He quickly changed the subject. "How is your training going?"
She had begun taking lessons from the Meshella and Han on using her staff to defend and attack. He was against it, against her going into battle at all, but found himself facing flat stares from both women when he brought it up. For some reason, Han found that very amusing.
"Well, thank you. How are you sleeping, Marcellus?"
How am I sleeping? He wondered if she knew about his unsettling dreams. Like the one he'd had some time ago when he'd seen Rhanu fly over the castle like an eagle. Whatever that meant.
He refused to let her divert the conversation. "Don't Shama take a sacred vow not to take lives?"
Nyori's gaze was serene. "Shama vow to preserve life, which is a difference. There were Battle Shama in the days of the Elious, Marcellus. Sometimes circumstances demand that things change. What is past comes around again. It is like the Rhoma say: life moves in circles."
She looked away as she spoke, however. He knew she was hesitant to use a weapon, much less take a life. That kind of indecision got a person killed quickly in battle. He inwardly shuddered at the thought of her broken and lifeless on the battlefield.
"You don't have to do this." He touched her lightly on the arm. "This akhkharu king has already sought to kill you. The closer you get to his stronghold, the more likely the chance he will succeed. You have a choice, Nyori."
She looked at him intently as her hazel eyes caught the morning sunlight. The wind played with wisps of her coppery hair. "You have a choice as well, Marcellus." Her eyes never left his face. "You don't have to continue this crusade. I haven't seen you become the Reaver in over a month. You're in control now. You don't have to start a war to obey Leilavin's commands."
How does she always turn things around like that? He should have excused himself the moment he heard her approach. His voice grew bitter. "I know you mean well, but you do not understand the gravity of my bond. I took a vow, and I am bound to fulfill my contract."
A stubborn expression spread across her face, but fortunately they were interrupted by Dradyn's approach on horseback. "Soldiers from Leodia, milord." He wore a plain tabard and boiled leather armor, which fit him well. Marcellus tried to ignore the Silver Horn insignia on Dradyn's tabard. Some fool had the grand design to sew that standard on the uniforms of the army that followed Marcellus. When he tried to stop it, everyone just stared at him as though he had cursed their mothers.
"Excuse me, Shama."
He mounted the piebald Dradyn had brought, and they rode toward the main courtyard. Are all Shama insane? He considered ordering some soldiers to tie her up and take her as far away as possible. She was starting to unravel his nerves.
He focused his mind on the moment. Kaerleon soldiers could only mean General Oren had discovered his whereabouts. That meant they either were there to arrest him or investigate why he was gathering arms in Norland, a kingdom that was only reluctantly allied with Leodia.
On the way to the gate, he was joined by Meshella, Fregeror, and a small band of eager young fools who fought each other daily to be his Honor Guard. He pointedly ignored the extra men. Honor Guard, indeed.
Meshella smiled. She wore her uniform proudly, and almost snapped his head off when he offered a riding dress instead of the snug breeches she wore. Her honey-colored hair was intricately braided, and her bejeweled eye patch glittered in the light. She was popular among the soldiers, who found her not only beautiful but able to outfight and out-drink most of them. The Norland women adopted her as one of their own, appointing her as a captain of a squad of women warriors.
As they rode past the courtyard gates, another rider joined them. Marcellus almost groaned out loud. How Nyori found a horse that quickly was beyond him, but there she was with her glassy staff in hand. At least she still wore a dress, divided for riding. Soft leather boots protected her legs up the thighs. Slender but shapely…
Stop that!
He turned his gaze to the troop of soldiers ahead, garbed in the blue surcoats of Kaerleon. Their armor shone brilliantly, and the cold wind tugged at their dark blue cloaks. Spring may have arrived, but in Norland that meant little.
The soldiers bore the white flag of truce, as well as the Golden Lion of Kaerleon. Marcellus was not without his standard bearers — not that he had chosen them. Fregeror carried the Isbjorn of Norland and Dradyn the Silver Horn, much to Marcellus' chagrin. The last thing he wanted was Leodia or anyone else think was he was raising a rebel army.
They met the Leodian embassy outside the walls of Glacia, for Norland vowed that no foreign soldiers would set foot in their great city — a rule that apparently excluded Marcellus and his companions. As they drew close, Marcellus was surprised to see a familiar face.
Rodell Pariot was as cool and collected as the last time Marcellus had seen him. It seemed so long ago that he and Rodell had walked the empty corridors of the Hall, on the way to see the King and undertake the mission that would destroy Marcellus' life. Rodell looked much the same, though his garb appeared more luxurious. His cuirass gleamed as if freshly minted, and the sleeves of his doublet were slashed blue and white in noble fashion. His ermine-trimmed velvet cloak was indigo lined with black.
Rodell's gaze took in the companions, the standards, and Marcellus himself in the blink of an eye. "Fair greetings, Lord Admorran. I must say it's good to see you, in spite of circumstances."
"I'm glad to see you back in the king's colors, Rodell. I ran into your replacement while in Kaerleon. He was not up to the job."
A smile crossed Rodell's lips. "So I heard. Lucretius removed me from the Guard and exiled me for speaking the truth. Once he…passed, Oren saw to it that I was given my position again, along with a recent appointment as Master of Trade."
"My congratulations," Marcellus said. "But what truth did you speak to anger Lucretius so badly?"
Rodell shrugged. "I told Lucretius he was a fool to send you on that cursed mission, and unfit to be the king. Needless to say, he didn't take it well. I believe we'll all find it better if we get out this bitter wind. If you'll follow me to the tents…?"
Fregeror nudged his horse closer. "Best be wary. An ambush could await you. Best if one of us does go first."
The Kaerleon knights rumbled in anger. Their lieutenant's hand darted to his sword hilt. "You dare accuse the Imperial Captain of treachery, Norland dog? Your tongue will adorn my blade should you speak so again!"
Fregeror just grinned and lifted his axe in anticipation.
Marcellus raised his hand. "Enough. Nyori, what say you?"
She turned him with a pleased expression. "I sense no threat from these men, milord."
"Then we have nothing to fear." He spurred his horse forward. Meshella nodded approvingly, while Rodell gave Nyori an appraising glance. They rode together to the Kaerleon encampment, where blue-canvassed tents were erected.
Moments later Marcellus stood alone in Rodell's spacious tent. "I will not lie to you, my friend." The older man handed Marcellus a goblet of mulled wine. Rodell looked more careworn since Marcellus had seen him last, his temples lined with silver strands. "The death of Lucretius is bad business. As bad as it gets. Especially since you were in his presence, and then disappeared before anyone could question you. Then you reappear in Norland, raising an army. This causes great concern, as you can imagine."
"You know I didn't kill Lucretius, Rodell. You saw the body."
"No," Rodell said. "Unfortunately my exile prevented me from being there at the time. Oren told me about it, however. Lucretius was almost unrecognizable, nearly butchered. Many of the wounds were weeks old—"