His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Valdemar Basilis, Lord of Bruallia.
"Is that you I see, Marcellus? Has Fate allowed you yet another chance to cheat death? Tell me if you are no ghost."
Marcellus opened his mouth, but found it dry and parched. It took several tries to get his voice back. "You lose," he finally croaked.
There was an unbelieving silence on the other side. He risked a look over his shoulder and saw the faint outlines of mounted men on the cliff edge. Looking at the distance, he could not believe he had made it. Valdemar was evident by his fluttering cape.
"I congratulate you," the warlord said finally. "You have done what no man has done before. You have escaped from out my hand."
Was there suppressed admiration in his voice? That was impossible.
"For that achievement, I will not have my archers pierce you with their arrows. Do not take it as an act of mercy. There is a crossing two days ride from here. Enjoy your head start–weak and on foot. You will find no shelter in Komura. They belong to me now. Birds will fly ahead with word of the punishment that awaits any who would think to house you or give you aid. Mark my words: I will track you down. This is war, do you hear me? You will see my face again. And when you do, I will drink from your open veins. You will scream for an end to your torment, you will beg for death!" His voice reverberated across the canyon walls.
"And you will receive it."
They turned their horses back and disappeared like specters from the cliff's edge. Valdemar's words carried over to Marcellus' ears as he rode away. "Enjoy your victory, knight. Though it may be short lived. The wilds of Bruallia are not kind to strangers, and there are worse things in the dark passes than even Valdemar Basilis."
Marcellus was left alone hanging from the rock face. Soon nothing was audible save the howling of dark winds.
He gritted his teeth and pulled. Dragons coursed in his veins and fed his muscles with fire. He hauled himself up with his arms until his feet finally dug into the rocky bluff. He dared not stop for fear of collapsing, but continued up until he found a fissure in the rock deep enough to climb inside. He squeezed in and finally allowed himself to collapse. It was as if all the pain and fatigue of the last few hours crashed upon him at once.
Just a moment. Rest for a moment, and then I'll be on my way.
He hugged himself for warmth and sat with his back against the rock. Despite himself, he nodded until the darkness snatched him away.
HE AWOKE TO THE FLUTTER of wings, cracking his head against the stone ceiling as he leaped up. Ignoring the pain, he searched for any weapon he could use...then saw the startled pigeon flying out the hollow. With a grimace, he squinted out at the grainy morning light. Fog enshrouded the canyon, a misty serpent winding between the passes.
With a jolt of determination, he threw himself out the hollow onto the rock face and began a hurried clamber upward. In daylight the climb was not as difficult as he had thought, and soon he reached the summit.
Ahead of him were the peaks of mist-shrouded mountains, jagged like their namesake. Sparse brush and small trees stripped by autumn were all that passed for foliage. Reddish rays crept from the eastern horizon; rays that stretched westward, the direction they would travel for the day. Westward, where home and family waited. The thought compelled his feet to move; new energy surged as he strode determinedly forward.
It only took a few hours to realize again what misery was. The wind that constantly whistled from the mountains was icy cold and razor sharp. It cut through his rags with ease and left him shivering from its unsympathetic touch. His knee throbbed, making every step agony. His stomach had long ceased growling; it simply whimpered from time to time to remind him that he could not remember the last time he ate.
Another day passed before he reached the foothills. He had trusted in Valdemar's word and avoided the walls of the Komuran city Ashoth and the villages nearby. Valdemar's reputation for ruthlessness would impel even the kindest person to turn Marcellus in on sight, and he didn't dare risk anyone's life even were they to offer him aid. Valdemar was known to slay entire families for the sins of an individual. Marcellus did not want that blood on his hands.
He had been forced to break into a farmer's storehouse for a few loaves, dried meat, and eggs that he stored in an old leather bag. Despite his ravenous hunger, he tried to ration the meager fare. There was no telling where he would find food again aside from hunting in the mountains. In his condition, that would prove nearly impossible.
It was shortly after entering the mountains that he encountered the first hunting party. The sound of their guttural voices warned him in time. He was just able to clamber atop a shelf of dusty stone as the band passed directly beneath him.
They were nearly animals themselves, hide-covered tribesmen with painted faces that normally robbed travelers who risked the mountain passes. Marcellus waited until he could no longer hear them before hurriedly scrambling up the other direction.
It was toward the end of the day that he came to a faltering stop. Human voices were audible from the other side of the ridge. His heart pounded in his ears as he crouched low and peered over the side, expecting to see black-armored Bruallians waiting for him.
It was not as he feared, but something to take in nonetheless. A slender, sandy-haired young woman ran haphazardly, staggering and leaning against a glassy staff. Her long braid was in wild disarray, nearly undone as her hair flailed behind her. She was obviously at the end of her strength, barely able to place one foot ahead of the other.
Two figures pursued her with wild yells. The Gutoth raiders were tall, lean, and looked as though they had no clue what it meant to bathe. He smelled their stench from his hiding place. Both had bows and full quivers, as well as a few swords and daggers strapped to harnesses. Gutoths always were armed to the teeth, even when they slept.
Marcellus considered the situation. He was unarmed, injured, half-starved, and trailed by murderous and vengeful Bruallians. Despite that, he knew he could not walk away and leave the woman to the horrors sure to occur if the Gutoths caught her.
There was no choice. He would have to turn the hunters into prey.
Chapter 15: Nyori
Nyori's legs betrayed her and she stumbled, going 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 Bruallians had trailed her as the wolf did its 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. Where at first they just held a passively cruel tint, they now gleamed with murderous rage. 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. Between it and that staff, we'll score at least fifty amber tokes. 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.
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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. Nyori winced and 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 with a startled yelp.
Nyori quickly stood over him, brandishing Eymunder as if she knew what she was doing. "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 happen, 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 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 replaced 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 pity 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. 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 did not 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. Not before Ironhide. 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 satchel 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 find something to poison it with, Shama." He ripped a sliver off and bit into it, still smiling.
She snatched the meat and bit into it. It was stringy, tough, and seasoned with far too much pepper. It was the best meal she 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 do not 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. Raiders. They had Dhamphir at their command."
"Dhamphir?"
"Bestial winged crea
tures large as a man. My guardians were...they were slain." She felt her shoulders tremble as she thought of Ironhide and Nando 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 do not 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 do not 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 satchels hanging from the beaded saddles. "More food, water, and even a few tokes." He easily lifted Nyori onto the back of one of the placid 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."
The Eye of Everfell Page 15
