Thirty yards. Jaslin was at his side, roaring wordlessly. His crimson-stained sword parried and struck as if wielded by a war god.
Forward.
Behind Marcellus, his men razed the soldiers they passed, and suddenly the stories were true. He and his men were unstoppable. The legendary Companions who could not be defeated. All who stood before them fell as if standing still; as if their weapons were the driest, most fragile twigs. The thunder of their charge rumbled the ground; their defiant shouts were music to Marcellus' ears. The banners rippled behind him, stirring him and his men forward.
Ten yards. The army was almost upon them, but it mattered not. The legends were true. He was the Champion of Kaerleon, and his Companions rode with him. Nothing was impossible for them.
Nothing.
Forward.
His sword shattered the shield of the last soldier, and the wagons were before him. The Lion of Kaerleon emblem stitched on the canvas beckoned, welcoming him. Marcellus leaped off Shadowdancer, strode to the nearest wagon, and snatched back the covering.
Whatever words he meant to say were forgotten as the quarrels struck.
He barely had time to throw up his shield, but at that range it was as useful as paper; the bolts from the crossbows went straight through. He was pierced swiftly and often before he collapsed to a view of the red-streaked sky. Beyond the pain he heard the covers on the other wagons falling, the whine of quarrels streaking, the screams of his men as they died.
Something heavy fell beside Marcellus. He winced as he managed to turn his head.
Shadowdancer writhed on the ground, his body riddled with quarrels. The stallion's legs churned the ground into mud as he futilely strove to raise himself. Their eyes met, and Shadowdancer's movements slowed. Marcellus strained, using his good arm to pull forward until he could reach out and stroke the muzzle of his old friend. Shadowdancer's labored breathing became the only sound, slower and slower until his last breath finally exhaled.
The unearthly quiet made Marcellus realize it was over. A shadow approached. He looked up at a black-armored man with his crossbow leveled at Marcellus' chest.
Death and glory.
A familiar voice spoke. "Wait. My lord has plans for this one."
Forgetting his wounds, Marcellus shoved the crossbow away and rose to one knee as Gile Noman pushed through the black-garbed soldiers.
"I want to see him." The one-eyed mercenary met Marcellus' glare with a smirk. "Are you surprised, m'lord?" He hefted a bloodstained mace in his hand.
Marcellus tried to move, but his limbs couldn't respond. The mace took a long time coming. Marcellus thought of Jaslin's words.
Nothing is glorious about this.
A final wave of heat and blood crashed down, drowning him in darkness.
Chapter 7: Nyori
Nyori had left at first light as Mistress Ayna had instructed. She wished for clearer directions, but Ayna could tell her no more. Or would not. Such was the way of discussion with Ayna. Often it left more questions than answers. Ayna insisted Nyori's intuition would guide her. Nyori wasn't as certain, but she knew she could never put her home and people in danger. If that meant leaving Halladen under swift and mysterious circumstances, so be it.
She fingered the thick bronze bracelet on her wrist. No longer an apprentice, she was free to dress however she wished. She preferred her attire simple, but could not resist wearing the jewelry that many of her former instructors gifted to her. The Steppes folk believed in adorning themselves, and she was no exception.
Gold armlets glinted on her upper arms, and a serpentine bracelet encircled one of her wrists. Loops of various lengths hung from her neck, including a choker adorned with lion teeth and a rounded medallion carved with intricate runes. The thin, chained diadem on her brow matched her earrings, and a similar charm link held the tip of her long braided hair in place.
She had abandoned her drab apprentice gown for an earth-toned dress of finely spun baumwole that befitted her station. Divided for horse riding, it had the bonus of feeling so much more comfortable than her standard apprentice dress.
The Great Steppes stretched as far as she could see; vast grasslands that extended west to east from the borders of Leodia all the way to the Dragonspine Mountains, and north to south from the borders of Epanos to the Hazelwood Forest of Runet. The only interruption of the level landside was the Old Forest, where the ancient oaks and pines towered like guardians of legend, and the ring of mountains called Guardians, which encircled Halladen, the Hidden City.
