When she turned to him, he looked the other way. He had no desire to see the quiet accusation in her eyes again. The death of the bandits on the road still haunted her. She did not seem to realize how dangerous the world was. Or how unavoidable it was that you might have to kill to survive.
I apologized. What more does she want?
Once off the bridge, the traffic continued onward to Kingsgate, the large trade town before Kaerleon. Far in the distance, he saw the towering spires of the Shining City jut against the horizon like mountain peaks. Even then his heart was tugged toward the city he loved all his life, the city he had sworn to die protecting. There was where all the answers to his burning questions lay.
But something more important lay in another direction. Without hesitation, he turned off the road and plowed through the snow in the direction of Royan.
Even blanketed in white, the surrounding forest and hills were as familiar as his own face. He passed by tall spruce trees he had seen as a boy as they rode on a path where elk still crossed. To his left, the snow-capped peaks of the Cannias Mountains stood strong against the white sky.
"This is where you grew up, milord?"
He was almost startled by Nyori's voice. The shadow of her wide fur-trimmed hood almost smothered her face, but she did not seem as upset as formerly.
"These are the fields and lands owned by folk I had grown up with." He looked around. "Everything looks the same as when I left." For some reason that gave fuel to the sputtering, flickering spark of hope in his chest.
"Nyori, I apologize for not going immediately to the Palace. But as you know, my family has not heard from me, and what they have heard has more than likely been terrible rumors. I sent a bird from Letega, but there is no telling if it arrived. I must go to them first."
"I understand, Sir Admorran."
He turned to her. "What's wrong?"
Her faced was upraised; snowflakes drifted on her brow. "What do you mean?"
"You've never called me 'Sir' before. The formality is unsettling."
Her shoulders hunched, and she suddenly appeared almost shy. "When we met in the mountains…you never told me who you are."
"I told you my name."
"You didn't tell me who you are. Divia's light! You are not just a knight or warrior — you are the one! The Champion of Kaerleon…" She shook her head. "So many stories. There are so many tales of the things you've done."
Marcellus shook his head dismissively. "The title or stories mean little to me. Right now all I want to be is Marcellus the husband and father."
She looked at him with a small smile on her face. "I understand. It's just…did you truly slay a dragon?"
Marcellus shrugged. "I cannot remember."
She swatted his arm. "You can't remember?"
"It's hard to explain. Perhaps I will share the story with you one day."
She tilted her chin high with a teasing smile. "Well, I suppose this means that I can truly boast."
"Of having met the Champion of Kaerleon?" He raised a wry eyebrow.
"No, of defeating the Champion of Kaerleon. I had you at my mercy in the Dragonspine, remember?"
Despite his anxious mood, Marcellus laughed.
They rode in silence for a while. The snow seemed thicker, as though the weather sought to forestall them. Marcellus tried to prepare himself for what lay ahead. His mind flickered between hope and despair so often that the conflict became maddening.
Finally, he spoke. "Shama, I have seen that you possess remarkable…foresight into matters. If there is something I should know about what lies ahead, tell me now. Please."
He was not sure, but she seemed to pause before answering.
"What lies ahead is…clouded." She lifted a hand as if she could touch the invisible barrier. "The more we approached Leodia, the darker the haze became. I can sense nothing of what may come. But I will be alert to whatever I can decipher, Marcellus. Do not worry."
The sky had darkened, and the wind's bite had much sharper teeth when they arrived at his holdings. They passed the cottages of the folk who worked the land. Their chimneys funneled smoke, and candles winked in some of the windows.
His heart pounded as they approached his manor, the welcome sight of white stone and blue tiled roofing. The Silver Horn banner unfurled in the wind.
Something tickled his cheek. The tears ran unchecked as for the first time in so long. The flag still flew. His House still stood, and that meant his family had to be all right.
They had to be.
The horse was too slow. He leapt off its back and began a stumbling trot toward his home, where the warmth awaited him. Where the love awaited him. He heard his laughter soar on the wind. Nyori said something, but he could not hear her. The snow blew in his face, sought to blind him, the wind pushed against his advance. He laughed at their feeble efforts. If Stygan himself emerged from the ground in all his ebony glory, Marcellus was sure he would tear the Dreadlord to pieces.
The manor drew closer. Marcellus felt the weariness lift from his shoulders and sweep away in the wind. His feet were feathers, his arms were wings; he no longer felt the ground under his feet. He sailed like a child through a meadow, unhindered by the snowdrifts.
The heavy iron gates were unlocked. He pushed through easily and strode down the familiar granite-paved path. The blushing light in the windows beckoned; the smell of the chimney smoke perfumed the air.
A large man draped in a heavy grayish cloak walked slowly in front of them. He toted a heavy bundle of firewood in his arms as if they were twigs. He turned, hunched in uncertainty. His beard was generously sprinkled with gray, but he dismissed the indication of age with his powerful stature.
"Who are you?" The man's deep voice was suspicious. "It is too late to come begging. Come back tomorrow."
Marcellus recognized the baldheaded, dark-brown face of the groundskeeper. Dradyn was an experienced soldier in his past days, coming into the service of Lucretius late in his career. Marcellus took him in when he was retired, and the man worked for him ever since.
"It is I, Dradyn."
Dradyn jerked in recognition and immediately fell to one knee. "Lord Admorran! Long have we waited for this day! We had feared you were—"
Marcellus nodded hastily, pulling the man up. "My wife, Dradyn — my daughter. Are they all right? Are they safe?"
"We had heard so many different rumors—"
"Dradyn — my family! Are they all right?"
Dradyn nodded. "Yes, milord, they are safe. But—"
"Where, Dradyn, where are they now?"
"Why, here, milord. I have to—"
Marcellus let out the breath he hadn't realized he held. His knees almost failed him, but he managed to steady himself. "Take me to them."
"Yes, milord. But if I may—"
"Now, man. Whatever it is, can it not wait?"
Dradyn bowed his head. "Forgive me, milord. I know you are anxious to see them, and you need warmth and rest. But I must stress that we speak on the morrow. It is a matter of life and death."
Nyori had caught up at that moment. The look on her face indicated that she heard Dradyn's cryptic words. The burly groundskeeper eyed her questioningly.
"This is the Shama Nyori. She is under my escort."
Dradyn took the news as though Marcellus regularly arrived with a strange woman in tow. He quickly led them past the stone arch and into the front doors.
They passed the sitting room and went down the hall into the Great Room where Dradyn practically forced him to sit in one of the easy chairs. "I will bring your family right away. Lady Nyori, you may come with me." He bowed away quickly, leading Nyori to the guest rooms. She threw one anxious look over her shoulder, and then they were gone.