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A bouquet of freshly cut roses was crooked in his arm, still beaded with morning dew. The Companions lined in front of the army, facing Queen Salliana and her escort. She looked particularly lovely, with the sun highlighting her shimmering black hair and glinting from her jewelry. Her gown was cut to allow more freedom of movement, slashed in colors of olive and cream. Princess Emillisa stood beside her with excitement beaming from her face.
She carries all her mother's features except the eyes. Her eyes look just like mine.
"You go toward unknown lands and fates uncertain," Salliana said. "But you go with courage and honor, and perhaps that is what will serve you best. Go with the grace of the Goddess, and may her light shine upon you until your safe and victorious return."
I will never see her again. She will never be able to have a conversation with her father.
"Many thanks for your blessing and hospitality," he said. "We shall meet again, whether in this world or when we all shine like rays of the sun." He bowed from his saddle, and the entire army behind him followed his example. The movement rippled down the lines like an iron ocean.
He hesitated only a moment before nudging his horse closer to Emillisa and leaning over to offer the roses. "A small token for the gift of your presence. Farewell, Princess." His heart nearly shattered at the joy in her smile and thanks. He bowed to her again before he turned to lead the army eastward. It would probably be a few hours before she found his signet ring hidden in the bouquet. It was one of the few things he took from his manor, and he was grateful to gift it to the last of his blood.
Farewell, my daughter. May your days have the peace that was denied your father.
The army moved along until the city was lost to sight. Marcellus rode silently, so lost in troubled thoughts that he barely noticed when Nyori pulled alongside him. Sunlight glinted off her crystal staff. "Did you know the Queen well, Marcellus?" Her tone seemed ... challenging, and she looked especially beautiful for some reason. Her braided hair gleamed in the sunlight as though she had taken extra time with it, her cheekbones seemed more defined, and her lips were stained berry red. He was glad he was riding, or he may have stumbled.
He hesitated before answering. "I knew her well enough, Shama."
"Truly? I could hardly tell." She gave him a sidelong glance before settling back to ride beside Meshella. He still felt her eyes on him, like needles in his back.
He turned to Han, only to find the man chortling silently. "I'm glad you find this amusing," Marcellus said irritably.
They arrived at the border of the Barrens without incident. There wasn't much to distinguish it from the lands of Hispalis, save that it was a bit less cultivated and wilder than the preceding countryside. The terrain appeared drearier when they crossed the border and moved deeper into the country. Though spring had arrived, no flowers bloomed there. The sparse bushes and trees still stood naked as though robbed by winter's passing and would never again see a newborn leaf or carry the scent of a flower in bloom.
It wasn't long before the soldiers felt the effect. Their raucous laughter slowly ceased, as did their conversations. Even the Norlanders stopped their boisterous antics and fell silent except to grumble about the heat. Though the snow-capped Alpens of Norland were still visible to the north, no cooling breeze swept through to comfort them. Nothing stirred at all. It was as if the wind itself avoided that place. Yet Marcellus was untroubled by the weather, consumed by much more important thoughts.
Emillisa...
Her smiling face was imprinted on his mind, making his decision to become the Reaver all the more a mockery.
I didn't know. I thought I had nothing left to live for.
He was sure Salliana had not told anyone else about her daughter's lineage. He wondered if he overstepped by leaving his signet ring. It might be better if the girl never learned the truth. His name would only put her in danger with the many enemies he had made. And how could she deal with what he had become?
Vanishing in these cursed Barrens might be the best gift I can give her.
"Marcellus."
He turned. Nyori appeared concerned as she drew her horse closer. "You look grieved. Are you all right? Is it because—" She cut off as if trying to choose her next words carefully.
"I'm fine."
She gave him a stare that indicated he hadn't fooled her, but thankfully she didn't press the issue. He snuck a look when her attention was diverted by a question from Han. The wind tugged her hair, and sunlight shone on her face as though to highlight it for his attention. He sighed. He was never adept when dealing with his emotions, and he didn't wish to try to unravel them around Nyori, not when she was one of the threads that entangled him.
She pulled her mare to a halt as the sound of wolves howling in the distance became audible. Instead of concern, a smile lit her face. "Rhanu approaches."
