"Which means I couldn't have murdered him."
"We agree on that, Marcellus. But you must know something of how someone conjured an imposter so much like Lucretius that everyone was fooled."
Marcellus downed his wine. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you. No one would."
"Someone might. You'll never know unless you come back to Kaerleon."
"I cannot." Marcellus fought the urge to pace the room. He found the tent confining, a canvas prison that locked him in with the Reaver. "I assure you, I mean no threat to Leodia. You can tell Oren I give my word on that."
"Oren demands that you desist from building arms and immediately return with my escort to Kaerleon. There is much left unresolved there, and all of it involves you, Marcellus."
"I know." Marcellus felt his jaw clench. "I know. But I cannot comply with those demands. What I do now, what lies ahead, is more important."
"What are you doing, Marcellus? If you're not invading Kaerleon, the only kingdom nearby is Epanos, which holds a treaty with both Norland and Leodia. I can't imagine why you would do so, especially since it was you who brokered peace with their queen."
Marcellus examined the map spread across the portable table. "Invading Epanos is not on my agenda, Rodell." He traced a route with his finger. "I will take my army past their kingdom, further to the east."
"There's nothing out there, besides the Barrens, and…" Rodell's eyes widened. "You can't mean that you plan on taking an army to the Forbidden City."
Marcellus' hand clenched. "I do. Oren may wish to stick his head in the sand and pretend what happened to Lucretius was mere madness, but I know better. I've fought these monsters, these akhkharu, in Kaerleon and here in Norland. They are probably in Illum, Jafeh, and Runet — who knows how far they've spread, infecting our kingdoms, usurping our power. A war has begun, Rodell. A battle of shadows, where those from the pages of myth and legend spring from the darkness to seize us. I did not start it, but I will be the one to fight it. I will strike before they can further mobilize, and attack them where they think they cannot be touched."
Rodell stared at him openmouthed. "Great Deis, man! Do you not hear yourself? Whatever you have seen, Marcellus, an infiltration by some malevolent force is irrational. The Norlanders may be mad enough to join you, but I beseech you to leave off this folly before you cause the death of all who follow you. The Barrens of Aceldama are cursed. The air is thick with ash; the very ground weeps blood. It has swallowed armies larger than yours whole. Even Tristan the Bright was no match for its dark powers. Heed my words and return with me to Kaerleon. State your case there, and things will go better for you."
"It is too late." Marcellus turned to the door of the tent. "My choice is set, the die is cast. My destiny lies in Aceldama, and in battle. Oren need not worry about me."
He stared into the distance. "I know now that once I cross the line into the Barrens, I won't be coming back."
Chapter 52: Nyori
Columns of soldiers blended into a never-ending silver serpent that snaked toward the eastern horizon. Crowds roared in celebration on the roadsides where the remaining snow had been cleared. They were Norlanders, and to them death and glory were one. White rose petals and ribbons fell from the city gates, and children ran alongside the soldiers as far as they were permitted. Trumpeters on the walls sounded triumphant notes in time to the march. It was all too surreal to Nyori.
How can men going to kill other men produce such joy?
And yet she was in their company as well. She gazed at Marcellus. He was in full gleaming armor, looking every inch the knight of legend as he discussed preparations with Fregeror.
"Crossbow men from Parand will join us on the road. Theron will meet us on the border of Epanos with a host of his madmen. And the equipment?"
"Already be on the road a week past." Fregeror wore full ceremonial garb, his mail and armor burnished and gleaming. "We will no doubt catch up to the carriers on the way."
"Who will watch the city until Theron returns?"
"Theron does have many sons. His eldest remains, much to his regret. He holds the kingship if Theron should gain his glory."
Shiru approached. Marcellus nodded respectfully. "Shiru. You seem to have something on your mind."
Shiru dipped his head. "It is this battle, Marcellus. In my homeland we call war an art, and few master it. Preparation is a key factor to whether your army will live or be destroyed. How can we be prepared when none has seen the realm of the enemy?"
Marcellus hesitated. "I…share a link with one of the akhkharu. One that has allowed me an idea of what we are up against. I have seen their palace through her eyes. It is not heavily fortified. No doubt they never expected to be besieged when it was constructed."
Nyori narrowed her eyes. "A link works two ways, Marcellus. If you can see through her eyes, what stops her from seeing through yours?"
Marcellus' smile was wolf-like. "When she looks through my eyes, she sees the Reaver. She fears me."
Shiru bowed his head in assent and asked no more questions. Nyori had many of her own. She had not heard him mention such a link before, and his omission bothered her. Her foresight had all but vanished in Marcellus' presence. It was as though the darkness within him obscured everything like dirty fog. His face was as readable as stone, and he had not even blinked at the mention of the Reaver. When Nyori looked at him, she could almost hear the sound of the world tearing apart.
The atmosphere was potent with coiled violence. Creyshaw sat to one side with a mean squad of soldiers, handpicked and battle tested. Garbed in battle leathers with a wicked-looking cutlass slung across his back, he looked once more like the pirate Marcellus fought in the past. Dradyn sat atop a shaggy mare beside the retired pirate, garbed in light mail under a leather cuirass.
Meshella arrived with her squad of women soldiers. They were nearly as vicious looking as the men with as much armor and weapons. Fregeror donned a horned helmet and strapped a heavy double bladed axe to his saddle. Han wore loose black garments covered by light armor. Twin sword handles jutted over his shoulders, and a number of nasty weapons were cunningly hidden on his person.
Marcellus' Honor Guard arrived, excited and eager. Marcellus nodded to the lieutenant.
"We ride."
The man barked out the order, and the banners unfurled. The Golden Lion of Kaerleon. The Silver Horn. And another that displayed three shields. The flag of the Companions, she had learned. Marcellus looked at it without comment. For a moment she saw sadness in his eyes.
"Yes." Dradyn had a note of pride in his voice. "The Companions of Marcellus Admorran are reborn."
They rode through the gates in full glory, with the joyful cries of Norland carrying them along. She looked at the faces as they passed, seeing the hope in their eyes. Many did not even know the full truth of what they faced, or the odds that were stacked against them. But they believed Marcellus would lead them to victory against their unseen assailants. She wondered how they would view him if he met with failure.
The roar of the crowd slowly faded as they went down the road. She turned for a last look at the gleaming city, which shimmered as if sculpted of the purest ice. The towering spires stretched toward the cloud-streaked sky, and the Isbjorn roared silently on the banners. It was not without a touch of regret that she turned away.
For she did not need foresight to know that no such beauty lay ahead.