Aside from the one encounter, her travel was mostly undisturbed. She lost herself in dark thoughts, feeling that her isolation was a fitting recompense for her failure to keep Nando and Ironhide alive. She missed the presence of Ayna and even Riodran, despite having known him only for moments.
Hours waned before she found a shallow cavern where she could rest for the night. Yet sleep eluded her. The night was full of foreign sounds: the shriek of an owl that sounded eerily human, strange creaking, the mournful groans of the bitter wind. She considered her pitiable state and sighed, feeling her solitude more acutely than ever. Even with Eymunder's help, I'll wander out here until I freeze or end up eaten by some beast. Shama's burden. She wondered if it ever got any lighter.
She didn't even realize her eyes closed, but she awoke shivering in the grainy dawn to the sound of voices. She gave a start and snatched up Eymunder. Steeling herself, she peeked from behind the alcove.
It was almost a relief that they were not the white-garbed phantoms that had pursued her earlier. Then she realized that her situation was still as bad, or worse. The two men had to be Bruallians, Gutoths by the look of them. Gutoth barbarian tribes were known for their ruthless raids across the border and their particularly vicious nature. They dusted their skin with blue mud and tattooed their faces to distort their features in terrifying ways. They were notorious for adorning themselves with the scalps, ears and other parts of their slain victims.
The stories played in Nyori's mind as she watched them fearfully from her vantage point. Mismatched furs and scraps of leather gave them a bestial appearance as they stalked in her direction. Jagged daggers dangled from their belts, and they hefted thick spears with short hafts and barbed spearheads. Tall and sinewy, the Gutoths had wild manes of dark hair entwined with beads and bone. One had a shaggy beard as well, which hid most of his tattooed face. He spoke in a coarse voice in a language Nyori did not know.
She clutched Eymunder tightly as she trembled. She felt like screaming, half mad from the thoughts of what would happen if the Gutoths found her. She looked at the staff, but it remained mockingly pale and silent. Teranse, please. Tell me how to get out of this. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face as the Gutoths drew nearer.
Shadows blocked the moonlight. Tall, menacing silhouettes chuckled darkly.
One spoke in the same harsh voice, but in Jenera so that she could understand. "What's this? A Steppes wench, from the look." She flinched when he seized her braid and sniffed it. He chuckled at her expression. "You're good and lost, aren't you, little sparrow? You some trader's spawn? Folks get robbed on the road? Not to worry; we'll take good care of you."
He stabbed his spear into the earth and knelt, bringing his tattooed face close. It was even more hideous than she imagined. His foul breath smothered her nostrils as he grinned, exposing broken and yellowed teeth. "You're an ugly thing, you are. But Rohn and I will make you pretty enough, eh Rohn?"
The other Gutoth laughed. "Aye, pretty as a roasted goat. That's a lovely staff you got there, girl. Where did you steal it?"
Nyori clutched Eymunder to her chest. "It's mine. You cannot have it."
Rohn looked at his companion and laughed again. "You hear her, Charak? This one has spirit, she does. I like a wench with spirit. Like a horse, only the ride is better."
Charak chuckled. His hungry eyes had never left off staring at Nyori. "She don't know no better, Rohn. But she can be taught." He gripped her face under her chin, calloused fingers digging into her skin painfully. "So many ways I can teach her…"
The Glyphs on Nyori's arms pulsed as she thrust Eymunder forward. Certain actions were infused into the staff; one only had to know the command to activate them. And with the Theurgist's knowledge entwined with her own, it was simple to do so.
"Sumu nara."
The orb flashed brighter than daylight, so brilliantly that Nyori could not see the Gutoths although they stood directly in front of her. Somehow she was not blinded, her eyes beheld the surrounding terrain clearly. The barbarians fared far worse. They howled and clutched their faces, stumbling awkwardly. Charak tripped and fell to the earth, clawing at the dirt in panic.
"The witch has blinded me! I…I can't see nothing!"
Charak roared as he waved his long arms about uselessly. "You'll pay for this, girl. You hear me? I'll skin you alive!"
Stepping clear of their sightlessly grasping limbs, Nyori hefted Eymunder and ran, followed by their howling screams and curses.
Chapter 12: Marcellus
Marcellus had no recollection of where he took him. All he remembered was being hauled away and thrown into a prison wagon and driven through the night to a new destination. As the wagon lurched along the battered road, his consciousness flitted in the stratum between dreams and nightmares as voices of the dead called his name.
It was only the single thought, the feeling he had buried when he rode into the heat of battle that dug into his mind's detritus and pulled him from his depressed stupor.
Evelina.
He saw the sky-blue of her eyes, heard her voice murmur in his ear, felt the softness of her skin. Outside his window, the wind carried the squealing laughter of his daughter. Marcellus cursed his weakness, pushing his weariness and depression away as he sat up. The chamber was different than the one where they previously imprisoned him. The darkened stone cell was furnished with only the overflowing privy pot in the corner and dirty, matted straw on the floor.
All dungeons were the same, no matter what land you ended up in.
The voices of other prisoners rose in wordless fury. Marcellus heard cursing and iron-shod footsteps before keys jingled outside his door. Two burly guards entered with drawn swords and lanterns in their hands. Their faces were indescipherable beneath the visors of their heavy burgonet helmets. More crowded the hall outside. He rose before they could reach him. They stepped back warily with their swords upraised.
Marcellus kept his voice calm and showed his shackled hands. "I will come peacefully."
The guards met his steady gaze uneasily. He could almost see the stories about him play in their minds as they cautiously approached to test his bonds. Satisfied, they snapped a lead chain to his manacles before leading him out the cell.
He winced and shielded his eyes when the prison doors opened, allowing the glare of sunlight inside. A deafening roar greeted him as well — the thunder of hate-filled voices in a chorus of rage.
"Where are we?"
The nearest guard thumped him across the head with a spear butt. "You are in Radoth, worm. No more talk. A worm does not speak."
Radoth. Marcellus shook his head as they shoved him out the doors. He couldn't figure a reason why Valdemar would transfer him out of the capitol city of Dragos.
I suppose I will find out soon enough.
Hundreds of guards lined the road outside where an uncovered wagon and horses awaited. The numbers were not because they feared him. They were to hold the riotous crowd back.
Throngs lined beyond the soldiers; a sea of men and women who screamed their rage at the personification of what oppressed them — the Champion of the cursed and hated Leodia.
Missiles immediately struck. He winced as the guards cursed and held up their shields. The people were not marksmen, and the projectiles did not favor guards over him. The soldiers snatched up whips and cudgels to drive the crowd back as Marcellus was hefted up onto the wagon and placed on his knees. The guard chained him to an iron pole in the center of the wagon.