Bacorium Legacy (69 page)

The song was beautiful, but sad. Emila played the notes clearly and perfectly. She was a natural.

After a few minutes, the song finished. Emila set the harp down, and let out a sigh. “That was an old song from Acaria, in the days when it was a land of beauty and art. My mother taught it to me. There's lyrics to it, but I don't think I'm a very good singer.” She laughed, and looked to him.

He was staring at her, entranced. Emila's cheeks turned red, and she looked away shyly. “Er - was it good?”

In that moment, she looked more beautiful to him than he had ever thought another person could be. Without thinking, he leaned forward, placing his hands beneath her ears and gently pulling her into a kiss.

She gasped in surprise for a moment, but offered no resistance. The lute was dropped and forgotten. Her arms went around his shoulders and pulled him closer. She fell back, onto the bedroll, pulling him with her.

She refused to let him go, and he had no desire to. She pulled him in closer, capturing his mouth with her own. Her lips were as soft as down. He ran his fingers through her hair and they melted together, a heat growing.

He stopped, pulling away from her, because he had to. He knew where it would go if he continued, and he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he didn't stop then.

“Luca?” Emila said, her breath short. Her beautiful green eyes were tinted with confusion and perhaps a little bit of hurt.

“We can't,” he said. “We can't take the risk... What if you end up with child?”

There was magick that people usually used to keep from having children when they didn't want to. Luca had never bothered to learn the technique. He'd never imagined he would ever need it. As a follower of the Way of Uro, he would have never known what it was like to be with a woman.

In his mind's eye, he saw his father, dressed in heavy furs, walking with him through the thick snows of the Arimos. He remembered what it was like then, how he followed behind his father without question for so many years, the many things he had wanted to know going unanswered. Who his mother was, where they had come from, why they were running - Lodin had always said they weren't running, but Luca could tell they were. He could feel it even now, as though his father was alive again and right in front of him. He could remember that strange mix of respect and contempt he'd always felt for the man. He'd often silently called his father a coward.

Now he was the coward. Now he understood why his father had done those things, and even found himself repeating a few of them.

He could not bear the thought of becoming a father himself, because he was worried he would repeat every mistake Lodin had made.

“It's okay,” Emila said softly, gently placing her hand across his cheek. “You have nothing to worry about.”

He looked back at her, and there was a bit of sadness in her eyes.

Emila shed the small clothes she wore. Luca could not take his eyes off her - she was beautiful. She blushed, and modestly covered herself with her hands.

His heart began to race again. Part of him hesitated again. Perhaps he was actually afraid - it was his first time, after all. He felt weak for that - he always felt weak when he caught vulnerability in himself. But the sight of Emila was entrancing - her dark hair, her white skin, her emerald eyes... He could not deny what he felt for her any longer. And he knew he had started it by kissing her, so to refuse her now would hurt her.

He took a deep breath, and he began to remove his own clothes. First the thick cloak he always wore, which he tossed aside beside them. And then his boots, his shirt, his trousers. He was shaking so much that he struggled to do such a simple thing. Emila watched with suppressed amusement.

“Don't laugh,” he warned her.

She did not laugh, but there was a smile on her lips nonetheless. Finally, he removed the last bit of clothing he wore, and he sat before her, also nude. Emila's smile faded, and she shifted closer to him. He took her in his arms, and kissed her again.

And so it was for some time - an hour, or maybe two - but to the them it felt like an eternity. At first it was over quickly, as was to be expected from two so young and eager. But they began again quickly, and once finished twice, continued even more. They let instinct and passion guide them as they explored one another.

And finally, once they were both too exhausted to go on, they fell onto their backs, beside one another, and were quickly asleep.

<> <> <>

Marcus passed the guards outside his tent, who did not salute him as they were supposed to. In fact, their eyes were down, and they looked like they could barely keep awake. He would have reprimanded them for that, but he was just as tired himself, and he was eager to get to sleep. Putting it aside for the time being, he closed the tent shut and made his way to his bed.