She had not left Halladen since she was brought there as a young girl. Under any other circumstances, it would have been pleasant to ride across the wide-open expanse of level grasslands. She viewed the endless Steppes and the soaring ceiling of the white-streaked sky as though for the first time. It certainly didn't look like a place of impending danger. But it was somewhere out there, she knew. Only a fool would take a warning from the Sha lightly.
At least I do not travel alone.
Nando and Ironhide loped alongside Lively, her dappled mare. They did not ride, although they carried their travel possessions on a pack mule that trailed Lively. The men could jog for hours without tiring. Both were Nahguals, a rare breed of people who lived between the worlds of beasts and men. In the more restrained cities and towns, the people whispered the word 'shapeshifter' and 'skinwalker' with great fear and superstitious rituals, but Nyori was accustomed to her companions' abilities.
She supposed a normal person would be shocked by her way of life, but normality had ceased when her parents hurriedly sent her to the Sha. They had been aware she was different. At times she would dream of rain before a storm, or pain before someone was hurt. Once she dreamed of her grandmother lying on a tomb and awakened to news of her death. People in her village treated her differently, almost fearfully. Her friends avoided her. And her parents...it was almost a relief when they took her to the Sha to begin her new life.
She still saw her parents twice a year, but she knew she would never return to the village or their way of life. That world seemed so small, so confining. She became accustomed to her solidarity. She lived a different life now, with people who studied visions and could heal almost any ailment. And men who turned to wolves.
How quickly one can be conditioned to the strangest of things. She smiled at the thought.
"Her smile is as bright as lightning, soft as the sighing of trees," Ironhide said. "Yet riddles hide behind her eyes, and her voice sings the language of secrets."
Besides being a Nahgual, Ironhide was of the Mandru, the nomadic castes that roamed and fought along the territories of the Steppes. Though his face was leathery and weathered by age and life outdoors, only a few silver threads lined the sheet of glimmering black hair that hung down his back. A comb lined with feathers was planted atop, and earrings of polished bone dangled from his ears. Despite the briskness of the air, only a decorative breastplate of polished bone and beads covered his bare chest, though his leather leggings and breechcloth were sturdy enough. He often spoke as though quoting poetry. Perhaps he was.
"Just thinking, Ironhide," Nyori said.
Nando grunted sourly. "Hopefully about turning around, instead of continuing on yet another of my sister's foolhardy quests."
Nando was Mistress Ayna's twin brother, sharing her copper skin, amber eyes, and flowing black hair that he braided down his back. His garb differed slightly from Ironhide: fur-trimmed breeches and a sturdy leather vest that covered his well-muscled torso. Like Nyori, Nando was born in a small village in the Steppes, not bound to a caste of Mandru as Ironhide was.
Mistress Ayna had warned Nyori not to speak of what had happened, so the men knew little beyond their instructions to guide and protect Nyori. Nando had come begrudgingly, and only at the insistence of Ayna. He did not seem to carry much faith in his sister's abilities, perhaps because he did not share her intuitive talents. As a Nahgual, he depended on his physical skills, trusting what he could detect with his
keen senses.
He glanced at her skeptically. "You don't even know where you're going, do you?"
Nyori touched the tube-shaped pouch securely fastened to the wide belt around her waist. Eymunder lay inside, its weight hardly noticeable. It was bewildering that such a small object would be the cause of such potential danger. But it was her responsibility now, and she would have to get used to it.
She raised her chin and spoke as if she were Mistress Ayna. "The ways of the Sha are not for you to question, Nando. It is enough that you have your orders, and obey them."
Ironhide barked a laugh, and Nando flushed, twisting his lips. His bow was only half-mocking. "As you say, Shama."
It had been that way from the start. Nando tried to lead when she was supposed to be in charge. Of course, she had never been in charge of an expedition in her life, and Nando knew that she was a newly anointed Shama. That along with him being several years older made it a lopsided battle. She did not tell them their destination because it was the only thing that affirmed her leadership. As soon as Nando knew, then he would try to take over. Overall, her expedition was a lesson in quickly mounting irritation.
