The room grew silent as all eyes looked at Marcellus. He gritted his teeth. "I do so purposely, Lord Archambault. It is better for the units to look to their immediate commanders in a battle like this. There is much unknown, and the battlefield undoubtedly 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.
"My decision is final. Get your soldiers ready to move."
It took some time to integrate the newcomers, but soon the army continued again, marching to the borders of Aceldama. It was not long before they reached it. A line of thick fog stretched as far as the eye could see, a dirty blanket that obscured all view of what lay beyond. It billowed and roiled like sea mist, but stayed contained as though there was an invisible line holding 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 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. Tomorrow the battle shall 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 did not think it possible, but the man's eyes stretched even wider.
"From beyond the mist."
Marcellus had to press through crowded lines. The word had spread quickly. The reaction was puzzling, however. With someone coming from the fog he had expected fear, or perhaps anger. What he sensed was something else. It wasn't shock, precisely.
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 newly minted silver. An ornately wrought sword was sheathed at his side. At the center of the crosspiece was a black orb that 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 try 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 as though 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. But it was the truth.
As the realization sunk in, it spread to the surrounding soldiers at the same time. Theron gave a roar and snatched up his battle-axe 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.
It is time. Alaric Aelfvalder must die.
"No!" Marcellus did not 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 did not 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 of the Aelon. 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 well you should know, 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. The battlefield should not be the first place to meet the one seeking your life, true? 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 buffeted 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 effort; 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. Do not resist. My mission must be completed.
"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. I am here to finish that work."
"My people feared the Reavers in the past." Alaric gave a diffident shrug. "Five 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 five 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 who are chosen to serve us mind and soul. Such as this one here."