His talk with young Luca had gone well. The boy was young, and a bit foolhardy, but he had a good head on his shoulders. The boy would do well as a champion. His father had failed to do that, and it had caused the problems that they were at that camp to deal with. Marcus had high hopes that Lodin's son would not make the same mistakes his father had.

The boy was angry and clearly hated Zinoro, his efforts to hide it being easy for Marcus to see through. This was good, but he needed to learn to control his rage. Too much of it would lead to mistakes, and they could not afford to make mistakes now. Zinoro was a dangerous enemy - only a fool would deny it - but they had the tools they needed to beat him.

Marcus placed his sheathed sword on his writing desk, turned off the lantern, and went to his small bed. It was nothing like the bed he was used to sleeping in, back in Serenite, but it was much more comfortable than the simple sleep rolls his soldiers slept on. In the morning, when they left, they would leave behind the tents and with them, Marcus' bed. Travelling light was important in a land like Acaria. There were few rivers in the wasteland, and even fewer forests. Crops were impossible to grow on that soil - how Zinoro kept his army fed was still a mystery.

As the king lay there in the dark, he wondered if this would be his last war. It would certainly be Zaow's. At almost eighty years old, Zaow was but an echo of his former youthful glory. Marcus was fifty-five, a difference of several decades from Zaow, but even at that age he was already feeling the weight of the years.

The empty space beside Marcus bothered him. He missed his wife. She was back in Serenite, on her own. First they had lost Gera, and now Halt and he were away to fight this war. But with luck, they would soon be back in Serenite, and Ellen would never be without her husband and son again.

Marcus heard a sound, so quiet he believed for a moment that it was a conjuration of his mind, on the brink of sleep. But in his slight attention, he was then aware of another presence within his tent. And when he felt the feeling of mana being gathered, his faded warrior instincts kicked in, and he rose from his bed and reached for his sword.

Altair
was not at his side. He recalled placing it on his desk moments ago. He looked around in the darkness, but he could not be certain where either the desk or the intruder were.
 

Though he felt the intruder's mana, no attack came.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked in a level voice.

No answer came. He saw a brief flash, and then the lantern on his desk was burning again. The mana faded. Standing beside the desk was a woman, wrapped in a black cloak with a drawn hood. She turned to face Marcus. He estimated her age to be roughly thirty years of age, and she had black hair that framed a pretty face. But her eyes were strange - they had within them a dark, haunting look. She looked to Marcus hungrily.

“King Marcus of Saeticia...” she said slowly.

She stood between him and
Altair
. Marcus could not be sure, but she could have a weapon concealed within her cloak. He did not trust himself to be fast enough to grab the sword before she could attack him.
 

However, she did not move to attack. She simply stood there, watching him with that strange, eerie look in her eyes.

“How did you get past the guards?” Marcus asked her. Perhaps if he talked to her, eventually someone might come and help.

“They are sleeping,” she said.

Marcus angrily remembered the two soldiers dozing off only a few minutes earlier. They would be punished for this, he swore.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The woman smiled slowly, glancing at the blade on the table behind her. “My master has sent me to carry out a task.”

“What task?”

She chuckled, and returned her gaze to Marcus. There was something really odd about her, and Marcus was worried now. Something was very wrong.

He made a decision. Turning on heel, Marcus made a break for the entrance of the tent. He was not worried about her taking
Altair
- he was the blade's master, and anyone else who touched it would be burned. But he was defenceless without it, and he couldn't take the risk of trying to reach it. Once outside the tent, he would have an entire army to help him.
 

But before he could reach the door, the woman grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.  He tripped, nearly falling to the ground, but he recovered in time to swing and strike the woman across the jaw. She collapsed, and Marcus took a step away from her.

His wrist ached strangely where she had grabbed him. Marcus looked at it and saw mana flowing into his skin. The pain grew and heated up. He had only a few seconds to wonder what it was before it struck him.

