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Nyori's legs betrayed her, and she stumbled, falling to one knee. Once down, her strength failed, having long since been driven only by desperation and fear.
"The witch falters, Charak." Rohn spoke through a mouth hidden by a monster beard. The Gutoths had trailed her as wolves did their prey—steadily, just keeping her in sight once they caught her trail again. They did not seem near as fatigued as she was.
"No tricks this time, girl." Rohn drew his sword and beckoned with his free hand. "Throw us the staff, and I'll take your head right quick."
"No, you fool," Charak said. "You'll scare the little witch-child." He exposed his yellowed teeth in a grin. "No need for fear, girly. Witches sell for a high price, and a pretty one like you will make me and Rohn live like kings." He chuckled roughly. "For a week or two anyway. Come along now, hand over the staff." He took a hesitant step toward her.
Nyori swung Eymunder, making him jump back. "Stay away!"
She saw the expression in his eyes change from passively cruel to murderously enraged. She sensed the feral intent, the smoldering of animal hate, and knew what would be next.
His snarling breath was foul, tainted with the stench of rotted teeth. "Looks like you're out of tricks, witch. And Rohn was right. It's just your head that we need, and we'll score at least fifty amber tokes between it and that staff. Eh, Rohn?"
He turned slightly and unsheathed his sword with a curse.
Nyori followed his gaze and gasped. Rohn could not answer because he was dead. Another man in bloodstained and tattered clothes pulled Rohn's sword out of his chest. The stranger was lean as a hungry wolf. His dark hair was dirty and unkempt, his eyes feral as an animal. A bloody lash was raw across his cheek, giving him a rather sinister appearance.
Charak roared. His sword flashed as his long legs quickly closed the distance. The stranger struck a stance with his sword held high in both hands. As Charak closed in, the stranger dropped smoothly to one knee, his sword a blur. Wincing, Nyori closed her eyes but still heard the sound of steel cutting through flesh and bone. Charak's roar changed to a scream of agony.
When she opened her eyes, blood jetted from the severed stumps of Charak's legs as he clawed the ground, still shrieking. The stranger's downward stab cut his scream off with a sickening gurgle.
The silence that followed seemed unnatural.
The newcomer staggered, favoring his right leg. He stabbed the sword in the ground to keep from falling.
Nyori took that moment to swing Eymunder, catching him directly in the chest with the orb. He stumbled and fell flat on his back.
Nyori quickly stood over him, brandishing Eymunder like the quarterstaff she used in her village. "Don't move," she said. "I don't want to hurt you."
The man rubbed his chest and looked at her with a bewildered expression that turned almost amused as he raised his hands.
"I'm not sure if you understand what just happened, but I just saved your life, milady. Put down your weapon, and let's talk about this. There are more Bruallians in the area, and they can be upon us at any moment."
Nyori thrust the staff forward. "I don't care. I don't know you any more than the others. You could have killed them because you wanted me for yourself."
He paused. "True. But that isn't my intent, and quite frankly, I need to be on my way." He pushed the orb away with his hand and stood up, wincing.
Nyori kept Eymunder pointed in his direction as she backed away warily. "I mean it. I'll hurt you if I have to."
His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Yes, I'm sure. You appear to be quite the warrior."
Nyori felt a flush of embarrassment, lowering the staff halfway. "Enough to defeat you."
"I was off balance and not expecting to be walloped by the person I just rescued." He bent to retrieve his sword. His face had changed from when he faced the Bruallians, sheer weariness replacing the wild light in his eyes. "Still, luck is often as good as skill when fighting. Are you hurt, milady?"
Nyori hesitated. Now that the moment had ended, it was increasingly hard to keep up her fierce act. She had no idea how to wield Eymunder as a striking weapon, and the stranger seemed to know it.
"No, they did not touch me. I have been on the run for days." She recalled their relentless pursuit. The blindness had been only temporary, and once their sight returned, they had taken to her trail like rabid bloodhounds.
But in a strange turn of events, it was they who lay still in pools of their own blood. She tried to find pity for them but found compassion had taken wing and flown to the horizon.
When she looked at her rescuer, she saw sympathy on his face.
"Unaccustomed eyes should not see such things, milady. My name is Marcellus, and my sword is yours until I can get you somewhere safe. You have my service, and my life."