Marcellus pulled rein and signaled his lieutenant. "We will stop here. Gather the commanders for a quick council. Friends will be joining us."
Not long after, Rhanu led a large party to join theirs. Unlike the organized soldiers, his followers approached in a haphazard cloud. They were the most diverse band Marcellus had seen, a clash of cultures and features that somehow had meshed together as one company. They didn't wear the gleaming armor of the soldiers, but their weapons were keen and the men hardy, despite appearing as though most had come on foot.
Marcellus clasped hands with Rhanu as Nyori exclaimed and embraced Ayna and Naresh. The soldiers didn't seem to know what to make of the newcomers, but they appeared welcoming enough, their spirits uplifted by the addition of more seasoned warriors.
Rhanu enjoyed a warm welcome from Han, Meshella, and Fregeror. There was something different about the man. He appeared calmer, more insightful than the last time Marcellus had seen him. And the way he stood next to Ayna; the closeness of their stance indicated the two had become intimately involved. Meshella's smile was wide as she cut off Ayna's words with an unexpected embrace.
Han fell in beside Marcellus. "I must be doing something wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"All the beautiful women run into other men's arms. Shama Nyori to you, and Shama Ayna to Rhanu. You must tell me your secrets of seduction. We learn too much about politics and warfare in Honguo and not enough of courting the Sha."
Marcellus gave him an irritated glance. "Nyori has certainly never run into my arms."
Han laughed. "Oh, is it the other way around? I admit I'm not yet familiar with all of your customs here."
Marcellus looked at him with strained patience. "It is not that way at all. Nyori and I have an understanding—"
Han's eyes twinkled merrily. "Oh, an understanding, is that what it's called? In my homeland, we call it courtship. But again, forgive my ignorance."
Fortunately, Rhanu arrived, clapping Han on the back. "Forgive this one, Lord Admorran. While I may have missed his callowness, I'm quite sure you have had enough of it. May I present my lady wife, Shama Ayna Tlalli."
Han appeared startled but quickly smoothed over his surprise with a quick grin. "Rhanu the Husband. Certainly less threatening than Godslayer, but well done all the same."
Marcellus kissed Ayna's bejeweled hand. "My congratulations, Shama Ayna. Nyori speaks very highly of you. I am honored to finally meet you in person."
Ayna's golden eyes gazed at him as though seeing secrets. He wondered how much Nyori had told her. Women always did reveal too much when talking in private. "The honor is mine, Lord Admorran. Nyori has mentioned you often as well."
Meshella cut in by throwing her arms around Rhanu. He winced from the reinforced weight of her mail and armor. "So happy for you both," she said. "It is about time you lost that gloomy cloud above your head."
Rhanu sighed, patting the arm that nearly throttled him. "As you say."
"I have a sister, now." Meshella beamed at Ayna. "I like her, Rhanu. You had better treat her well."
Rhanu disentangled from her strong grip, rubbing his neck. "I will do my best. Were I a good husband, I would forbid her from going into this battle. Perhaps you'd like to escort her back to Hispalis since you're getting along so well."
Both women gave him flat stares. He held up his hands. "Peace. The pack stays together, I know." He saved face by quickly turning to Marcellus. "I'm grateful we were able to join you before you entered the Barrens. I have more men on the way. They will join the rear of the army."
"It is well that you have joined us. I was afraid you would miss out. I would like to use you as a commander if you would. I know you are accustomed to leading and can use your experience."
Rhanu dipped his head. "I will do what I can, but there is another mission I must focus on. One that may be as important as our impending attack."
"Truly? What have you discovered?"
Rhanu pulled a map from his belt. "Take a look at this and tell me what you think."
"It would be best to do so in the war council. We were just about to begin." Marcellus led Rhanu to the tent that was hastily erected for the meeting. All of the commanders were already present and gathered as Marcellus entered. Marcellus introduced Rhanu as an ally and quickly began the battle plans.
Rhanu unfurled a map across the makeshift table. "Aceldama used to be a glorious Aelon capitol. We can only hope that at least a remnant of the road exists, or the transport of the siege engines will be difficult, if not impossible."
Ayrton de Vallegera grimaced. "Without those, any hope of scaling the walls of a city or palace will be dashed to pieces, Mistro. There is no telling what defenses we will have to face. There are too many unknowns, too many opportunities for this battle to become a bloodbath."
