Worran exchanged frightened looks with Raegan, the last of his band. They approached cautiously, wheeling their horses to flank the seasoned killer.
The man leapt from his horse to Iram's, narrowly avoiding a wild swing from Raegan. A savage backhand caught Worran in the face, scoring stars across his vision. His sight returned just in time to see the stranger seize Raegan from behind and lift his sword across his neck. As Raegan struggled, the stranger slashed. Raegan fell with blood spraying from his throat.
In an unbroken flow of movement, the warrior rotated the sword backwards and thrust.
It took a moment for Worran to realize he'd been stabbed deep in his stomach. When the stranger pulled the sword free, the ground rushed at Worran. Surprisingly, he didn't even feel the impact. Heat pounded in his ears as his life trickled across the stony roadway in scarlet rivulets. Flutters of white floated in front of his eyes, undisturbed in their innocence by the display of violence.
It was snowing.
The stranger dismounted without a further look at the fallen men or the lady, who stared at him with her face pale and surprisingly angry. The stranger searched their saddlebags and removed their coin, waterskins, and provisions. Rearranging the bags, he chose the freshest horse and remounted. He grabbed the bridle of another and turned to leave.
"Wait." Worran's voice was a dying gasp.
The man paused.
"Your name. Good…to know your killer's name…yeah?"
"My name is Marcellus Admorran," the man said. "May Deis have mercy on your soul." He dug his heels in and galloped down the road to Leodia, followed by the lady.
Worran choked on blood and his own bitter laughter. The very man that he'd been instructed to be on the watch for. The order had come from the highest source, from the others he served, and the reward far more than Worran could ever make robbing people on the roadside. He tried to laugh again, but the humor was lost as his eyes glazed over and snow powdered his motionless body.
Chapter 19: Anon
Although the many curious glances, and most important, the sunlight could not penetrate the windows of the white carriage, Anon could see out of them clearly. Snow fell steadily, but the cobbled road was well traveled and the snow did not stick as it did the surrounding countryside. The ride to Kaerleon had been slow and boring, so he had amused himself by gazing at the passersby and imagining their stories. What they had done in their short time on the earth.
That grew old quickly on the long road from Runet. Humans did little except scurry and die. Much like insects.
So many of them now. Who would have ever thought that they would come so far along?
Anon adjusted the cuffs of his sturdy dark blue uniform coat. The Captain of the Imperial Guard was a title that fitted him like the outfit, with its golden embroidery and the lion emblazoned on the right side of his chest. Black boots and gloves completed the outfit, and lace spilled from his neck and cuffs. A bit more elaborate than the last Imperial Captain. What was his name? Oh yes, Rodell Pariot. The man had been an honest fool, making it easy to persuade Lucretius to dismiss him over some frank response or another. Anon received his rank over other more creditable candidates, a slight that raised ire even among Lucretius' staunchest supporters. All the more to further destroy Lucretius' credibility and influence.
Anon leaned toward the window as the carriage bypassed a pair of travelers. "There. A man and a woman. I don't see a staff, but they seem to match the description—"
Rich laughter answered. He looked to his companion who sat across. Vivienne was a thin, narrow faced woman whose long lashes, beckoning eyes and sensuous lips barely saved her from what would have been a distractingly long nose. Her ivory skin contrasted with her raven hair which hung in ringlets to her shoulders. Her outfit was all black: a clinging gown of sheer velvet under a fur-trimmed stole embroidered in stars and crescents that hung from her slender shoulders.
She was of the Obdura sect, but he found her company to be pleasant, far from the reputation her Sect had for being rather…disagreeable.
"And how many pairs have we seen on this return trip alone?" Her smile displayed her perfect teeth, glowing from her ebony-stained lips. "Some with swords, some with staffs, some with swords and staffs…"
She yawned behind her gloved hand. "The girl could be among any of the castes in the Steppes. Traveling with one of the Rhoma caravans. Dressed in motley and dancing in a menagerie. You must face it, Anon. It was a fool's errand. We're fortunate our control in Kaerleon hasn't eroded while we were sent to those cursed wilds to seek one pitiful Shama and her new protector, this Marcellus Admorran."
"Why do you think he was allowed to live? Don't you find it a bit ironic that two of those marked by the High Lady are now in each other's company?"
"That's if we can trust the source of information." Vivienne's lips compressed, betraying her irritation. "This Gile Noman. Who is he? Why does the High Lady put such value in an uncouth lout like him?" She gave a delicate shake of her head. "No matter. Our task here is of far greater importance than chasing a silly girl and her disgraced champion."
Anon leaned forward. "The High Lady thinks otherwise. This Shama reportedly has found the staff Eymunder. Alaric has sought it for ages. The High Lady says that should he claim it, he will destroy all of the Sects. He has never loved us. We were only given the Gift to battle the Reavers. Should he succeed in curing the Co'nane, he will see us only as abominations that need exterminating."
Vivienne's lip curled. "Alaric. Has anyone seen him outside of Aceldama in ages? He huddles in his glittering city, chasing dreams while we shape the world according to his whims. The High Lady has the right of it. Let him dream on while we make our presence known to those who should have never forgotten us."
Anon leaned back, staring out the window again. "You know that Murdon must be dead. He stayed behind, but we would have heard from him by now. Perhaps the Shama slew him. Eymunder is a powerful tool, even to one as limited as a human."
"Or perhaps he fell into a gorge and froze himself solid," Vivienne said with a coy smile. "The Dragonspine, as they call it, has ever been perilous. And ever full of Banestone…" She shuddered, though Anon wasn't fooled. He supposed anyone who called this woman afraid would get their heart handed to them for their trouble.
Her tone grew serious. "Whatever the case, Murdon's failure is only a temporary setback. He and his band may have lost the Shama, but she cannot hide forever. Our Thralls are in every corner of this land. There is nowhere that she can go undetected. And once we capture her, Eymunder will be ours for the taking."
Anon frowned. "I thought that the bind between Eymunder and its wielder couldn't be severed. Even should she be killed, it will not bond to another."
Vivienne crossed one shapely leg over the other, displaying the intricate patterns on her constricted ebony stockings. "There are ways, dear Anon. There are always ways…"
Anon smiled. Vivienne would not share her knowledge, but her confidence was enough. She headed the operation in Kaerleon as a trusted vassal of the High Lady. Under her management, Kaerleon fell silently to its knees. The king was mad, and all those he trusted sent to their deaths, including the beloved Champion, Marcellus Admorran. Seeds of further chaos would soon bear fruit, and the Lion Kingdom would fall.
Anon considered it an enormous stroke of luck to have been sent to aid Vivienne. Since he arrived, he had worked diligently at every given task until he became her trusted second. And together they were on the verge of success that would cause them to advance in the High Lady's ranks even faster.