"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.
"Han, we are to have guests with us this evening," Rhanu said. "They left a horse and a pack mule on the hill there. They're just out of sight, but if you don't mind, could you bring them to the camp?"
Han nodded and shot up the hillside. His movements were fluid, as if he were about to float across the ground.
"He seems young to be around…" Nyori trailed off, not knowing how to describe the band of battle-weathered men. As they entered the camp, she caught their stares. Her face flushed, and she avoided their eyes.
"Ruffians?" Rhanu laughed. "Mercenaries? Cutthroats? Robbers? I assure you miss; we are not such men."
Ironhide had silently observed until then. "What kind of men are you?"
"We track down those who have done evil and bring them to justice."
Nyori nodded. "Whom are you hunting now?"
"A pair. Man and woman. Quite a number of murders notched up between the two. We follow their trail west. Almost had them in Bruallia, but they managed to escape in all the chaos that overwhelms the region on account of the war."
She studied the assortment of men. "This seems to be a large band to hunt just two people."
Rhanu stopped short. His face was deadly serious, giving his words extra gravity. "You have no idea. You have no idea how dangerous those we hunt are. You would not believe it if I told you." He shrugged. "Best if you never find out."
Stones were arranged in a circle at the center of camp, where a fire eagerly licked the dry kindling. Slabs of what appeared to be venison were already hoisted on stakes above the flame. The men who gathered around the fire seemed the jovial sort, jesting and laughing amongst each other. When introduced, they gave Nyori and her companions a friendly nod or handshake. They were men of all sorts from around the region. A short, olive-skinned Epanite man strummed a lute as he lounged against a sandy boulder, and a fiery-haired, burly Norlander roared laughter louder than the others combined.
A pair of Mandru turned to stare. Their caste differed vastly from Ironhide's, both in appearance and customs. Their skin was dark brown, and their heads shaved save for coarse, braided topknots that hung to their waists, colored red as if dipped in paint. Ivory clattered on their necks, and large, decorated disks stretched their earlobes into widened circles. The two men frowned when they caught sight of Ironhide.
Difiju caste. They probably have an ongoing feud with Ironhide's caste. Nyori hoped they wouldn't cause any problems.
The rest seemed to be woodsmen and former soldiers for the most part. In all, there looked to be around a dozen men. Though they were worn, they were not ragged or unkempt and appeared committed to staying alert and organized. A bonus, no doubt, to the life they led.
To Nyori's surprise, a woman emerged from one of the tents. She was tall as most of the men, her muscles almost as hard. Golden hair hung loosely to her shoulders, framing a tanned face that would have been pretty had it not been permanently hardened. A glittering eye patch beset with jewels covered her scarred right eye. A weathered leather vest was all that covered her small bosom, which appeared more muscular than soft. Yet her earth-toned breeches were snug, displaying the shapeliness of her hips and toned legs. Beaded tassels swung and clicked with her catlike strides.
"I heard we had guests." Her words were slightly halted as though unfamiliar with Jenera—the common tongue used by the civilized lands of Erseta. "I am pleased you have joined with us. My name is Meshella."
"A pleasure." Nando eyed her appreciatively. The expression on his face made Nyori want to slap him.
Meshella eased down beside Nyori. A necklace of what appeared to be either claws or fangs hung loosely around her neck, and bracelets of polished wood and beads clattered on her wrists. Her smile softened her features somewhat.
She had to be from one of the castes that lay to the east of Epanos, dwelling in the outer Steppes near the Barrens. Nyori had heard of woman warriors before but had never seen one in person. The woman's nose was delicate, and her lips curved almost sensuously, but those features did nothing to take away from the deadliness that pulsated from her. A large, curved blade hung from her waist in a beaded scabbard. She is a woman who kills. It was like seeing a lioness up close, both fascinating and chilling.
Seeing her inquisitive look, Meshella gave a throaty chuckle. "It is all right. I will not bite you." Some of the men laughed, and Nyori flushed in embarrassment.
"No, we have already fed her for today," Rhanu said, seated nearby. The men laughed again, as did Meshella. Nyori found herself smiling despite her blunder.
One of the Difiju warriors turned to Ironhide with an expression completely devoid of humor. "You are Onasho?" The question was more of a demand. He and his companion glowered as Ironhide regarded them with an air of calm.
"Yes."
"We are Difiju." The statement had a ring of a challenge.
Nando's hand casually strayed toward the sword he had laid beside him.
Firelight glinted from the Difiju warrior's dark eyes when he leaned forward. "These are our lands. Our companions have permission from the elders to cross in peace. You know trespassing demands payment in blood."
An electric current seemed to crackle in the air, as though the herald of violence had announced its presence. Everyone in the camp tensed.
Only Ironhide seemed at ease. He dipped his head respectfully, but there was no fear in his eyes. "Blood is a payment that never fulfills its debt, I am told by men wiser than I. True, we have not permission to cross your lands. But you should know that you speak of violence in the face of the Shama. Your curse is on your head, should you wish to proceed."
The Difiju warrior looked at her, surprised. "I…did not know. She is—"
So young, is what he means to say. The thought was bittersweet. To become a Shama at her age was a feat to be proud of, but Nyori knew she did not have the regal bearing of Ayna or the other Shama that she had encountered.