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."