Evelina nodded. "Go."
SHADOWDANCER'S MUSCLES churned as the stallion galloped down the darkened path. Trees and brush became insubstantial blurs, but the unease Marcellus tried to ignore only grew more distinct. It wasn't as though he hadn't been called to the Royal Palace many times before; there were endless invitations to banquets and tourneys that requested his presence. The difference was those invitations were all issued by the king's secretary. The words on the scroll were hastily scrawled, but he recognized the king's handwriting. Questions fluttered in his mind like startled doves as Shadowdancer hurtled through the night.
Marcellus arrived as the morning rays bathed the mountains. The shopkeepers were just opening their doors, and the sweep boys worked their brooms on the cobbled streets. Only a few glanced up as Shadowdancer trotted up the road to the Royal Palace.
He paused only to see Shadowdancer was stabled properly before reporting to the king.
The doors to the Grand Hall were usually open, but two men garbed in the sturdy blue and gold tabards of the Imperial Guard stepped forward as he approached. With formal severity, they crossed their silver-gilded halberds to bar his path. Marcellus once knew every man of the Guard, but the pair in front of him were strangers. Their eyes glowered from beneath their crested helms.
Before he could open his mouth, a familiar voice spoke up.
"Easy, lads. Know that the man you seek to obstruct is Marcellus Admorran, Champion of Kaerleon."
Rodell Pariot wore a wry smile. Though several years older than Marcellus, only a few strands of silver lined his neatly trimmed coif and goatee. The streaming sunlight from the high windows caused the Golden Lions on his high collar to shine, as did the crowned shield on the left breast of his gleaming cuirass, marking him Captain of the Imperial Guard.
As the guards fell back stammering apologies, Marcellus clapped Rodell on the back. "Rodell, I almost did not recognize you. I see you have traded the black for white."
Rodell gave a good-natured laugh as he adjusted the cuffs of his richly embroidered ivory doublet. "I have indeed. I no longer have to deal with blood or mud stains as I did when serving as a Ranger. White suits me well, I think. I apologize for my men. It's been some time since Marcellus Admorran has graced these halls. See what happens when you neglect your social obligations? It appears your legend is more familiar than your face these days."
Marcellus waved a dismissive hand. "I came as quickly as I could. Yet not even in my haste could I ignore that the mood is dark inside these walls. The king has not taken ill, has he?"
Rodell's smile never slipped, but his eyes flicked toward the guards, who had returned to their original stations. "Nothing of the kind. The days are odd, Marcellus, as are the whims of the king. Seeing you should lift his spirits, so let us not tarry."
As they passed out of earshot, Rodell's cheerful demeanor toppled. "You have been sorely missed. His Majesty has not been himself of late, and many are concerned, myself chief among them."
Marcellus frowned as their footsteps echoed loudly. The Hall was usually thick with servants, messengers, and petitioners. Now it stretched from door to door with an almost mocking emptiness.
"I have just arrived, and I find myself concerned. You have a hundred other duties to attend to, yet I find you guarding the Hall. What is Lucretius thinking?"
Rodell shrugged lightly. "Thinking appears to be the problem. Having me on guard duty is the least of his eccentrics. Did you know he has recalled the sentinels from the Bruallian borders?"
Marcellus frowned. "I did not. We have always maintained a strong presence on the border. Bruallian raiders constantly wish to test our strength. Has he given a reason?"
"None. He has refused to see the emissaries from Epanos and Runet. Instead, he allows them to be insulted and sent back to their kingdoms with even more reason to chafe at their treaties with us. All the while strangers come under cover of darkness and are given instant audiences with his Royal Majesty."
"Strangers?"
"Yes." Rodell's expression was grim. "None know who they are, or where they hail from. Secretive types who speak to none but him. He even dismisses his counselors. He is rarely seen in the day any longer. He roams all night wandering the corridors like a specter, frightening the servants and talking to the air. He may have become mentally unhinged. It sometimes happens to men like him when the strain becomes more than they can bear."
Marcellus scrubbed his closely cropped beard. "I do not like the sound of this, but I cannot imagine Lucretius gone mad. Perhaps these strangers are the cause of his changing disposition. If they are, I would know the why of it."
Rodell nodded. "You are the man to find out, for certain. But we approach other ears, so let us say no more."
Several guardsmen lined the walls, but it was the Doorkeeper that stood before them. Harlin Masters was not at all tall, and his blue uniform strained around his portly form. The heavy material made him appear even more rotund, but unlike the others, he wore no armor. His black leather jerkin bore the crest of his position; two swords crossed over a crown.
Harlin's heavy-jowled face bore little expression as he regarded them. Then again, nothing seemed to interest or impress Harlin much. Perhaps that was why he was a natural choice for such a job.
"Who wishes to seek an audience with the king?" His voice boomed throughout the corridor. His right hand was on the pommel of the rapier at his side. Despite his bulk, he could move with surprising swiftness. Marcellus once witnessed Harlin strike a man faster than the eye could follow. An instantly fatal toxin laced the rapier's edge, the reward for any who tried to test his resolve.
Rodell followed protocol. "Imperial Captain Rodell Pariot, along with Sir Marcellus Admorran, Champion of Kaerleon, First Knight of the Lion Guard, and Lord of Royan."
Marcellus tried not to wince at the titles.
"His Royal Majesty, Regnault Lucretius the Lionheart, bids that you enter under his eyes, Lord Admorran." Harlin pulled the silver-gilded door open. "He seeks Lord Admorran only." His beady eyes narrowed at Rodell. "Your presence is neither requested nor permitted."
Rodell's mouth tightened, but he bowed stiffly before turning to Marcellus. "I shall speak to you another time, my friend." He turned on his heel and strode swiftly away.
Harlin Masters had already assumed his impassive stance by the time Marcellus entered the Grand Chamber. It was massively rounded, grandiose with lofty marble pillars that stretched to the domed ceiling. A dark blue runner down the center of the tiled floor led to the dais against the far wall. Atop it was a great throne carved from stonewood, the rocklike material crafted by master carvers from Runet.
It was the man on the throne that caught Marcellus' attention.
Regnault Lucretius sat hunched as if in pain, an old man with unkempt gray hair to his shoulders. In his lap was his sword Majestis, the unbreakable blade of legendary kings. His gnarled hand held it tightly as though he meant to go into the heat of battle once more. His eyes flickered with strange lights beneath the shadow of his narrow, lunestone-centered crown as though reflecting lost memories. His free hand appeared lost in the tangles of his unruly beard.
"A contagion grows east of the Dragonspine. An infection that seeks to spread over the mountains, and beyond." Lucretius' voice still resonated with the power of a man who was born to lead. "Into my lands. In the villages grown men fear to go out at night, for the darkness has eyes and teeth and swallows entirely even the bravest soul."
When he looked at Marcellus, his expression brightened; for a moment he looked like the Lucretius of old. "But hope is not completely spent. For what darkness can swallow the light of Kaerleon? And you. You have performed deeds men have thought impossible. You, the Champion of Kaerleon, whom the minstrels write of, and the bards compose songs about. These halls miss your presence."