Nyori shivered as a chill rippled from her head to her toes. The harbinger. It meant that the moment was important, just as it had been when she met Rhanu and his band earlier. She blinked at Marcellus' words, not sure how to reply. She had only heard of such speech in stories, tales of chivalry, and... "Are you a knight?"
"Once." Great sadness settled into his eyes. "Why do you ask?"
"By your speech. Only knights or princes in stories say such things. Milord."
"I am no lord. Nor am I a knight any longer. I am simply Marcellus. I have not the honor of knowing your name."
"Nyori Sharlin. I am a Shama." She didn't know why she revealed that. For some reason, she did not want him to think she was entirely helpless.
He almost seemed to smile as though reading her thoughts. "Shama, I will see if those bandits had anything of value. Wait for me down the hill. This won't take long."
The wind tugged her tattered dress as she made her way down the sandy hill, trying to decide whether to wait or run. The choices of being lost and alone or in the company of a strange killer were equally unpleasant.
The red morning sky appeared menacing; unseen threats seemed to lurk behind every little hill or tower of rock. More Bruallians could be anywhere, and she would be in the same situation.
A lot of help Eymunder turned out to be. She could not recall the words she used to blind the Bruallians. Once she uttered them, they completely vanished from her mind. The same with her command she used to open the door in Asfrior. She wondered if that was the reason the Tome of Apokrypy was so important. It seemed to be the nature of the Craft to recommit the words to memory after uttering them. Which made recovering the Tome vital. How she would accomplish that was something she dared not contemplate at the moment.
Marcellus stumbled down the hill, still limping. He bore a bow and quiver on his back, an array of daggers, and some small pouches and bundles. The sword was sheathed at his side.
"It is discourteous to rob the dead," Nyori said. The Sha believed in great respect for the deceased. That Marcellus would so casually strip the men of their belongings seemed almost obscene.
"I doubt they'll need these anymore," he said. "I would have taken the clothes too, but they appear as bad as mine and smelled even worse." His keen eyes regarded her. "They pursued you for that staff?"
"It's mine." She flushed at his amused smile.
"As you say, milady. It looks very valuable."
"It was given to me by someone very important."
He surveyed their surroundings. "And then you got lost in the wildest, most dangerous mountains."
Her face reddened again. "No, I was separated from my companions. I am from..." She trailed off, remembering that she didn't know anything about the man. "Wait, you're lost in the same mountains, so why are you alone out here?"
Marcellus smiled as he shouldered the satchels. "It's all right, Shama. Your business is your own. As is mine." He walked to the top of the next hill and scanned the terrain.
Nyori considered the man. She recalled the ferocity in which he slew the Bruallians—the swift, graceful movements that resulted in sudden death. She had never seen a man killed before Takoda. And in the space of a few moments, she had seen two more.
"They didn't have much in the way of food," he said as she joined him on the hilltop. "Just some dried meat and beans, a little rind of cheese." He opened a pouch and handed her some strips of peppered beef. "Eat."
Nyori's stomach rumbled, but she hesitated at the offer.
Marcellus laughed. "I didn't take the time to poison it, Shama." He ripped a sliver off and bit into it, still smiling.
She snatched the meat and chewed. It was stringy, tough, and seasoned with far too much pepper. It was the best meal she had ever tasted. She almost bit her fingers in her haste to devour the meager fare.
Afterward, he took a waterskin and let her take a few sips of the precious liquid.
She paused. "Will you not eat?"
"No. It is too early."
He certainly looked as though he needed nourishment. Nyori shook her head at his foolhardiness. "You must. You look weak, like you can barely stand."
She considered healing him. He looked as though he had traveled the mountain passes mainly by falling headlong down them. But should she need to escape from him, it would be better if he were weakened. She was shocked by the thought, but she had learned much about survival in the last few harrowing days.
"I'll eat when I need to, Shama. Right now, I do not." Marcellus turned his attention to the horizon. "Now tell me, how far is the nearest pass?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I ... we had to leave our chosen path."
His eyes narrowed. "What happened to your companions?"
She chose her words carefully. "We were attacked by bandits of some sort. They had Dhamphir at their command."
"Dhamphir?"
"Bestial winged creatures large as a man. My guardians were ... slain." She felt her shoulders tremble as she thought of Takoda and Naresh again. But she choked down her tears, determined not to appear weak in the eyes of her mysterious rescuer.