Theron hooked his thumbs in his belt. "If you think it too savage for your taste, then begone. Hispalian soldiers be worse than children play-fighting. They put on a brave face but moan like newly-bedded whores at first sight of bloodletting."
De Vallegera only smiled as he stroked his mustaches. "I hear in Norland the men fight with their heads like bighorn sheep. Small wonder they have trouble thinking beyond a plate of food."
Theron stared at the much smaller man for a long moment before exploding in laughter.
"We can only hope the road is still able to be traveled," Marcellus said. "This battle will be chaotic enough as it is."
Shiru stroked his chin. "You can be disorganized and still be effective, for nothing is certain even with the best-laid plans. A wise general knows how to adapt quickly to the conditions of the battlefield."
Marcellus figured Shiru knew more about war than what he let on. The man seemed to speak from personal experience. "Well, the climate and terrain beyond the fog are uncertain. I trust the separate commanders to do their jobs. Shiru, I want you to lead a battalion. Han will be your second, and Meshella has her squadron as well. Theron commands the Ulfhenar and Norlanders, Archambault the Ferochans, and De Vallegera the Hispalians, of course."
"There will be no attack unless the gates of the fortress or city can be breached," Creyshaw said. The former pirate and Basha of the Caraka had silently observed until then. "We have five hundred men with ballistae from Illum and Akaya with much experience since they have spent centuries devising new ways to conquer one another."
"Excellent. Creyshaw, you will oversee that operation. I'm sure you have plenty of experience in overcoming powerful fortresses with a small force of men. Once a pirate, always a pirate, is that not the saying?" Creyshaw could only shrug guiltily as the men chuckled.
"My archers number five hundred," General Archambault said. The Ferochan High Lord was of average height, slightly balding, with a beak of a nose and curved mustaches that were well oiled, as was his pointed goatee. His cuirass reflected his piety, heavily engraved with doves and roses and centered by the Sword of Deis. Yet his hooded eyes had seen the face of war, and he understood how to survive it. "Another half thousand from Feroch on horse."
"Two battalions of pikemen from Hispalis, and another on horse led by Ayrton de Vallegera," Marcellus said. "Two battalions of mounted lances from Leodia, wolf knights who seek glory in combat. Near two thousand warriors on horse and foot from Norland. We are a small army—too small to overthrow a powerful city like Hispalis or Kaerleon, but it should be enough for this task. From what I have seen, the akhkharu didn't have much in the way of military might."
"Yet with their Crafts, do they truly need to?" Han asked. The men murmured uneasily as though he expressed their thoughts.
"It is too late for doubts to unman us," Marcellus said. "Our strength is sound enough. What did you have in mind, Rhanu?"
"The map marks a tunnel that the odji use to travel to and from Aceldama. The Sha have determined that the gate controls are hidden there as well. I will lead a band into the tunnel, seize it, and use the controls to allow our men entrance into Aceldama."
"So be it. We need to get moving again if we are to make the boundary before nightfall."
"What of you, Lord Admorran?" General Archambault turned his unsettling stare at Marcellus. "You have said nothing of what part of this battle you will command."
The room grew silent as all eyes looked at Marcellus. He gritted his teeth. "I do so purposely, Lord Archambault. The units should look to their immediate commanders in a battle like this. There is much unknown, and the battlefield will be chaotic. I will be at the fore of the battle."
"Soldiers take the fore, milord. Commanders orchestrate the fighting." Archambault's gaze penetrated as if reading into Marcellus' intentions.
Marcellus met the man's stare evenly. "My decision is final. Ready your commanders; we must move quickly."
It took some time to integrate the newcomers, but soon the army continued again, marching to the borders of Aceldama. It wasn't long before they reached a line of thick fog obscuring all view of what lay beyond. It billowed and roiled like sea mist but stayed contained as though an invisible line held it back. Occasionally, ghost lightning flickered from deep within, disembodied flashes that gave it an eerie type of beauty.
"Truly bizarre."
Marcellus had not seen Theron's approach. Han and Dradyn were right behind the Norland king. They looked warily at the hazy curtain.
"We camp here for the night," Marcellus said. "The men should sleep, for it may be their last time. Tomorrow we will be on their grounds, and the battle will begin."
