"But Talan did win, did he not? All the stories say the Dawnrider slew Anko and was taken by the Aelon to heal his grievous wounds."
Marcellus frowned as he stared at the foreboding silhouette. "Stories change over the years. I have learned from the ancient verses of the minstrels that none are sure what became of Talan or Anko, or whether anyone truly won that day. Some accounts say that as their men died by the thousands, the two enemies became enveloped by lightning that seared both armies and killed more than the war had. When it stopped, both foes had vanished and most of their men lay dead. Others say that Stygan the Dreadlord slew them both and stole their power for himself.
"What is known for true is that Khelios became cursed that day, soiled by blood and madness. A corruption spread even to the grounds we walk on, so that naught but the meanest of life sprouts from this soil, this land that became fit only for the ravens and every sort of foul being, be it man or beast. To this day no man will pass within leagues of it, for fear that its shadow will snatch him from this world into a realm of eternal suffering. There lies the monument of the greatest of the lords of men and the last of the Elious. All that remains is the Spire, the marker for all who died that day."
Nyori shivered and turned away from the distant silhouette that pointed accusingly toward the heavens like a broken finger. "Is there nothing of good in this place?"
Marcellus shook his head. "I forget myself, sharing tales of woe. They are just stories, legends told in place of forgotten history. Who knows what the truth behind the myth really is? Think of the lands ahead, still green in spite of autumn, which we will come upon soon."
Nyori recalled Ayna's words. The legends of Aelon and their hybrid children, the Elious. Stygan the Dreadlord, Talan the Dawnrider — they are all more fact than fable.
When they stopped to rest, Marcellus went ahead a few paces as usual to scan the terrain. Nyori followed, gazing at the murky evening canvas where the stars shimmered like the ceiling of Everfell. Fireflies winked from the grasses as though the stars drifted from the sky to dance around them.
Nyori was so engrossed that she almost didn't notice Marcellus doubled over, clutching his side.
"You're bleeding!"
His eyes widened slightly before he regained composure and straightened immediately. "The exertion has bothered my wounds, is all." His teeth clenched, a subtle effort to withstand the pain. "If this place were not so dead, I might have found the herbs I need to treat it. I must bear it for now. Do not worry, Shama Nyori. I've survived much worse."
She supposed the turning of the corners of his mouth was his attempt at a smile, but she knew better. When he spoke again, it was with the same quiet strength he always had.
"We should move out."
Nyori felt a stab of guilt. She could have aided him days ago, but she was more concerned for her own safety. She grabbed hold of his arm. "I am a Shama. Let me help you."
Marcellus paused before nodding. "Very well, Shama."
"I am not as skilled as some, though my mentor says I have great potential. I cannot direct the probes without laying hands on you."
"I never shy from a woman's touch, milady." His eyes crinkled in amusement.
Her face reddened. "Take off your shirt."
When he removed it, she gasped at the ragged bandages covering what appeared to be grievous injuries. Just looking at them made her wince.
"How can you even stand?"
His face may as well have been stone. Only his eyes betrayed the pain that he held so tightly within. "It was either live with the pain or lie down and die."
"You should have said something." Her whisper was fierce as she placed her hands on his chest and abdomen. He felt warm and hard as stone. The aura of infection dizzied her, but she fought against it. She Shifted to her Inner mind and focused on Vitalis, the Discipline used to heal.
The alignment of his khara became visible. Normally the whorls of life-sustaining energy glowed golden with health. In Marcellus they flickered a sickly yellow color, overtaxed by exertion and the battle to keep him alive. Yet with the proper stimulus, they could be restored. She linked to him and pulled strongly with Eler, the energy of life.
Her breath left her lungs as though she had been struck, black specks danced across her vision, causing her to stagger dizzily.
"Nyori?" She heard his voice as though he were at a distance. She had fallen against him; he held her upright in his arms.
"It's all right." Nyori's voice was faint. She was grateful that Mistress Ayna was not there to stare at her in disbelief. To heal properly, the Shama anchored to whatever life was nearby — plants, animals, even other people — and gently siphoned from it. Using that clean energy, she would restore the damaged khara and accelerate the healing process. In her haste, Nyori had forgotten to draw from the living energy around them and had only drawn from herself.
"I did not perform the healing as I should have. It has weakened me but a little. I will be fine." She became suddenly aware of his strong arms around her and stepped away, her face reddening. "And so will you."
Marcellus removed the bloodstained bandages. The skin underneath was unbroken, only a few faded scars remained. The lash on his cheek was just a pale white line. His body was still lean, but lined with muscle instead of sheer fatigue as before. His eyes widened. "Your skills are truly wondrous, Shama."
Nyori felt her cheeks flush. "Many would call what I did witchcraft."
He smiled. It was almost strange to see on a face that had hardened in sorrow. "I have learned that we often curse what we do not understand. I have seen too much to question the gift of healing. Have you ever stared into the eyes of a dragon, milady?"
Nyori laughed. "Of course not! Dragons are just stories that…" Her voice trailed off at Marcellus' expression. "Wait, have you—?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that I have?" His eyebrows rose expectantly.
"Well, I—"
He cut her off with a gentle laugh. "Just say that I am not so ignorant of the world. This is not the first time I have experienced the services of the Sha. You have my thanks, milady."
She dropped a mocking curtsy. "It is nothing, milord."
Marcellus laughed. It was a joyous sound that echoed around them. "Are you suggesting that I'm too formal?"
Nyori smiled. "There are only two of us here, Marcellus. Surely you know me well enough to call me by name."
"Very well. Nyori." He grinned again as he strode away to fetch the grunnien.
They continued in the azure twilight, away from the forbidding Dragonspine and the troubles they left in those treacherous peaks. Nyori noticed the sound of crickets and the soft cooing of brush birds that had not yet turned in for the night. The grass under her feet seemed to have a little more life, and the air seemed less oppressive despite its chill. They were entering the Great Steppes, leaving the Barrens behind them.
So why is the menace only growing stronger?
She stopped. "Wait."
"What is it?"
Nyori did not answer. Marcellus tensed; his eyes flicked across the terrain.
"Someone comes." Nyori leaned over to look past him. Silhouetted against the darkness, a man staggered toward them.
Marcellus placed his hand on his sword hilt and loosened it in the scabbard. "Stay here." The wind tugged his dark cloak as he approached the stranger, who stopped and waved a hand.
"Deis be praised!" His voice was ragged and hoarse. "I thought I saw other souls in the wretched place, but I was sure it was a fever dream." He staggered toward Marcellus but stopped cold when greeted by naked steel. The stranger stopped in his tracks and threw up both hands.