Then there was the silent communication between the men.
They could go for hours without speaking. Ironhide would raise an eyebrow ever so slightly at something she said, which sent Nando into sputters of laughter. Other times Nando would give the older man a narrow-eyed glance, which she figured out meant he was exasperated with her. A jerk of the thumb meant they needed to confer privately. They had a hundred variations of signals or facial movements that spoke without either saying a word. All considered, it was annoying to be on the outside of their silent world. It would have been nice to have someone on the trek with whom she could relate.
The fool tosses coins into the sea and expects fish for supper. The thought was so clear she could almost hear Mistress Ayna's voice. It was true. Wishing for something that wasn't going to happen was pointless. She tried to focus on the task at hand.
At the foothills of the Dragonspine she was to take the path to a refuge city called Asfrior, where she would find safety until Ayna came for her. She did not know the people, or how long she would stay. Not the best of guidelines, but no one said being a Shama was easy. That was the last thing Ayna told her.
They had not seen many other travelers since they left Halladen. Her guides blazed a trail known only to their kind and avoided strangers as much as possible. The Mandru castes were fiercely territorial and did not take lightly to travelers crossing their borders without permission. Many other dangerous types wandered the Steppes as well. Lawbreakers often chose to brave the wrath of the Mandru rather than those who hunted them. Yet she had seen other travelers only at a far distance, and it looked almost as though they'd reach the Dragonspine Mountains without seeing another soul.
That changed on the fifth day of the journey.
Ironhide was speaking about the siege of Letega when he suddenly stiffened.
"Hold."
Nyori pulled Lively to a stop. Miles of faded grassland stirred in the cool northern breeze. A large herd of massive, shaggy-haired wisents grazed a mile or so off, peppering the landscape as far as the eye could see. Nothing else was visible.
Nando materialized from the midst of the tall grasses, startling Lively, who reared and almost threw Nyori from the saddle. She glared at him as she calmed the mare, but for once he did not take the time for a smirk or wry comment. Ignoring her as usual, he spoke to Ironhide.
"There's a band of travelers up ahead. A mix of Outlanders, maybe mercenaries or marauders. They're armed and look like they can handle themselves."
Nyori looked around. "What are you talking about? We can see for miles in any direction."
Nando gave her an irritated glance that made her cheeks flush angrily. "We're actually above them, Shama. Everything here looks flat to the untrained eye, but those of us with experience know better."
It was true. The Steppes had low hills, but they were cunningly woven into the landscape to go unnoticed until one practically fell down them. The flush in her cheeks changed to embarrassment, but she was not going to let Nando take the reins from her again. She closed her eyes, focused her mind and expanded her senses.
The slight breeze became a rushing torrent in her ears, the swaying grasses clacked together like hollow reeds. She smelled the broken earth on the hooves of her horse, the oil on Ironhide's skin, and...smoke in the distance. The strangers had just started a fire.
She dropped from her saddle. "You're right. Just over there." She pointed, savoring the surprise on Nando's face. "Let's take a look, shall we?"
"Stay close and do as we do," Ironhide said.
Crouching low, he led the way. Nyori hitched up her skirts and followed, trying to match their stealth. She didn't think she did a good job. When Ironhide dropped even lower and shuffled on his knees and elbows, she did the same, trying not to think of the stains she was grinding into the fabric of her dress.
They stopped at the brink of the hill overlooking more grassland where a small band of armed men had erected a camp. Nando crept up beside her and peered with interest. There was no sense of uneasiness from either man. That made her feel better. Men actually could be a decent source of comfort, at the right time.
"It will take a long detour to circle around them," Ironhide said. "Besides this hill, there is no other way to escape detection."
Nando grunted. "I say we go to their camp. I don't hide from anyone. If they want to start trouble, we can give them more than they can handle."