Marcellus' hand went to his sword hilt as he scanned the sky. He seemed oddly unafraid of the mention of Dhamphir. She wondered what kind of a man took news like that as if it were everyday happenstance.
"Then we had better move." He rubbed the half-healed cut on his cheek. "Men will be hunting for me as well. But you must decide if you will trust me or not, Nyori. You have my word that I will not take advantage of you or cause you harm."
"I accept your offer." It seemed a fitting thing to say.
He wasted no time getting them ready. "I don't know much of the way of this land, but I must go west. Where was the nearest village when last you knew?"
"I remember Melan is a few days from the Dragonspine, by the Wyrm River. It's a very small village, mainly sheepherders."
"Then that is where we will go if we don't come upon a borderland outpost first. Come. Those Gutoths did not make it all this way on foot."
They rounded around the ruins of an old wall and found two large wooly animals that looked like large cows. Horns protruded from their massive heads, and their large black eyes blinked calmly as Marcellus and Nyori approached.
"Grunnien," Nyori said. "No wonder they had no trouble catching up with me."
"Yes. Not as fast as a horse, but better than on foot." Marcellus approvingly examined the contents of the pouches hanging from the beaded saddles. "More food, water, and even a few tokes." He easily lifted Nyori onto the back of one of the docile beasts, then pulled himself up on the other. "It was my good fortune to find you, Shama. I was on foot and alone. Now everything has changed."
She sighed. "Yes, at the cost of human lives."
Marcellus shrugged unconcernedly. "They were bad men."
He tapped the grunnien on the neck, and the animals strode easily on their sturdy legs. They seemed to make good progress, but when Nyori snuck a few glimpses at Marcellus, it seemed that he was frustrated by their rate of speed. He appeared feverishly focused on moving as fast as possible.
Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
I have gone to Asfrior just as Ayna said. But there was no safety and no Tome to recover. What am I to do now? She recalled the shivery chill of the harbinger when she first met Marcellus. He had to be important in some way to her. Considering his timely intervention, she understood why.
They stopped only to eat a few crumbs and sip a few drops. He always gave her the larger portion, refusing to heed her protests. Riding with his back erect, he continuously scanned for threats. He seemed inexhaustible, completely focused on the path in front of them.
He halted her grunnien. "There's faint smoke ahead. Someone is probably camped out there."
She gave a start at the certainty of knowing that darkened her vision momentarily. A lump rose in her throat; her voice became a whisper. "There is death in that camp. We should stay away."
He gave her a considering look. "They may have food and water that survived the fire."
She slowly nodded, trying to hold her fear at bay.
He placed a hand on her arm. "Then I must go. You can stay here until I get back."
"No." She squared her shoulders and swallowed. "I will go with you."
"As you wish." Unsheathing his sword, he cautiously advanced.
She followed him to a scene of carnage. Corpses lay on the cold ground like toppled statues, their throats torn out and their flesh waxen as though blood had never run in their veins. The weathered tents in the camp were undisturbed, and there was no sign of robbery. The people were attacked for a singular purpose.
Nourishment.
"Looks as though your Dhamphir found some sport. Refugees, from the look of them. Probably got lost in these mountains." Marcellus frowned. "I expected buzzards. Ravens, scavenger animals ... but these bodies have not been touched. The beasts are wise. They know this death is unnatural."
He knelt down and motioned as if to touch one of the corpses but thought better of it. The deceased woman appeared around Nyori's age. Her eyes stared disbelievingly from her ashen face.
"It looks as though the creatures feed on blood alone. They suffer no other wounds other than on their necks. I have never seen the like."
Nyori glanced at him. His face was composed, his voice neutral. She didn't understand how anyone could view such a scene and not shudder. "How can you be so cold? Have you taken so many lives that it no longer bothers you?"
He shrugged. "A warrior must be cold. I was barely older than a boy when I killed for the first time. When you kill a man, it changes you. You will either become ice and steel or lay your sword down and become a monk or a farmer. Anything else will get you killed. I chose to keep my sword. But if my frigidity causes you concern, then I apologize. I know you are not used to such things."
Nyori shook her head. "I hope I never get used to such things."
Marcellus did not respond as he stood. "Take only what we need. Food, water, blankets. Change into warmer clothes if you find them. Winter comes swiftly in these mountains, and the winds smell of a storm."
