She whistled a high, melodic note that seemed impossible from a human throat. An answering whinny came from the woods beyond, and a shimmering white steed galloped from the fading mist. A golden horn gleamed in the sunlight at the center of its head. Masiki leaped upon it in mid-stride and was born away with the speed of a brisk wind. Flower petals scattered in their wake and fluttered slowly to the ground.
Nyori stared in stunned silence long after Masiki disappeared.
She returned her attention to Marcellus when he stirred with a groan. His shirt was open, and the Glyphs glimmered across his chest. The mark on his forehead had already faded away without a trace. When his eyes opened, they shone like burnished steel. He smiled. It was the first time Nyori had seen him smile without pain or darkness in his eyes, and just that sight was worth it all.
"I thought I heard you talking to someone."
"Marcellus, your wounds—" Nyori examined them, but it seemed that Masiki was true to her word. The wounds that had been mortal were merely faded scars that joined the others on his body.
Marcellus looked healthier than she had ever seen him. "I don't know what you did, but they have healed. I am in your debt once again."
A voice spoke softly from behind them. "You are not the only one, warrior. I too am in the Shama's debt."
Leilavin limped forward, looking as ragged and disheveled as the rest of them. Nyori felt a surge of relief that the woman still lived. She had been afraid Leilavin had not survived the explosion.
Leilavin's face was a mixture of pain and wounded pride as she gazed at the remains of Alaric and Serona, only a pile of dust that the wind had already begun to scatter. "Alaric is dead. Strange that I would feel so empty. You have taken my vengeance, Shama. I suppose I must find something else to focus on in this mortal life."
Marcellus slowly stood and squinted at Leilavin. "You seem familiar, somehow. Have we met, milady?"
Leilavin dropped her eyes. "I think not, Sir Knight. I was a prisoner here until the Shama freed me."
Nyori said nothing. She could not betray Leilavin, especially since the woman had kept her word thus far. She had many questions, and Leilavin was someone who could answer many of them. And Nyori felt oddly protective of the woman as well, something she could not explain. It might have been the way Leilavin swore to serve her. Or perhaps because Nyori had seen Leilavin at her most vulnerable.
She looked at the two small piles of chalky dust, all which remained of Alaric and Serona. It seemed wrong somehow that a being so powerful should pass away in such a manner, even one as twisted and misguided as Alaric. But she had learned that was the way of things. Beauty and power mattered little in the face of consequence.
She gazed at Marcellus. The wind tousled his hair, and the sunlight glinted from his eyes when he looked at her. "Such a waste. I have been a fool, Nyori. To you and so many others."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, staring at Alaric's remains. "Just before the Reaver took me, I had begun to realize Alaric might not have been the enemy I believed he was. But because of my weakness, war was the only option left. How many might have lived had I been stronger?"
He clenched his fists. "I swear that I will make amends, Nyori. I will do whatever it takes to rebuild and protect my kingdom. Even if it takes the rest of my life."
Chapter 71: Gile
Gile leaned on his sword, watching his mates try to sack Aceldama. Blood drenched him from head to foot, but little of it was his. It greatly amused him to return to Aceldama in such a manner. The first time he had been intimidated, even a bit fearful. He recalled the arrival of the Speakers and the nearly overpowering presence of Alaric and the Co'nane.
This time he helped slay the so-called Gifted, watched the city burn, and witnessed the powerful Co'nane routed. His mouth quirked in a twisted smile.
How quickly the mighty fell.
It had been child's play to join with one of the mercenary bands that had attached themselves to Marcellus' cause. He had shared bread and mead with them, sang bawdy songs and told wild tales with them. It was much like his former life, except there were no maids to rape or villages to plunder. He rarely removed his horned helm, earning him the name Wisent from his comrades. In truth, he wore it to evade discovery. Marcellus had passed within ten paces and never recognized him.
Observe and report. That was what Masiki had ordered, and that was what Gile did. He took note of Marcellus' companions: the two Sha, the dark warrior from Hikuptah, the Norlander king, and the Huntsmen. At the moment, he observed something out of a meister's tale.
Atop a ruined portion of the wall, a vargulf watched the surviving packs scatter back into the wild. It raised its shaggy head and howled as though in mourning. Gile had never seen anything like it. The thing was so hideous he could hardly look away. Its twisted locks flailed in the wind, and its silver-bright eyes glimmered as it observed from its perch.
Shama Ayna clambered up with the short warrior from Honguo. They nearly made it atop when the vargulf's ears pricked. It whirled with a savage growl. She stared in shock at the beast. Something within the creature seemed to recognize her, and it threw a hairy arm up to hide its face.
"Rhanu, you must come with me." She held out her hand in invitation.
Gile stared. Rhanu was the name of the Hikuptian warrior. He peered closer, and his mouth dropped. A dagger-shaped medallion swung from the beast's neck, topped by a ruby orb. It marked the beast as the newborn Sage that Gile had heard about. How could he have been altered in such a fashion?
The vargulf backed away to the edge of the wall, refusing to meet Ayna's gaze.
"We can help you." Her voice pleaded. "Come back with me, Rhanu."
The vargulf gazed at the wolves running into the woods.
"No, Rhanu. Look at me. You're not a beast; you're a man!"
The vargulf's silver eyes shimmered with terrible sadness. With a mournful howl, it leaped off the wall, a drop of at least five stories. It was already running when it struck the ground. Loping on all fours, it joined a northbound pack without a backward glance. Its forlorn howl hung in the air as they disappeared in the forest.
The Shama stared after it before dropping her face in her hands. The black-garbed man put a comforting arm around her, speaking words Gile could not hear.
He shook his head in disbelief. It was past time for him to be gone. There was much to relate, and Masiki would want to know it all. He strode across the battlefield, where those living were outnumbered greatly by the dead and dying. Fire greedily licked up the ground where pitch still burned, sending clouds of smoke roiling upward. The air smelled of blood and char and death.
Still, a cheer rose from the tattered throngs as Nyori and Marcellus appeared, picking their way through the rubble. A petite, dark-haired woman followed behind Nyori like a shadow. Gile had never seen her before.
He paused, immediately noticing that something was different about them. It was in Marcellus' stance; the way he held his head and shoulders, the look that shone in his eyes. It was as though Gile saw him as alive for the first time. Shama Nyori held his arm, but it was not clutched in anxiety or for comfort. She walked with him, matching his stride with an expression of regal satisfaction. They looked…mutual. Together.
Gile sneered. Love. They were foolish enough to wear it openly on their faces. It was too easy. Love was the first thing to attack, the pulsing artery to strike and watch as the blood gushed. Marcellus was a fool. His days were numbered, and the Shama's as well.