Nyori glanced at Leilavin. The demure woman wore patterned black layers, her face young but her eyes so old. She gazed at the mourners imperiously, as though they had all gathered together to honor her. Nyori sighed softly. She still had no idea of what Leilavin truly wanted, but the woman insisted on keeping her vow of obedience. She went by the name of Zana, acting as Nyori's personal handmaiden. Nyori could scarcely move without Leilavin tailing her.
Then there were the survivors, the humans who served the akhkharu as their domestics. They appeared far more fearful of the human army than they did those that previously held them captive. It was painfully apparent they were bred in captivity with no other life than that of service, including serving their own pran as nourishment for their masters. It was hardly possible to contemplate, much less understand.
Nyori shook her head. That was a worry for later, of course. Her heart was still heavy with the memory of the dead. Ironhide, in the Dragonspine. Fregeror with his grand stories. Beautiful, wild Meshella, and noble, repentant Dradyn. Tears slid down her cheeks as their faces drifted across her vision.
Theron had donned the traditional eye-patch of mourning and gazed at the lines of erected pyres where the fallen Ulfhenar and Norlanders burned, as was their tradition. On one of the pyres lay Fregeror.
"Save me a seat in the halls of Melasgar, my brother," Theron murmured. "Glory did find you. One day I know it will find me as well. We shall share many tales and flagons of mead when we do meet again in the hallowed banquet of heroes."
Afterward, the parties went their separate ways. Theron led his people back to Norland, and Creyshaw left in search of the Rhoma. The others prepared to return to their lands, including those who would follow the newly anointed king into Kaerleon.
Nyori found Marcellus lingering at the gravesite like a raven, reluctant to pull away from the many rows of grave markers. The one directly in front of him had a simple name engraved in the stone.
Dradyn.
Marcellus exhaled heavily. He wore noble raiment; a finely spun surcoat that displayed his standard under a thick, fur-trimmed cloak fastened by heavy links of gold. Han stood by his side, dressed in traveler's garb as though he meant to journey through cold weather.
"So many have fallen," Marcellus said. "Was it worth the cost?"
Nyori shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know of wars or the cost of dying. But what is done is done, Marcellus. You can't lead your people with the weight of the dead on your back."
"Lead them?" His mouth twisted. "I have not been able to lead myself. I have had time to consider the foolhardiness of my actions. All I could do was think of my own need for vengeance. In my rage, I couldn't see that the Reaver was not a means of saving my people. What if it was only a tool to aid in their destruction?"
Han had stood by quietly until then, but it was he who answered. "It is said that nothing is understood until after it happens. But I believe if any man can steer his people through the storm, you can."
He smiled and clasped Marcellus by the arm. "I must take leave of you now."
"You will find Rhanu."
"We will."
"Bring him home, and Deis keep you safe on your quest."
Han dipped his head. "As you command. May your return to your kingdom prove to be a fruitful one, for men need light in these dark times."
Nyori watched as he strode away. He had not mentioned the encounter with his father, although Shiru told her Bo Yung had escaped in the chaos with the stolen Geod. It had to weigh heavily on Han, but characteristically he appeared outwardly unaffected.
He joined Ayna where she waited with her mare and a mule laden with provisions. Shiru and a band of Norlanders were with her. The Norlanders were a loan from Theron, to serve as guides in the Norland passes where the vargulf had headed.
Nando was there as well, saying farewell to his sister. "Rhanu is a good man. Bring him back to us, but keep yourself safe as well."
"And you, my brother. I wish you could go as well, but you must recover, I healed your wounds, but your body cannot take the stress of hard travel at the moment."
He rolled his eyes. "This isn't my first you healed me, Ayna. I'll be back up in no time. Maybe soon enough to catch up to you." He hugged her, then dropped back a few paces as Nyori approached.
Nyori felt a sudden sadness as she looked at her mentor. "I wish you could stay."
Ayna's smile was bittersweet. "I am so sorry, my sister. But the need is far too great, and I must go now." She took hold of Nyori's hands and pressed them to her lips. "And you have surpassed any training I have given you. You are without a doubt a Shama now, Nyori. You will be more powerful than any of the Sha before you."
Nyori flushed and dropped her eyes. "I don't feel at all sagacious, despite having Eymunder. But at least the worst is over, isn't it?"
Ayna shook her head sadly. "No. I am sorry. Be very careful, Nyori. The walls of kingdoms are sometimes more dangerous than battles with akhkharu. Keep Eymunder with you. It will keep you safe."
She stared at Leilavin with considering eyes before she abruptly wheeled her horse and rode with Han and the Norlanders toward the northern horizon. Nyori watched them until they faded from sight, her thoughts troubled by Ayna's words.
"That one is intriguing," Leilavin said softly. "Wise beyond her years, and far more dangerous than she appears."
Nyori said nothing. The world had shifted, and already those she loved scattered like leaves before a brisk wind.
"She departs again." There was affection in Nando's voice. His prickly disposition seemed to have been tempered by recent events. "Hard to keep her in one spot for long." His face was serious when he turned to her. "I failed to protect you once, Shama. I will not do so again. I am yours to command."
Nyori sighed. "Nando, I will be leaving for Kaerleon with Marcellus. I do not wish to take you so far away from home. You should return to Halladen while you still can."
"Marcellus." Nando's mouth twisted at the name. "You may think you know this man, but he is a king now. He will change, Nyori. It is inevitable. You will only be hurt if you follow him."
Nyori looked over to where Marcellus stood, still in front of Dradyn's grave. "Our road is the same. I go to Kaerleon, Nando."
Nando frowned. For a brief moment, she thought he would explode into his characteristic anger and leave. A stubborn look settled in his eyes instead. "Then I will go as well, Nyori. You will not be rid of me so easily."
DEEP WITHIN THE BOWELS of his ruined castle, Gile watched as Killian rubbed his hands together and cackled. After hearing the results of the battle at Aceldama, he had nearly danced a jig around the room.
His mood sobered as he stroked his narrow chin. "Jacquelis remains, however. She is more dangerous than Masiki thinks, perhaps more of a threat than Alaric himself, now that she assumes leadership."
"The Caretaker?" Gile recalled the red woman, so severe and statuesque. He could imagine her being cold and cunning.
Killian nodded. "She is the oldest of the Co'nane, and a survivor, that one is." He ran a hand through his mane of fiery hair and grinned once more. "But no one lives forever, mate. The Co'nane disbelieve that notion, which is why they fall with shocked looks on their faces."
Footsteps echoed from down the hall. Killian listened carefully before relaxing. "Our friend has arrived."
Orabon entered the doorway with a casual glance at Killian and Gile. The tall, jet-skinned man made the chamber seem crowded, as though his presence expanded beyond his person. Power exuded from Orabon, yet Gile didn't feel threatened. He had not seen the man since the Gathering in Aceldama, but Orabon had been working with Killian for some time. After years of secrecy, the two could finally meet in the open.