The only things visible from the heavy cowl were twin orbs shining like tiny mirrors.
The Reaver raised its sword in a challenge to the unknown enemy. The answer was mocking laughter that echoed from all around. The fiery world shimmered, and endless Glyphs were visible for a moment. They formed every part of the landscape, every blazing streak that flared across the sky.
Something seized the Reaver from behind, pulling with relentless force. The world distorted in blurs of hellish colors.
~*~
MARCELLUS BLINKED.
The room was so white it appeared he floated in a sea of nothing. He gripped the seat of the simple black chair he sat in, fearful that if he tipped over or stood up, he would disappear. The chair was an anchor, keeping him assured that a floor existed.
A man sat across from him.
Everything about the man was black except for his skin, which stood out in pale contrast. There was something wrong with his eyes. They were colorless, but the light glimmered from their surface as though from polished mirrors. His long, inky hair was as jet as his garments: a finely cut cloak heavily embroidered with intricate scrollwork, with a short cape that barely went past his shoulders. His loose-fitting trousers were tucked into supple calf-length boots, and snug gloves covered his slender hands. His face was surprisingly youthful, his cheeks smooth. Only the eyes marked him as something other than a handsome young man.
Marcellus was sure it was the same figure he'd seen on the rampart of the building when he was in the Reaver's form. I must have been pulled into the building, but how? It was impossible to know without asking, and somehow Marcellus didn't want to be the one to break the silence.
The Man with Mirrored Eyes studied Marcellus with an unsettling air of calm. It was the way a man might gaze at a pebble or shell the sea had washed ashore.
"Do you remember the wyvern, Marcellus?" The words flowed from the man's lips like music, but his eyes never blinked. Light flickered from his irises like scattered diamonds.
Marcellus licked his lips. His voice was thick in his throat when he managed to speak. "The ... wyvern?"
A hint of amusement touched the other man's lips. "Yes. Your people called it a dragon, of course. Similar in form, but not entirely the same. Nonetheless, the legends credit you for slaying a dragon, don't they?"
"I ... never killed it. It needed something. It needed my help." Marcellus found that recollection was hazy in the room of all white. His knuckles tightened on the seat of the chair.
"Your help to do what?" The Man with Mirrored Eyes waited patiently, the tips of his gloved fingers pressed together.
Marcellus frowned in thought. The experience was from his early days of knighthood. He had been a Wolf Knight then, a penniless warrior who sought fame and fortune wherever he could. He had thought the small cantref's populace had been exaggerating with their tales of being terrorized by a dragon. But then he had ventured into the rumored lair...
The darkness came alive around him, coalescing into gleaming scales of jet that wound about him, sinuous and powerful. Unable to move, unable to breathe, Marcellus looked up into the cavern ceiling. Glimmering eyes flashed, gazing at him with intelligence so far beyond human that it was terrifying...
"The dragon was trapped. Trapped in our world when it belonged ... somewhere else."
"In the next stratum." The Man with Mirrored Eyes gestured almost lazily. A globe sprang from his hand and swelled in size, hovering between the two men. It was divided into several layers, each winking with alternating pulses of soft light.
"You only know one level of existence." The Man with Mirrored Eyes pointed to the second layer from the bottom. "The world you call Irth. Humanity knew their world was multi-layered in the past, but those days are no more. Beings that you believe to be mythological, like dragons, belong in Kuan—the world beyond your sky. Beyond that, there is Nolavani, the home of the Aelon."
The room flickered, and the floating globe distorted, crackling in and out of visibility.
Marcellus broke his gaze from the intricate globe to look at the Man with Mirrored Eyes, whose gaze had sharpened into a malignant stare. He gazed into the distance as if seeing the ghosts of long-dead memories and hating every one of them. A sound filled the room, the roar of angry winds and colossal waves mercilessly pounding brittle rocks.
