Strong arms hoisted him upward as though he were a child. Anon's gloved hand gripped his chin, snapped his head back, and lifted him so that his heels left the ground. Marcellus sensed Vivienne approach, felt her hot breath stir the tiny hairs on his neck, heard her tongue slide across her teeth as she brought her mouth to his ear. One hand stroked his chest as she softly whispered.
"Your pain will be over soon, foolish man. Soon you will join your family while Anon lives on as you. In a way that means you will never die."
Marcellus tried to struggle, but Anon held him easily. Vivienne's fingers hooked into Marcellus' chest, her eyes blackened as though eclipsed. He gasped when fiery needles stabbed his flesh, and his strength faded as if she drained the rivers of his soul. In his mind he saw the waxen faces of the corpses left behind by the akhkharu, knowing he would soon become one of them. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he glared at her with all the defiance he could muster.
Icy heat flared across his chest. He recalled the glimmering Glyphs that branded across his skin in the wilds. The storm awakened and surged inside of him. He heard the thunder rumble in his mind; the room seemed to flicker with lightning.
Confusion flickered across Vivienne's face. The needles vanished as she took a wary step back.
"Anon, I believe this one has been warded. Some barrier interferes with my purge."
"What? Impossible." Anon dropped Marcellus and spun him around. "Only a Theurgist could create a ward, and…"
Something whirred through the air.
Vivienne stiffened with a grunt. When she turned to face the doorway, Marcellus saw a dagger handle protruding from the back of her head. Blood oozed around the wound, but she did not appear to consider it more than an annoyance. They all stared at the black-clad stranger in the doorway.
Marcellus thought at first that Shiru had returned, for the look of the tunic was similar, and the newcomer had his face covered too, showing only the same dark, curiously almond-shaped eyes. But the dark armor differed slightly, studded with silver spikes on his shoulders, gauntlets, and greaves. In one hand he held a strange weapon: a short, curved blade attached to a long leather-wrapped handle; in the other was the razor-edged dao sword the meigi favored.
"These humans are getting more brazen, aren't they?" Vivienne's hand drifted up to the dagger handle that jutted from her skull. She yanked it out and examined the crimson-stained blade almost curiously.
"Brazen, or insane." Anon stepped toward the stranger, gripping Marcellus by the throat so hard that he gagged. "Drop your weapons, human, or your comrade dies before your eyes."
The stranger did not spare a glance at Marcellus. "He is not my comrade." He spoke in the same soft accent of the meigi. "So I will not drop my weapons. I am here to destroy kuang-shi. Whether you kill him or not, the result will be the same."
Marcellus took advantage of the momentary distraction by shoving his head back against Anon's face as hard as he could. Anon's grip loosened as he sputtered and reached for his shattered nose.
The stranger leaped forward.
Marcellus dove for his sword. He saw blurs of movement from the corner of his eye. Impossible as it seemed, the stranger was a match for Vivienne. She hissed like a cat as she tried to dodge the flashing blades.
Marcellus' hand closed on the hilt.
Anon yanked his sword out of the sheath so forcefully that the scabbard burst apart. The pieces floated across the room in petrified time.
The newcomer was more than a match, it appeared. Vivienne's flaming body fell beside Marcellus, minus her head.
Anon's eyes were wild when he roared. The torchlight reflecting off his sword turned it into a blade of fire.
The stranger clenched his fist, and something shot from a slot in his gauntlet. Anon looked at the bolt embedded in his chest in shock, sword still upraised. Blood trickled from his bottom lip. He still wore the same puzzled expression when the stranger's blade struck his head from his shoulders.
Marcellus rose to his feet as the flaming body struck the ground and burst into a cloud of glowing ashes. He looked at the stranger, who calmly retrieved his weapons.
"Who are you?" Upon a close examination, the stranger appeared to be around the same age as Nyori. It seemed impossible for him to be so skilled.
The man bowed respectfully. "I am Han, a Huntsman. We have been tracking these kuang-shi for months now."
"Huntsman?"
Han glanced at Lucretius' corpse passively. It was clear that he had seen the same many times. "Yes. We track the kuang-shi, and we destroy them."
"There are more of you?"
Han gestured toward the door. "My brothers sweep the other tombs. There are sure to be more of these kuang-shi hidden here."
Marcellus paused in the process of examining Dradyn. The man was battered and unconscious. Several bones appeared to be broken, including possibly his skull. "More, you said?"
As if to answer, spine-tingling howls and shrieks resounded from outside the tunnel. The door burst inward off its hinges. With flashes of glimmering eyes and bladed weapons, the room filled with new assailants.
Cursing, Marcellus struck as fast as he could. There was little room to maneuver, but the akhkharu seemed as confused as he, as though they fled from something else. Despite their poor fighting skill, he knew their sheer numbers would overcome them quickly. At any second the outstretched hands would pull him down and drain his life-force…
Another sound erupted, human voices shouting battle cries. Men who could only be Han's companions joined the fray. Huntsmen, as Han had named them. And he was right. They knew how to slay akhkharu, and did so with gusto.
A hulking Norlander with thickly braided crimson hair struck the wraiths with a keen axe like a mad forester. The short, dark-haired man beside him who looked to be from Epanos wielded short swords with deadly efficiency while dressed in a coat and trousers finely embroidered as if for a feast-day. A one-eyed woman fought as well. Her golden locks flailed as she snarled as fiercely as her foes and attacked with sword and shield, heedless of the blades that whirred around her.
The fourth warrior was a brown-skinned foreigner that whirled a wakiza. The long blade was attached to an extended hilt that allowed for dexterous use. It hummed as he danced from one akhkharu to another. Fire and blood seemed to follow him as he left severed limbs and heads in his wake.
In less time than seemed possible, the room filled with flaming bodies and ghostly, fluttering ash. The stench became even worse if such was possible.
The battle was not without casualties. The Epanite swordsman was impaled to the wall with a spear. The woman looked up from examining him and shook her head sadly. The dark-skinned warrior nodded. They lowered the slain man to the ground, and the man bowed his head over his fallen comrade. "Farewell, Micholas. May your songs ring merrily in the halls of Janadaus until we meet again."
He turned to Marcellus.
"Sholom, Sir Knight. I am Rhanu, leader of these Huntsmen. Your skill is impressive, though I am surprised to find a king's man here fighting the odji. Is your friend all right?" The man's accent was rich and commanding. The rest of his band retrieved weapons and made sure all the wraiths were dead.
Marcellus shook his head. "His wounds are severe. I—"