The surviving Huntsmen were dumbfounded as they staggered to their feet, looking as shocked as she felt. Shiru immediately ran to Han and helped him free himself of the snow that had nearly buried him.
"Wortan preserve us." Fregeror blinked in the muted light. "Stones and bloody bones! Am I dead, or robbed of my wits? Did we just see what did happen?"
"It was real." Dradyn stared in wide-eyed shock. "Or else I am dead, and you are all phantoms."
Fregeror placed a bloodied hand on his injured side. "I be too pained to be a phantom. Tell me truly — have you ever seen the like?"
"I have never heard of the like."
A pitiful wail brought Nyori's attention to where Meshella sat in the crimson-stained snow. Tears streamed down her cheek.
"He is dead! Merciful Mistress — my brother has been slain!" Rhanu's torn and bloody body was cradled in her arms. A wail tore from her throat, so drenched in anguish and suffering that Nyori shivered involuntarily at the sound. Somewhere in the woods, a wolf howled as though joining in her grief. Han's face was etched with anguish as he immediately ran to her side.
Nyori dropped to her knees beside Meshella with a heavy heart. Rhanu's wounds were grievous to even look upon. His face had softened somewhat, as though a measure of peace had been granted to him at last. Yet even as Nyori examined him, his eyes fluttered weakly. He looked beyond them, as though at a familiar sight.
Nyori turned and saw large wolf looking at them intently from the trees a few spans away. When his golden eyes met Nyori's, she immediately knew.
Nando.
For an instant, Rhanu's eyes were focused and clear. Then his head dropped back in Meshella' lap and his body wilted. Meshella sobbed anew, clutching him tightly.
The wolf's ears pricked forward as it turned toward the road.
Nyori followed his gaze. "Help comes."
Men and women emerged from the woods on foot and horseback. The warriors in front were armed with their trademark carraca folding blades, and held curved bows with their arrows nocked. Despite the heavy coats and cloaks that covered their normally colorful attire, Nyori immediately recognized who they were.
Rhoma. Normally they were full of good humor, but their faces were grim as they surveyed the carnage.
Nyori placed her hands on Rhanu's temples. "It is almost too late. Normal healing will not save him."
Meshella seized her hand. "But there is something you can do?"
Nyori bit her lip. "I did something similar not too long ago. I can try to repeat the process with him."
"You knew the warding last time." A familiar figure knelt beside them. "But those words are no longer accessible to you." Mistress Ayna pulled her hood back. Her eyes glowed like polished amber as she assessed the damage. "And if they were, would you take that chance again, seeing what happened to Marcellus?"
"He will die if I do nothing. His wounds are mortal."
"Not quite." Ayna opened Rhanu's cloak and gingerly peeled back his bloodstained shirt. "See for yourselves."
Nyori forced herself to see past his grievous wounds to look at what Ayna indicated. A medallion hung from his neck from heavy links of silver, fashioned into a ceremonial dagger of sorts. The ornamental hilt was carved into an oval loop that met a simple cross guard. The tip of the blade was squared instead of pointed, but what made the medallion remarkable was that it was entirely crystalline, very much like Eymunder down to the orb affixed as the centerpiece. Only the orb on Rhanu's medallion was ruby-red, engraved with a triangular shape in its center. Something within it pulsed, as if in time with Rhanu's heart. Scarlet light wafted from the orb, threading across Rhanu's dark skin. There seemed to be a pattern as it sank into Rhanu's flesh like burgundy ink.
"Glyphs. Much like what happened to me when I took Eymunder."
Ayna nodded. "The medallion is a Geod, much like your staff. Far more powerful than a standard fusorb. He probably never realized what he had in his possession. But the danger is not past. The energies of the Geod keep him alive for the moment, but we must move swiftly if we are to preserve him."
"Tell us what to do." Meshella's tone was feverish. "Tell us what to do, and we'll do it."
"I cannot heal him directly for fear of killing him. My medicines are in my wagon on the road. He must be moved there swiftly. Prepare a stretcher to carry him."
"There be no time for that." Fregeror bent to lift Rhanu from Meshella' arms. He was stripped bare to the waist, his chest covered only by a thick swath of red hair and a dressing over his stab wound. Nyori could not see how he could withstand the bitter cold, but remembered the man was a Norlander. Icy as it was, it was nothing compared to the Norland Alpens where the man hailed from. He carried Rhanu as easily as a child in his bulging arms. "Come, we've no time to waste."
"You're wounded."
Fregeror's smile was gruff. "Tis but a scratch. The lasses will love me even more with this beauty mark."
"Come, then." Ayna swiftly led the way. The Rhoma aided those who could stand, and loaded those who could not onto makeshift litters. Nyori tried not to look at the other bodies, those who would never move again.
Ayna looked around. "Where is Marcellus?"
Nyori could say nothing. She was still somewhat stunned by what occurred.
It was Dradyn who answered. "Marcellus is…gone, Shama." He sounded half-dazed himself. "What attacked us was beyond human. Worse than the akhkharu. Marcellus is the dark rider that the Huntsmen have seen. He…transformed into a dark and powerful warrior."
"I'm well aware of what Marcellus is. I'm more interested in where he has gone."
"No one can answer that question, Shama." Dradyn didn't sound as though he wanted to know.
A line of canvas-covered wagons came into view on the beaten road, where a crowd awaited. Nando was there as well, though Nyori was sure he had been the wolf that first spotted them earlier. Helpful hands reached out to the wounded and guided them to the safety of the camp. A tall, brown-skinned man and a fair-skinned older woman oversaw the operation. Han and Meshella followed closely until Fregeror carried Rhanu inside Ayna's wagon.
Ayna placed a hand on Han's shoulder. "This is as far as you go. There is not much time, and I must attend to your friend without distraction. He will live, rest assured. See to your own wounds, and take your friends with you so that they may be cared for." She quickly mounted the steps and disappeared inside.
Fregeror immediately half-stumbled out.
"She did throw me out like I be a thief." He scratched his thick beard with an evil glance at the door.
Nyori took a deep breath. "All right. We will leave him in her hands. Come." Together they walked toward the gathering of Rhoma and survivors. Nyori went ahead to speak with Creyshaw, the tall man who turned out to be one of the Bashas, or leaders of the camp. With the Rhoma there was always two, one man and one woman.
One of his eyes was covered by a weathered patch. The other gazed at her with keen regard. "You will need this for the healing?"
Nyori nodded, and Creyshaw left to get what she requested. She turned to the others. "Anyone who is injured must come with me."
Fregeror immediately protested, but Nyori refused to listen. Han laughed at his comrade's expression until Nyori pressed him into coming as well. He gazed at the camp with great curiosity.
"Who are these Rhoma? Traders of some kind?"
"Trade is only part of who they are. They are nomads, shrewd merchants and craftsmen, showmen, and performers. They owe allegiance to no one, free to travel where they wish. Even the Steppe People allow them free passage, for they carry wares from far abroad and are skilled in many crafts. They travel in caravans, mostly clans of large families that originate from all over."