One of the scouts approached.
"Riders heading this way, bearing the flag of truce." The man's eyes were wide, and his face flushed.
Marcellus frowned. "From where?" He didn't think it possible, but the man's eyes stretched even wider.
"From beyond the mist."
Marcellus had to press through crowded lines, where the word had quickly spread. The reaction was puzzling. He had expected fear or anger at someone coming from the fog, but he sensed something else.
It was ... awe. As he made his way to the front, he saw why.
Three men sat bareback on the finest steeds Marcellus had ever seen. The men's white and silver high-collared coats and trousers were cut from a metallic thread that appeared soft as silk yet far more durable. They were tall and slender, with strikingly bright eyes and chiseled faces. Even their skin had a metallic sheen. Two of them had hair like spun gold, but the center rider's hair was silvery-white. An ornately-wrought sword was sheathed at his side. A black orb at the center of the crosspiece pulled Marcellus's gaze until he felt he would sink into its inky darkness. His heart pounded as phantom fingers seemed to seize him by the throat. It took great effort to tear his eyes away and look up at the regal trio once more. They gazed upon the gathered crowds as though viewing ants clustered by the roadside.
Marcellus was suddenly aware of his slightly rumpled coat and every scuff on his riding boots. It took an effort not to smooth out his hair and beard. When he pulled up close, he was almost smothered by the bearing of their presence.
"Aelon." The word escaped from his lips despite the absurdity. A collective murmur ran throughout the crowd. "Impossible."
The silver-haired one spoke in mellifluous tones with his palms pressed together. "I have long awaited this moment. To meet the man whose fame has reached even my ears is indeed an honor. Lord Marcellus Admorran, may light and long life favor you always."
Marcellus tried hard to match the other's smooth delivery. "It is the grandest of honors to have the Aelon grace us with their presence. Might I inquire what circumstances grant us such a privilege?"
The Aelon lord gave Marcellus a look that made him feel he had missed something very obvious.
"I am the one you seek to destroy. I am Alaric Aelfvalder, king of the Co'nane, and those you call the akhkharu."
For a long moment, the shock left everyone immobile. Marcellus' thoughts collapsed into chaos; his points of perception shattered across his psyche like brittle glass. What the Aelon lord had spoken so surely and calmly was incomprehensible.
As the realization sunk in, it spread to the surrounding soldiers simultaneously. Theron gave a roar and snatched up his battle-ax as the rest of the men drew their weapons. A circular wall of gleaming steel instantly surrounded the Co'nane.
The Reaver's voice took Marcellus by surprise, rumbling in his head like a monstrous thunderstorm.
Let me out.
"No!" Marcellus didn't know if he spoke to his men or the Reaver as he raised his hands. "Stay your blades. These men rode in under a flag of truce. Any man who does not lower his weapon will answer to me."
The captains immediately called for the men to fall back. The orders were reluctantly obeyed. The Co'nane sat still as if they didn't notice the pandemonium.
Marcellus heard the thunder of unearthly hooves before realizing it was inside of his mind. He banished the sensation as he glared at Alaric. "What you claim is impossible. Akhkharu are not Aelon, and they would never approach in daylight, where they can die as mortals do."
Alaric met Marcellus' anger with unflappable calm. "You address the Co'nane, the original Blood. The sun does not cause us harm, as you should know well, Reaver. You may wonder why I have come to you."
His sapphire eyes bored into Marcellus, searching through flesh into soul. "I came because I wished to meet my enemy. After all, the battlefield should not be the first place to meet the one seeking your life. You are the one serving Leilavin, yes? The human given the Reaver's power?"
Murmurs rippled through the ranks of men still close by. Alaric's eyes flicked to the men and back to Marcellus. His lips curved in a shadow of a smile. "A secret not known to all, it seems." He studied those closest to Marcellus. His gaze seemed to linger a heartbeat longer on Nyori, whose eyes shimmered with fear and ... recognition.
"But known to some," Alaric concluded. "I can feel the Reaver's presence, you know. Do they know what you go through to contain it, Sir Admorran? How you teeter on the edge of a blade while being battered by storm winds?"
