And across Marcellus' chest, the Glyphs flared brightly.
Interlude: Stormbrow
Stormbrow waited on the peak of a small, barren rise. No hill in the Steppes was particularly tall, but any could hide a cunning band of raiders. Not that he expected to find any raiding parties. Peace was tenuous between the Onasho and the Difiju castes, but it held.
Still, peace never lasts.
Raids and battles were a way of life in the Steppes, and whoever thought otherwise would soon wake out of their dream to find themselves dead.
The wind tugged at the feathers that jutted from the comb in his hair — the eagle feather tipped in black for wisdom achieved; three tipped in red for the men he had captured in battle, and four raven feathers for the men he had killed. He had seen twenty-two winters, young to get the wisdom feather, and so was placed in charge of a scouting route. He tugged the wisent fur cloak that hung from his shoulders. The winds from the distant Dragonspine were as bitter as the mountains themselves.
Eagle Eye approached on a dun mare. The man had an excited air about himself.
What has he seen? If the hunting parties of the Difiju were near…
Eagle Eye pulled rein beside him. He was tall and lean, tanned like Stormbrow with three raven feathers and one red-tipped eagle feather in his inky hair. Despite the excited gleam in his eyes, he spoke as though discussing the weather. "Two strangers heading this way, riding grunnien. A milkhide with a woman who looks Steppe-born. Villager, I'd guess."
Stormbrow contemplated that. A milkhide out so far in the Steppes alone was unusual, but not unheard of. Sometimes a fugitive from one of their great cities would seek refuge in the Steppes. Other times it would just be a young fool testing his mettle by crossing to Epanos or Runet. But one so close to the winter lodges posed a problem. It would not do to have some strange milkhide stumble into their camp.
It might be best just to kill him and leave it at that.
That could be a problem in itself, for killing a milkhide was a delicate business. One could never tell if the man was important in his homeland or not. Killing one milkhide could lead to many more on his heels. Then there was the woman. There was no honor in killing a woman unless she showed her blade. Outlander captives did not quickly take to the Onasho lifestyle either, so making her a prisoner would most likely lead to difficulties as well, despite her being Steppe-born.
"She is probably his guide, though I've never seen a woman do so before. Are you sure they are alone?"
Eagle Eye gave him a narrow-eyed glance. The man was good at his job, and Stormbrow knew it.
Stormbrow nodded. "Let's see what they are about."
Nothing more needed to be said. They rode over the hills stunted with grass that refused to yield to the frosty touch of autumn's passing. Sagebrush and other prickly plants were abundant as well, for they were on the outskirts of the Steppes, still close to the wilds that lay to the East.
The sun was still not midway in the sky when Eagle Eye motioned that the strangers were beyond the next hill. They dismounted and kept low as they clambered up. Looking over the ridge, Stormbrow saw nothing. He gave Eagle Eye a quizzical glance, but the man seemed confident.
Sure enough, the sound of hooves and the heavy breathing of shaggy grunnien became audible. Soon afterward the milkhide rode into view along with the woman. Their saddlebags and waterskins appeared to be near empty. A sword, bow, and arrows were strapped to the milkhide's saddle. Only a fool entered the Steppes unarmed.
The grunnien's shuffling trot was strained, on the verge of collapse. The man appeared unaware, wrapped in thoughts that took him away from his mount's condition. He sat upright in the saddle, eyes staring straight ahead. His dark hair rustled behind him, and his clothes were travel-stained, flecked with mud from the storm a few past-days ago.
The woman appeared as weary as the beast she rode on. She was slender, her hair tawny and pulled into a windswept braid. Her jewelry was customary of the Steppes: noticeable but nothing to attract robbers. The most striking thing was not her appearance, but the staff lashed to her saddle. It appeared to be made of glass or clear crystal, catching the light as they rode. She leaned forward and spoke, but her words were inaudible.
The man abruptly pulled rein. His mount snorted and quivered from fatigue. The man's eyes pierced the barren hills. "You can come out," he said in a strong, clear voice. "We mean no harm, and our grunnien are tired. I wish to speak of trade."
Stormbrow exchanged surprised looks with Eagle Eye. They had made no noise, he was sure of it. However, there was nothing to do but reveal themselves. They stood as the strangers wheeled their mounts around to view them.
"If you will stay there," Stormbrow said, "we will ride to you."
The man nodded. Stormbrow and Eagle Eye descended back to their horses.
"He is no mere milkhide lost in the Steppes," Eagle Eye said. "And the woman must be a Shama."
"A Shama?" Stormbrow tried to keep the disbelief from his voice. "She is too young."
"How else did they know we were watching them? She saw us with her Other Eye."
Stormbrow repressed a shudder. The Sha made him uneasy. He regarded them with great respect, but their powers made them something beyond human. He never felt comfortable around them. It was unnatural to do the things they did.
"Perhaps," he said. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"
They rode to where the stranger waited patiently with his hands on the pommel of his saddle. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with gray piercing eyes that had seen much. He appeared unafraid, yet not arrogant. The woman appeared around their age, maybe younger. She did not appear surprised by their appearance. That meant she knew The Onasho by sight. Perhaps she was of the Steppes, as Eagle Eye had suggested.
"May the peace of my heart be upon you and your people." The man made the circular sign of goodwill with the first two fingers of his right hand, surprising Stormbrow once again.
"Your peace is ours, and our peace yours until you choose to part from us." He almost winced as he repeated the gesture, a guarantee of the man's safety. He had certainly not intended to offer the peace, but he could not refuse the greeting without insult. "I am Stormbrow of the Onasho caste. This is Eagle Eye."
The man nodded respectfully. "The lady with me is Nyori, a Shama from the Northern Steppes under my escort." Stormbrow looked again at the woman, who met his gaze challengingly. She still looked too young, but it seemed that Eagle Eye was right again. Why a milkhide escorted her instead of a Steppe brother was the real question.
The man looked toward the horizon and spoke his next words softly, as if they were not important. "To the Onasho I am known as Silver Horn."
Eagle Eye made a gurgling noise in his throat, and Stormbrow felt his eyes widen.
Everything had changed.
STORMBROW SENT EAGLE Eye ahead to make preparations for their guest. Silver Horn's massive grunnien was not fit for anything more than a casual stride, and the Shama's seemed little better. Occasionally Stormbrow glanced at the man beside him. Silver Horn was regarded as a man of fame among the Steppe People, one of the few milkhides deemed honorable to them.
Everyone knew the tale of the Malgard's Trespass. The so-called Lord of Parand haughtily tried to expand his borders into the Steppes. He sent settlers to build a town called Letega and laid claim to the land from the town back to Parand as his own. The result was obvious — the neighboring castes of Ehonu and Ny'lee set upon the town, burned it to the ground and slaughtered the soldiers.