Nyori rolled her eyes, and Ironhide smiled wryly. "Ah, the invincibility of youth. It has been too long since arrows bounced off my chest and I could shatter steel with my bare hands."
Nando glowered.
Nyori felt a chill as though dunked into a vat of ice water. The harbinger, it was called. To a trained Shama it was an indicator that something significant was about to occur.
One of the men stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Look," she said.
The man wore loose-fitting folds of faded greens and browns, and the black scarf wound around his head hung to his shoulders. He stood apart from the camp with his arms crossed, gazing in their direction.
Nando stared incredulously. "How can he see us?"
"He can't," Ironhide whispered.
"Well, he definitely knows something." Nyori stood up, producing startled exclamations from the men. It would have been more satisfying had her heart not tried to pound out of her chest. The camp below stirred as they noticed her solitary figure.
She brushed her clothes off the best she could. "I sense no threat from this man. I will meet with him." She started down the slope, followed closely by Ironhide. Nando trailed, muttering under his breath. His words didn't sound complimentary.
The man waiting for them struck her interest immediately. He was medium in build and height, yet carried strength across his shoulders, and a presence in his eyes made him seem larger. His skin was dark, his face squared and strong, his beard neatly trimmed. She had seen foreigners like him come to Halladen before, travelers from Jangala and beyond the Sea of Sand. Tales of exotic strangers and towering pyramids sprung to her mind as she met his steady gaze.
"Sholom, young sister." He bowed courteously with his palms pressed together. Sunlight glinted off the copper bands encircling his wrists. "My name is Rhanu'bis. To friends I am Rhanu. It pleases me that you have come down to introduce yourself. I was trying to decide whether to risk sending one of my men to flush you out, or simply to shoot arrows into your hiding place."
Nando growled deep in his chest. Rhanu glanced at him, and something flickered in his gaze. It was not recognition, but she felt as though awareness had occurred, something that went beyond words.
Rhanu returned his gaze to her. "I do not mean to offend. But these are strange times, and we are not many. When I detected what seemed to be spies, I had to think about those with me."
>
"You didn't see us," Ironhide said. "It is impossible from here. How did you know we were there?"
Rhanu just smiled.
"All of that is beside the point," Nyori said. "I am Nyori Sharlin, a Shama from the Northern Steppes."
Nando grunted but fortunately held his tongue. Nyori pretended not to notice. "Ironhide and Nando are my escorts. We mean no harm, and simply seek safe passage on our way east."
"East." Rhanu's dark eyes penetrated. "There is nothing east but the Dragonspine, and trouble beyond. War and the aftermath of war. Raiders, mercenaries, and the Bruallians seeking to drown it all in madness. I do not doubt the hardiness of your protectors, but you would do better to turn back until a safer time, if there is such a thing."
Nando tensed and stepped forward. "Nonetheless we are going, and won't let anyone bar our way."
Nyori almost gaped at him. Nando—the one who complained the whole way about the uselessness of their trek! Men were beyond comprehension at times.
Rhanu dipped his head. "The Steppes are for freemen, of course. It is not in our interest to interfere. However it is getting dark, and I would extend the hospitality of our fire if it pleases you to camp with us tonight."
Nando shook his head. "I don't think—"
Nyori cut him off before he could finish. "We will accept your hospitality, Rhanu. It would be an honor." She gave Nando a withering look as she passed.
He ignored it and leaned close. "I hope you can conjure an escape should these men wish to hold us captive. You go too far this time, Shama." At least he lowered his voice when he spoke.
"It is past time you trust my decisions," she whispered back. "My senses would detect a threat if this man were trying to deceive us. Do as you are told, for once."
A young man around her age approached them, garbed in all black–a folded tunic over loose-fitting trousers tucked into soft leather boots. He too was a foreigner. But while Rhanu was dark, the newcomer's skin was lighter than hers. He was only a few inches taller than her as well. His inky hair was pulled into a topknot, held in place by a headband with unfamiliar characters emblazoned in the center. His strangely almond-shaped eyes peered at them with interest.
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