Marcellus tensed. There was nowhere to go, but he knew that he wanted to be anywhere but in the impossibly white room with a man who could control aspects of reality yet not control his emotions.
The Man with Mirrored Eyes exhaled. The storm inside of him seemed to subside, and the room illuminated to its original brightness. He continued as though nothing had occurred.
"The final realm is Anshaer, where only the winged ones are permitted. Together they combine to form the true world, Marcellus. Not the realm you behold with your restricted perspective."
Marcellus couldn't help pointing at the level not spoken of. The one on the very bottom. "What is this realm, then?"
A spasm of fury flickered across the face of the Man with Mirrored Eyes. "That is Ersetla Tari. The Shadow World that Anko claimed for his own, where the Night Mares run wild and dead dreams weep bitter tears. Legends say that the greatest knowledge can be found in those dark depths, but no such treasure exists. It is a realm of endlessly shifting doorways, illusion disguised as hope. Nothing dwells in Ersetla Tari except lies."
The darkness of his expression clearly forbade Marcellus from further pursuing the subject. He cleared his throat. "Why ... are you telling me this?"
The Man with Mirrored Eyes seemed amused. "Because you are my servant, Marcellus Admorran, Champion of Kaerleon. And I expect my servants to be as informed as possible."
Marcellus didn't reply. He was aware of the emotionless gaze upon him as he racked his brain for a way to respond. He couldn't acknowledge the man's statement, but to deny it would more likely than not result in dire consequences.
The Man with Mirrored Eyes saved Marcellus from his plight. "You appear not to believe my words. But it was you who championed my most trusted servant. Only a wyvern and her rider could traverse the Threshold to Kuan. When you agreed to be that rider, you opened the passage for her to eventually make her way here to me."
Marcellus shook his head. "I don't remember any of that. I went into the lair and discovered the dragon was real. The only thing I remember after that is coming back out."
"Of course. Your memories cannot cross the barriers of the different stratums, and you lost the ability to recollect your time in Kuan the moment you returned to your own world. But know that what I tell you is the truth."
Marcellus dared to look into the other man's mirrored eyes. "I don't understand what I have to do with any of this. The wyvern, the Reaver ... why was I chosen for these roles?"
When the globe winked out of existence, the Man with Mirrored Eyes sat directly in front of Marcellus as though his chair crossed the distance in an eye's blink. "You do not know your bloodline, Marcellus. Humanity is ever forgetful of its past. Yours is the blood of kings and of the Elious. Which means you have the blood of royal Aelon in your veins. You were born to do great and terrible deeds in the legacy of your ancestors. And you will do them for me."
"No." Marcellus was surprised by the firmness in his voice. "My actions are the result of my choices, and I am no one's thrall." The words felt hollow as Leilavin's pallid face loomed in his mind, her smile mocking.
Laughter seemed to whisper around him, although the Man with Mirrored Eyes had not opened his mouth. When he did speak, his voice was so hushed that Marcellus had to strain to hear him.
"You know who I am, don't you?"
Marcellus felt as though invisible needles stabbed his chest. "No."
"You lie." The words echoed in the glowing room.
Sweat dripped down Marcellus' brow. "Please. I ... I want to go. Please..."
"Go?" The Man with Mirrored Eyes turned. The nearest wall winked out, exposing Marcellus to the terrible view of the inferno that bloomed in the sky and the blackened world of misshapen stacks of jutting ebony rock scarred with veins of liquid fire.
That was the least terrifying sight.
The Man with Mirrored Eyes stood on the outside rampart, cloaked in darkness. Only the reflective orbs of his eyes were visible as he stared at a figure in the distance—a heavily armored figure on a monstrous steed which billowed gouts of flame from her mouth as she reared. The Reaver raised its onyx sword in a challenge to its enemy...
The Man with Mirrored Eyes turned to Marcellus. "Where can you go, Marcellus? Don't you see? I'm already in your mind."
