Shouts, insults, and drunken singing continued as Kolbjorn and Fregeror finally made their way to the king, who had just downed another ale and slammed his chalice on the massive oaken table hard enough to rattle the dishes and trays. His guests looked on appreciatively. More ale was poured as he tore into a turkey leg like a starving bear.
When Theron saw Fregeror, he stood up with a roar and embraced him heartily. Raising his chalice, he shouted something to the crowd that Marcellus could not hear, but the response from all nearby was to raise their tankards in return and down their drink.
Kolbjorn leaned over to speak quietly. Theron's laughter faded, and he shook his head as if to clear the ale-induced fog. His eyes narrowed as he gazed to where Marcellus and his company stood. His guests looked on in puzzlement and unabashed curiosity at their lord's sudden change in mood. Heads turned to stare at the foreigners in their midst.
Theron sat back down, grim-faced. He raised a hand and beckoned to Marcellus.
They made their way through the hall, which had quieted as the Norlanders stared. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Marcellus wore the full raiment of the Champion of Kaerleon — the dark blue surcoat emblazoned with his coat of arms: a shield decorated with the Lion of Kaerleon on one side, and the Silver Horn on the other. A golden badge on his left breast displayed the Crown — the highest rank for a knight of Kaerleon. Underneath the surcoat, he wore gleaming mail. He was sure the word had reached Norland of the troubles in Kaerleon and his suspected involvement. Bad news always traveled fast. But he would not hide who he was.
Let them stare.
A dozen heavy spears halted his progress. Not all were intoxicated, it appeared. The guards that glared at him were hulking slabs of armored muscle that stood as formidable as a wall before their king.
Marcellus merely smiled and knelt respectfully, an action swiftly imitated by his companions.
Theron grunted, with an impatient gesture for them to rise. "There be no need for formalities on this night, Marcellus Admorran. Tis the month of Winterfest, have you not been told? All formalities do be tossed to the winds." He barked a laugh. "The few we have." Hilarity echoed in the hall, mugs and tankards clashed together.
Marcellus dipped his head respectfully. "Mighty Theron is generous."
Theron stroked his mustaches with a thick, gem-encrusted finger. "What strange companions you have. A girl with a glass staff, and this slant-eyed assassin. Do you mean to slay mighty Theron with this rabble?"
Han smiled and gave a courteous bow. "The name is Han."
Theron ignored him. "And you — coming to me bearing the colors of the kingdom you are said to have betrayed. I have heard dark words about you of late, Marcellus Admorran. Words of your king's death, and whispers of your betrayal."
As the Lord of Norland spoke, two older men scurried over to stand at either side of the king. They could have been twins with their long faces, white hair and long, braided beards. Both wore white robes spun from the finest wool. Marcellus took them to be Theron's councilors. No matter what kingdom, royal councilors always wore the same dour, supercilious expressions.
"This man be dangerous, mighty king." The first spoke in a reedy voice that managed to sound like an impatient father speaking to his bastard stepchild. "He is an enemy of his own kingdom, a traitor. Meeting with him could be seen as treason should word of this reach Leodian ears. General Oren does keep the kingdom in tight control, and battalions of soldiers beset any who even whispers of rebellion. Even with their kingdom in turmoil, Leodia still has the most formidable army the land has seen."
Nyori leaned in close. "He is one of them, Marcellus." There was no need for Marcellus to ask whom. He simply nodded as the councilors continued their deliberation.
"Since when has Glacia feared the wrath of Leodia?" The other sneered as his fingers imperiously twirled his beard. "Your words be those of a sniveling coward as usual, Eldgrimr. As if mighty Theron should quake at the mention of Leodia, a kingless realm on the verge of chaos."
Eldgrimr glared at his compatriot. "Your council be empty bravado as usual, Dugfuss. You wield your words like a stripling does his first blade." His glower turned to Marcellus. "This Marcellus Admorran and his band of killers should be avoided at all costs. I have heard ill talk of his dabbling in the dark arts, spreading fear and chaos as he terrorizes the wilds disguised as a ghostly rider. We should capture him now — aye, he and all with him. We can turn them over to Kaerleon as a notice of our allegiance."
His voice reached a feverish note and his eyes burned with malice, never leaving Marcellus' face. Dugfuss stared at him with a bewildered expression. Even Theron looked askance at his councilor before he finally waved them away with an irritated gesture. Eldgrimr trembled with rage as he reluctantly retreated.
"I have heard my council, however contradictory their words may be." Theron gave Marcellus a keen glance which revealed he wasn't as intoxicated as he first appeared. "Now I would hear from you, Marcellus of Kaerleon." There was no 'Lord Admorran' or any other formal address in Glacia. The Norlanders did not grant such courtesies to outlanders. "Your deeds be well known in Norland. The stories say that Stigandr the Exile trained you in battle as he would a son."
Stigandr had taught Marcellus much about pain through endless ridicule, bitter revelations, and brutal treatment. It wasn't until later that Marcellus learned all Norlander men treated their favored sons in the same manner.
"Stigandr was my battle father," he said simply.
Theron nodded. "And all know of how you did hold the Pass of Brumar against Jolgeirr Arnmoor and his band of rebels. Songs have been sung here in this hall of that feat."
It seemed long ago when Marcellus had been called to hold the pass against the furious rebel Norlanders. Leodia underestimated the harsh weather and the hardiness of Norland warriors, a mistake that cost them many men. Yet Marcellus held the pass with a handful of knights. When they inevitably fell, he used every trick in his power to hold the pass by himself for a week until reinforcements arrived. He had nearly died, but was saved by the rebel leader Jolgeirr Arnmoor himself, who was so impressed that afterward he joined Marcellus as one of his Companions.
"I did what I had to do at the time. To be remembered in the halls of Norland because of that is an honor." He heard the approving rumble of the audience.
Theron appeared pleased as well. "What then can we make of your presence here? Rumors fly on many wings these days, and your name do be etched on every feather."
Marcellus locked gazes with the king. "I am not here to address accusations against my person, your Majesty. I seek to warn you of the infiltration in your midst, yes even in this very Hall. The akhkharu have found their way here, as they have my kingdom. Perhaps you can act in time to prevent the same tragedy."
Theron snorted. "What drivel do you speak of? I did not expect to hear tales of blood-ghosts and harrow men from you, Knight of Kaerleon."
Marcellus kept his voice neutral. "I am no minstrel, and I do not speak tales of fancy. How many of your patrols have reported in with men missing, snatched away by strange beings in the dark? How long has it been since your people could walk in the night without fear of the unseen? Throughout my journey here I heard fearful whispers of terror when the sun sets. Akhkharu are real, and they feast on the souls of your people. Not just yours, but they spread throughout all of Erseta. They possessed the king I served and bled for, the man who I would have gladly given my life for. They will do the same to you if you are not wary."