"Does it matter?" Marcellus felt the darkness swell within him, felt his heart blaze with ebony fire. It took all of his effort to keep the Reaver checked. His jaw clenched with the exertion; sweat trickled down his face.
"Extraordinary," Alaric mused almost to himself. "That such power could be given to a mere man. How strong your spirit must be."
The Reaver's voice dug furrows in Marcellus' mind. Release me, human. Fire and blood will settle this.
"My hatred, you mean." It took great effort for Marcellus to keep his hands away from his sword. He gripped the pommel of his saddle tightly instead. "Of you and all of your kind. The Reavers once drove your people to near extinction, and I am here to finish that work."
"My people feared the Reavers in the past." Alaric gave a diffident shrug. "Six of them rode from the shadow and nearly wiped my people from existence. But I found a way to destroy all of them. You are but one. What can you do against me that six of your predecessors could not?"
Marcellus folded his arms. "If you aim to intimidate me with such talk, then you've failed, your Majesty."
"I came to spare the lives of your men if you can be convinced to listen to reason. You will not lead them to victory if you choose to continue on this path of vengeance. You will lead them to slaughter. This is not the first time our species has come to war. I have witnessed this story again and again throughout the ages. As you can see, mankind's efforts have not been successful. They were mighty warriors, their courage incomparable. Now they are less than the dust on the soles of your boots. Your fate will be no different. All of your men will die, save those chosen to serve us mind and soul. Such as this one here."
Alaric pointed without bothering to look. All heads turned in that direction. Dradyn had slowly tried to melt to the back of the crowd since the Co'nane first appeared. He stood frozen, eyes wide and uncharacteristically terrified.
"Come, my servant." Alaric beckoned, his eyes still fixed on Marcellus.
Dradyn knelt before Alaric without hesitation. "How may I serve, Great Lord?"
"Let Lord Admorran know what awaits him."
Marcellus felt his heart sink when Dradyn turned to him. Shame rippled in the man's eyes, but his mouth spoke the commanded words. "There is no point in resisting, milord. The Co'nane are our masters, and it is in our best interest to submit."
Marcellus directed the nearest men to nock their arrows. "You break the banner of truce, and it's obvious that you control him somehow. Release him or die."
Alaric didn't appear concerned. "I break nothing. He is the one that has revealed your location time after time, betraying you without hesitation. Did you think you avoided my grasp? I have known your every move, seen every plan through the eyes of my servant."
Dradyn wilted under the accusing glares of the Companions, appearing on the verge of tears. He's the reason Yanus found us in the snowstorm. It should have been obvious they had a traitor on the inside. How he missed that was beyond him.
Tears slid freely down Nyori's cheeks. "Dradyn. How could you?"
Dradyn's face contorted in shame. "I never meant to. I didn't know—"
"There is much you do not know." Alaric gazed only at Marcellus. "You dare to rise up against your masters, the very ones who ushered in your civilization. You have no idea what your arrogance will cost you before this is over."
The Reaver's pulsing cloud of darkness swelled inside of Marcellus' chest. I will kill him myself.
His muscles knotted with the pressure of resisting the Reaver's attempts to seize control. He turned his attention to Alaric. "You're in no position to make threats. Truce or not, I am not in the most merciful of moods. All I have to do is say the word, and the cost will be your lives."
Alaric looked at the nocked arrows as if just noticing them. He frowned ever so slightly.
Every bow and arrow pointed at him snapped in two. The men staggered from the sudden release of tension, falling back in astonishment as their weapons clattered to the ground.
Alaric's voice was soft and deadly. "Thus, I shall break this entire army if any dares to threaten me again. I am the King of the Co'nane, and you are merely men. Know your stations and tremble."
Marcellus answered with a grim smile. "You think to frighten us with words? We don't cower so easily."
"Your foolhardy ignorance doesn't concern me." Alaric gazed again at the crowds that surrounded Marcellus. "The Shama does." He stared intensely at Nyori, who flinched as though struck. "It has not been long for you, Nyori of Halladen. But it has been so very long for me. Long have I anticipated the moment when we could finish matters unsettled between us."
Confused mutters rippled through those in earshot. Marcellus felt puzzled as well. He still didn't understand what had happened between Alaric and Nyori, only that the Aelon lord desperately wanted to gain possession of Eymunder.