Marcellus choked as he lurched to his feet. The chair winked away instantly, vanishing into nothing as the room spun in dizzy circles. The Man with Mirrored Eyes watched the Reaver from the rampart outside. The same man gazed at Marcellus without expression inside the brilliantly lit room.
"You cannot think to contest me, Marcellus. I have defied the boundaries of time and space. I shaped the very landscape of your world. You were brought here by a Night Mare that can traverse impassable boundaries into a realm where no man can enter. Do you not wonder why? Because my designs demand your complete subservience. And if I have set my designs upon you, then you will act in accordance to my design."
Marcellus gasped at the invasive sensation of cold fingers thrust into his mind. He staggered and clutched his head, but there was nothing he could do to resist. The assault was a raging river of malignant force, his mind a pebble cast into its midst.
There was no longer a man in front of Marcellus. Mirrored eyes surrounded him from all sides, reflecting hundreds of images of himself over and over, every one of the reflections magnifying the terror etched on his face.
Fingers seized him, pulling him deeper into the fathomless pupils. He fell into the abyss and dissolved into nothing, losing himself piece by piece, falling forever.
~*~
MARCELLUS AWOKE WITH a start and grabbed the hand on his shoulder. His dagger whistled before stopping at Nyori's throat. Her eyes were wide with fear, her body frozen. The staff in her hand was the only illumination in his darkened tent.
He sheathed the blade with trembling hands. "What are you doing here?"
"You were thrashing and yelling like a madman." She raised shaky fingers to the red line on her throat. "They summoned me when no one could wake you. You were sweating, literally burning up. I thought I would have to heal you again—"
Marcellus turned away. The visions of the night fluttered in his mind like caged ravens, murky and indistinct. "What is in me can't be healed, Nyori. You should know that more than anyone."
Her eyes held unwanted sympathy. "Marcellus, I saw what Leilavin did to you. You should not even be alive. What you are, what you can do ... is impossible."
His voice softened somewhat. "I'm sorry that our paths had to cross, Shama. I fear I have exposed you to much evil since we met."
"You had nothing to do with what's happened to me." Her eyes dropped. "I was in this long before our paths crossed."
He gazed at her. She was frightened of him, but for some reason, he felt it wasn't because he was the Reaver. "Nyori. You have no reason to trust me and every reason to stay away. Why are you here?"
She looked away, and for a moment, he was sure she would not answer. When she looked at him again, her eyes were afraid. "Because what happened to you is my fault. I warded you, something that hasn't been done in over an Age. Because of that, Leilavin was able to bind you as a Reaver. I have to undo what she has done to you. I am the wielder of Eymunder, and I have to learn to use it correctly. We cannot let them win, Marcellus. We have to find a way to defeat them somehow."
You cannot think to contest me...
Marcellus winced. It had been no dream. He had been there. It had something to do with how the Night Mare traveled, the waves of darkness that carried her outside of their reality. He had been pulled by forces beyond his comprehension into that world of fire, where the Man with Mirrored Eyes—
"You haven't seen the things I have, Nyori. I'm afraid. Not just for myself, but for all of creation. This is so much bigger than the Reaver. Bigger than the akhkharu. I have been a fool, enveloped by my hatred while strangers in the night light fires to burn our world. It is coming, Nyori. It is so close now, so close..." He shivered.
Nyori laid a hand on his arm, searching his eyes. "What is it, Marcellus?"
He shut his eyes, but images of fire blazed across his vision regardless.
"The end. I have to control what lies inside of me, Nyori. I have to use the Reaver. Use it to destroy Alaric and save our world from his clutches. It will be a start, at least. The beginning of a war against someone much more powerful than he and his akhkharu combined. I have seen him, Nyori. I have stared into his mirrored eyes and seen our destruction."
"I don't understand. Who is it that you saw?"
Marcellus winced and touched his head. He could almost feel the waves of force that had so easily violated his mind. His voice shuddered in a hoarse whisper.
"Someone terrible. Someone that needs to be stopped."