When she hesitated, his voice gentled. "I will stand guard. Go quickly, so that we can be away from here."
They ducked into separate tents.
The interior was dark and foreboding; every shadow suggested some dark unseen menace. Nyori found women's clothes inside a battered chest and dressed faster than she ever had in her life, exchanging her ragged blouse and skirt for warm stockings and a soft gray wool dress, topped by a dark blue cloak and a thick scarf to wrap around her head. Even though she knew the woman was dead, she felt guilty for taking the clothes. She quickly said a prayer for the lost family and dashed out. To her relief, no Dhamphir or any other threats were waiting.
You have to collect yourself. You're a Shama, not a little girl waiting for her hero to rescue her. You have your senses, and you have Eymunder.
Marcellus must have dressed while moving because he had already led the two grunnien into the camp. He had changed into dark breeches, a clean shirt, and a black cloak covering his shoulders. Though the clothes were anything but new, he still looked better than before. His erect stance and noble bearing somehow made the clothes look more than they were.
"We should tarry here no longer than we need to."
She couldn't agree more.
After they loaded the grunnien with food, water, and blankets, he hoisted her atop one of the animals. They both paused at the center of the camp, where Marcellus had laid the fallen bodies side by side.
"We should bury them," she said.
"No time." Marcellus scanned their surroundings. "There are surely still hunters on my trail, and they will not rest until they recapture me."
"It just doesn't seem right." Nyori's gaze drifted back to the corpses. Their dead faces seemed to stare at her, pallid eyes accusing. "At least let me honor them with their last rites."
For a moment, she thought that he would refuse anyway. But after studying her face, he finally nodded. "Very well, Shama. If you feel it is important, I will not stop you. But please do not tarry long. I will lead the grunnien down the hill and wait for you."
She waited until he was out of sight before turning her attention to the dead.
By the time she reached the bottom of the hill, the fire blazed. Thick black smoke drifted toward the sky, but the burning did not disturb her. Many clans of the Steppes performed the same rites for their dead. Sparks floated upward, tiny dots of fire seeking to reach the stars.
What disturbed her was forgetting the words she used to start the fire. It was just like the words she spoke to command the doorway in Asfrior. She again tried to recall the words she had spoken to blind the Bruallians, but they were also as though never learned. It was apparent at that point that the lack of memory was a sort of failsafe to keep masters of Apokrypy from becoming too powerful. She would have been impressed were it not so frustrating. She would have to relearn the words to use them again, but that would be impossible without the Tome.
She could recall the commands she had not used, the more powerful ones she avoided for fear she would kill the Bruallians. Despite everything, the sanctity of life that the Sha valued had held her back. Still, she wondered what she would have done had Marcellus not arrived. She knew that she would have probably used those commands, calling lightning or other means of destruction.
She would have killed those men. The thought was disquieting, a mocking whisper in her ears. Not that it mattered. Marcellus had taken care of that. She recalled the savagery, the blood, and the screams. She realized how sheltered she had been at Halladen, away from the true world where men slew one another without regard for the value of life.
She wondered if it was worth the cost to recover the Tome of Apokrypy. Perhaps it was for the best that the knowledge vanished. With it, she would become powerful. And with the power, she would become dangerous.
She was so focused on her thoughts that she didn't notice Marcellus' agitation until she nearly walked into him. He alternated from staring up at the smoldering pyre and back to her with equal amounts of disbelief.
"Shama, what have you done?"
She gestured to the hilltop. "When we do not have time to bury our dead, we let flame send them to the heavens. Perhaps you are not accustomed to such in your grand kingdoms, but among the Steppes people, it is not—"
Marcellus raised a finger, cutting her off. "That's not what I'm talking about, Shama." He pointed at the plume of smoke that trailed upward. "Did you not stop to think of the eyes that will be able to see that?"
Nyori felt a stab of regret as she understood. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Marcellus had already stepped away, scanning their surroundings. His muscles tensed as he tilted his head, straining to listen. The sound became faintly audible to Nyori at that moment. It was still in the far distance, yet instantly ominous when she understood its significance.
It was the baying of hunting dogs.
"Narak's hells." The feral look returned to Marcellus' eyes as he cursed softly. "I tried to tell you, Shama. Your actions have put us in danger, and we must move swiftly. They know exactly where we are."