He collapsed onto the floor of his tent, his insides burning like fire. In his field of vision he saw the entrance of the tent, and the two soldiers who were supposed to have been guarding him. The first of them was motionless - his eyes were gone, replaced by gaping holes of blood and pus. Blood leaked from his mouth, running down his chin in a river and gathering in an already large pool at his feet. The second guard twitched and convulsed, having what appeared to be a seizure of some kind. He made no sound - his tongue appeared to be swollen so much he could not close his mouth. His joints were twisted in unnatural ways.

“Death is a certainty,” said the woman behind him. “But it comes after many hours of unbearable pain. I do enjoy getting creative in how I kill.”

Marcus twisted around to face her as best he could. She was standing over him now. A bruise was already beginning to show on her cheek, but her satisfied smile was untouched.

“My magick is irreversible,” she said. “Your death is inevitable. But it will not come for many hours.”

Marcus tried to rise, but his muscles were tightening up in an unbearable way. He could barely even squirm on the ground, much less move. He tried to scream, to call for help, but all that came out was a pathetic choking sound.

The woman in black turned away from him, her work done. He watched her, helpless to do anything at all, as she returned to the desk where
Altair
rested.
 

<> <> <>

The dawn came with a cold chill. Luca awoke to the sounds of yelling and chaos. As he sat up, Emila stirred in the sheets by his side, also roused by the noise.

“What's going on?” she asked groggily.

“I don't know,” he said. After thinking for a moment, he got up and said, “I'm going to go see what's happening.”

“I'll go with you,” she said, getting up and grabbing her clothes from the bag beside the bedroll.

He considered asking her to stay, but he knew she wouldn't listen anyway. After putting on his own clothes, they went outside. The camp was filled with people running here and there, and indiscernible shouting. Luca spotted Tranom at his usual spot by the campfire, and made his way over to him, Emila following close behind. As they drew near, Luca saw Brand was there was well.

Tranom barked a few quick orders to a pair of soldiers, one wearing the armour of Sono, and the other wearing the armour of Torachi.

“What's happening?” Luca asked.

“The king of Saeticia is dying,” Tranom told him.

Luca stopped, feeling a sudden chill that had little to do with the cold air. “Wh-what...?”

“King Marcus?” Emila asked. “What's happened to him?”

“Don't know yet,” Tranom told them. “Everyone's running around, trying to figure out what's going on. We woke ready to march out to Acaria, only to find this happening.”

Luca thought of the previous night, when he had spoken with Marcus. He remembered the promise that the king had made to him - which he had likely not told anyone else in the time since then...

“He's dying, right?” Luca asked Tranom. “He's not yet dead? He's still alive?”

“From what I've heard.”

Luca turned to Emila. “I have to go there. I need to see him.”

She didn't ask why. She simply met his gaze, and nodded.

They started off, just as Wiosna arrived, looking as confused as they had, and started to speak with Brand. Luca and Emila made their way through the growing crowd of soldiers, headed in the general direction of the Saetician camp. Finally, they reached Marcus' tent, to find a large number of people gathered outside.

One of those people was Selphie. She looked over as they drew near, her expression shifting to a scowl at the sight of Luca. She immediately looked away.

“What happened?” Emila asked him quietly.

“I'll tell you later.” Tentatively, he approached Selphie and spoke to her. “What's the status with Marcus?”

Refusing to meet his gaze, she replied in a cold tone, “He's alive, but he won't be for long. That's what the healers are saying. My father is in there now, along with King Edmund and King Marcus' son.”

“What happened to him?”

“Some kind of illness,” Selphie said. “It struck him this morning. The prince knew nothing about it. It's possible he was hiding a disease from everyone.”

Luca thought about that. It didn't seem right. The Marcus of the previous night had been full of determination and inner strength. He knew he was growing old, and accepted it, but he did not have the look or temperament of a terminally ill man. Something about it all just felt wrong.