"I will make you a bargain, Nyori." Alaric focused only on her, as though the entire army of thousands was inconsequential. "And we will see what you place your value upon. If you surrender Eymunder to me right now, I will spare the lives of all of these people. No one will need to die; no battlefields need be full of charred and broken bodies."
Marcellus spoke through gritted teeth. "You make a bargain with the wrong person." He winced as Twilight's scream ripped through his mind. The Reaver's voice followed like muffled thunder.
Fire and blood.
Ignoring the phantom voice was like overlooking a needle stabbed through his eye. He desperately tried not to let the strain show on his face. "The Shama does not lead this army. I do."
"I am not finished speaking." Alaric's gaze never left Nyori's face. Her eyes were wide as though transfixed. "You wish to stop these akhkharu? Then you will find an ally in me."
"You would have us believe that you are not in league with the akhkharu?" Nyori said. "It was your servants that sought to slay me more than once."
Alaric shook his head. "Not mine, Shama. There are rebel divisions among the Sects. They are the ones who attack your kingdoms, and they are the ones responsible for the death of your king. Those who came after you are my enemies. They sought to destroy you and gain Eymunder for themselves, so I could not accomplish the goal that eluded me so many years ago when you removed it from my grasp."
Nyori leaned forward as though trying to read Alaric's face. "Why would you risk so much to come to us? Is Eymunder so important to you?"
Alaric lowered his voice. "Eymunder is only half of the puzzle, Nyori. You have the staff, and I have the other piece. Together they can be used to reverse the malady that afflicts my people."
Nyori's hand drifted unconsciously to the pouch at her side. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Alaric's lips twitched. "Your pretense is amusing. You know what I speak of, though it has not been seen in over an Age. I have the Tome of Apokrypy, originally owned by Teranse the Theurgist. The cipher to unlock its secrets can only be unlocked by Eymunder. I only need to heal my people. Think, Shama. There will be no need for war if the Co'nane no longer prey upon human life. We need not be enemies when we can be allies instead."
Marcellus pulled his horse closer to Nyori. "You speak pleasant tales, your Majesty. But you forget we have your handiwork. The deeds of the servants are the same deeds of the master. And what black deeds have been done in your name."
Death...
Alaric displayed emotion for the first time when he glowered at Marcellus. "Are your hands not stained with blood, Knight of Kaerleon? Do you not serve at the bidding of Leilavin, who once stood at Stygan's right hand? I offer terms of peace. Would you spurn them just to lead men to their deaths?"
Marcellus opened his mouth, then hesitated. What if what Alaric said was the truth? Negotiation was a method he had not even considered in his haste to attack Alaric's kingdom.
You cannot think to contest me...
A vision of mirrored eyes flashed across his mind when the new voice whispered, terrible in its familiarity. Marcellus faltered, disoriented by the sheer force of the images.
At that exact moment, the Reaver attacked.
Marcellus reeled when his vision darkened, and the roiling presence inside of him burned his insides with fire. A groan escaped his clenched teeth, and he doubled over with waves of agony pulsing through his veins.
Alaric's eyes widened, and he raised his hand. "No. You must fight it, Marcellus. Fight Leilavin's control!"
Marcellus tried. But he felt the malevolent force burst through his defenses like pus through a malignant boil. He swayed in the saddle, locked in a battle unlike any he had ever experienced. He fought against the darkness that simmered inside of him. He fought to retain his own existence.
But the Reaver was stronger.
Alaric's escorts drew him back protectively, staring at Marcellus in outright terror. They became smaller somehow, as though they shrunk before his eyes. His vision dimmed further when the horse underneath him morphed into something unnatural. His companions drew back, shouting and trying to settle their terrified mounts.
Alaric's face hardened as he turned, gesturing toward the curtain of dirty fog. The air rang with ghoulish howls, and phantom figures sprang from the mists, pressing against the disorganized soldiers with gleaming blades in hand.
Nyori cried out something, but Marcellus couldn't hear in his turmoil. The Night Mare reared and screamed her challenge, snorting flame as the Reaver's ebony blade unsheathed with a sound like gravel scrubbed across a grinding stone. Marcellus faded when the Reaver burst free. His last conscious thought was of his crushing failure.
The Reaver smothered everything else in darkness.