At least she thought he was a man. He could have been Leilavin's brother: his face was nearly as bloodless and bore similar fine-boned features. But where her eyes were rubies, his were sapphires; shimmering and cold as frozen lakes. His armor appeared to be beaten sheets of silver chased in ivory, once wondrous but now scarred and battered, stained in blood and muddy earth. His face and long silver hair were sullied as well, haggard and worn from pain and exhaustion. Every step he took seemed to take great effort, as though flesh had failed him and he stood upright solely from some inner defiance or indomitable will.
A torrent of rain dropped from the sky at his appearance, immediately soaking them to the bone. Nyori did not need Leilavin to name him. She already knew who he was.
The Pale Lord.
Nyori's breath caught at the sight of the naked sword in his fist. It was a sword of minstrel's tales, a weapon that belonged to warriors and kings of myth and legend. The blade was long and edged on one side, slightly curved to give it a graceful appearance. The blade's surface was blue-tinted and reflective as rippling sheets of glittering ice. Unreadable Glyphs were etched across it in gold. An obsidian orb centered the crosspiece, darker than any black Nyori had ever seen.
"I have destroyed your Reavers," the Pale Lord said, his eyes fixed on Leilavin. "They will torment my people no longer. I met them on the high passes and cut their numbers in half. Those that remained to guard this Threshold sought to ambush me as I arrived. Their husks lie outside the gates. All of their might was nothing against the bearer of Mothros." He hefted the sword, which flashed like liquid starlight.
"At what price, Alaric?" Leilavin stood in front of Nyori protectively. Her silken robes clung to her slim form, soaked through by the downpour. "That blade had a different name once. The Paladin cast it aside when it was called Nemon. The Shadow Prince corrupted it soon after, dubbing it Mothros, the Devourer of Souls. It feeds on a single soul now. Look at your hair. Your skin. It has fed well on your essence. Soon all of you will be lost."
Alaric's face contorted in heated rage, though his words were spoken between vapor-clouded breaths, exposing his fatigue. "My soul is strong enough. Enough to finish your Reavers. Enough to force my way into your aether-realm and claim what is mine."
"Eymunder is not yours, Alaric. And it never will be."
Alaric drew close enough for Nyori to see the blue veins that crisscrossed his face beneath the almost transparent skin. His features appeared to have once been handsome, but now his bones pushed against the flesh, molding his face into a living skull. He looked like a dead man except for his glimmering eyes.
"My claim is as good as yours, Leilavin. You deceived my people with your fickle promises. You have cursed our existence, but I will redeem us. The price I paid to wield Mothros was not merely to slay your Reavers. It was to bring me here, to your sanctum. Eymunder is the salvation of my people, and I will have it. Step aside."
Leilavin's voice was almost smug. "You know I cannot wield the staff. But Eymunder has been claimed." She pulled Nyori forward, placing her lily-white hands on Nyori's shoulders. "A descendant of the Elious has claim by right of blood. You cannot deny it, Alaric."
Nyori expected Alaric to explode with rage, but he only gazed at her with his glimmering eyes. She thought she saw sadness there, almost hidden in the smoldering blue fires.
He returned his gaze to Leilavin. "I expected you to have a last act of deceit, Leilavin. It would be so unlike you to surrender without one. You expect me to walk away because this waif has claimed Eymunder? What good will it do her? Her people have forgotten the ways of Apokrypy and know nothing of the Crafts. They are only shadows of whispers, sparks that flicker briefly and die when expelled from the fire."
He gazed at the iridescent sword in his fist. "What is one more life taken compared to the black deeds I have already done? Her death is inconsequential; a mere hastening into what is already inevitable. It means nothing to me. I expected better of you, Leilavin."
He turned his gaze to Nyori. She saw the fatal verdict in his sapphire eyes.
Leilavin shoved her forward. "Go, child!"
Nyori opened her mouth, but she was already falling. She caught sight of the rage and confusion on Alaric's face as he stretched out his hand to her.
She tumbled into the blue-frosted waters of the Pool.
The waters that had only been knee-deep were suddenly fathomless. They flashed as they swallowed her. A monstrous undertow yanked her; streaks of inverted light whipped by as she was pulled at impossible speeds, ever faster until the water glistened like liquid glass. The Eye of Everfell drew nearer, filling her vision, only this time it was aflame, searing in spite of the waters that surrounded it. The stone melted like heated wax, tears of melted stone flowed into the flagstones. The Eye saw through her, into her, before her body rushed toward her, or she rushed toward her body. She Shifted in wild desperation…
Time unfroze as she emerged from the pool with a roaring gasp. Daggers of fire stabbed her lungs; liquid spewed from her mouth as she flailed before sinking again. Shocked, urgent voices became audible.
"There! She came up there!"
"How could she…"
"Grab her before she sinks again!"
"Where did she…"
"That's it! Hold her…"
Gentle arms supported her. She was lifted, only half aware the chamber was now crowded with Shama and Shado, their male counterparts. One of the Ternion sisters spoke in a commanding voice, great and terrible.
"You will not disobey the laws of this place, no matter what the cause! Leave matters in our hands before you blight this chamber with your trespass."
Anxious and confused voices smothered the air with questions as the others obeyed, but the only voice Nyori focused on was Norna's, cool and soothing in her ears.
"That's it. Just breathe, Nyori. You're going to be all right."
It hurt just to move, to open her mouth to ask. "What happened, Mother Ternion?"
Norna's eyes were troubled. "You vanished. We don't know where you went. Or how you got back. All we know is after you disappeared, things changed within the Eye."
"What…what do you mean? What changed?"
Then she felt it. The weight of Eymunder tugged like a bar of iron in her hand. She painfully lifted her arm to gaze at the crystallized wand.
Norna looked at her pityingly. "Everything, Nyori. Everything has changed."
Chapter 3: Marcellus
You are summoned. Come at once.
The message awaited Marcellus Admorran as he rode in from the pasture with Alexia laughing delightedly in his lap. Despite her tender age of four, she adored horses. Even Shadowdancer seemed only a plaything to her, regardless of the stallion's fearsome size and temperament. Alexia had begged to ride until Marcellus finally relented. The day was warm for the autumn season, the wind mild as it whisked through her red-gold hair. Her excited squeals brought laughter to his heart as he remembered the first time he rode a horse, so many years ago. Shadowdancer had trotted as though stepping on clouds.
It ended too soon.
Evelina waited at the stables with a young, blue-coated courier in tow. She smiled, but worry clouded her eyes. Marcellus placed Alexia in her arms as he dismounted and turned to the courier, who handed him the small scroll with a salute.
Marcellus dismissed the lad with a gesture. "See Master Huib for your coin, boy."
The lad nodded and dashed off. Marcellus turned the scroll over. A rearing lion topped by a crown pressed into the blot of wax that sealed it.
"The king's own standard."
He broke it and read the words. Looking up, he met Evelina's eyes. She held Alexia to her. Both gazed at him with identical somber expressions.