Moria said a few words for the dead, primarily to ease Gavril's grief. If she'd spoken the words of passing for his mother, but did so for no one else, then it would suggest she did not honestly believe them useful. Tyrus didn't question it, only lowered his head and spoke a few pious words to the ancestors himself, bidding the spirits safe passage to the second world.
As they set out again, Daigo found blood on the ground. A trail of it. They followed it for quite a distance. Daigo could not track well, but his nose was still better than theirs and he did a decent job of it. They walked some ways before they heard moaning. They fanned out, trying to find an angle to see from. With the long grass and flat land, it wasn't easy, and they all ended up within a few paces of the sound before Moria lifted a finger, motioning that she could see the source.
It was a young man, similar to the couple in both dress and appearance. Their son, she supposed. He lay in the grass, clutching his stomach and groaning. Daigo left Moria's side and slunk forward, crouching to stay hidden in the long grass, but his black fur was still visible, and the young man let out a cry on seeing him. He did not, however, leap up, and that was what they needed to know. All three converged on the spot.
"I . . . I have nothing," the young man said, his words coming with difficulty. "You may check. I have nothing of value."
"Are your local bandits often dressed and armed as imperial warriors?" Tyrus asked.
The young man lifted his head and took in Tyrus's face and blades. Then he glanced at Gavril. Moria slipped her daggers under her cloak and waved for Daigo to stay hidden.
"I--I'm sorry, my lords. I did not realize."
"You've been injured," Tyrus said. "Fortunately, my companion is skilled in battle medicine."
"I wouldn't say skilled," Moria murmured as she walked up beside him.
Tyrus gave her a look that said it was best if the young man didn't realize that. Hope was as important as medicine in recovering from injury.
Moria moved toward the young man. Gavril tensed and gripped his sword, his gaze on the injured man as if expecting him to leap up like the young bounty hunter. Moria knelt beside him and stripped off her cloak.
"Show me where you are hurt," she said. "I can see blood . . ."
It was his stomach. She winced at that. A wound to the gut was beyond her skill. Yet he had traveled far before collapsing, and that was a good sign. When he peeled back his blood-sodden tunic, there appeared to be five deep cuts, the edges ragged. Shadow stalker claws.
"I can clean and cauterize the wounds," she said. She glanced at Gavril, and he nodded to say that he would add his healing magics. Moria said, "Tell us what happened while I work," giving Gavril the chance to kneel behind the young man and begin casting unnoticed.
The young man's story began as they expected. He'd been with his parents, on horseback it seemed, returning from market in a distant town and heading to their farm. They'd happened upon the bodies and then the wagon. His mother had been frightened by the deformities they'd seen on the dead wagon driver, but his father insisted it was simply caused by the trampling.
They had helped themselves to the goods left in the wagon storage.
"For safekeeping, my lords," the young man said. "We do have bandits out here, and we would not wish them to strip the goods from those poor travelers."
"We do not require an explanation," Tyrus said. "We trust your intentions were honorable. Continue."
They had finished removing the goods when a "smoke" came over his father.
"A spirit, it must have been," the young man said. "The lost and enraged spirit of one of those poor travelers. It possessed him and . . ."
And the thing that had been his father had turned on his mother, and her son had been powerless to pull the creature off. Then it had sunk one clawed hand into his gut, and it could have finished him off, but the "spirit" left his father in a whirl of black smoke. The young man fell, unconscious from the pain and shock. When he woke, he was alone with his parents' bodies.
"My father's true spirit had remained in that creature," he said. "He cast it out and saved me."
Moria did not disillusion him, but she suspected the shadow stalker had realized the young man made a far better vessel. Either it could not make the leap into him or it had discovered the injury it had inflicted had ruined that vessel. Either way, the young man had awoken alone, the horses long gone. He'd started for home, but became weak and disoriented, and ultimately fell.
"Is your home near?" Tyrus asked.
"It is, my lord, and if there is any way of your accompanying me there, I would gladly offer you all of our meagre hospitality. Your horses are nearby, I presume."
Tyrus gave a grunt that the young man could interpret as a yes if he wished.
"We'll need to cauterize the wound," Moria said. She looked over at Gavril. He'd finished his healing magics and moved off to use sorcery to start a fire a short distance away. He put his dagger into the flame, to heat it.
"You will likely pass out from the pain," Tyrus said. "But we will carry you home. Can you provide directions?"
When he did, they realized it was not "near" at all, and there was no way they could carry him so far.
"What other settlements are close by? Any that might have a healer?"
"There is a . . ." He glanced between the two warriors. "My family is well aware of imperial law and would do nothing to break it."
Gavril tapped his leg with impatience, but Tyrus spoke, his voice low and soothing. "I know that the steppes are home to many unusual communities. Religious groups, bandits, smugglers . . . The emperor understands that reporting suspicions of criminal activity can be a dangerous undertaking and so he does not expect it."
"It is . . . none of those. I mean to say that we do not know exactly what it is, of course, but there are rumors, and my parents had every intention of reporting the matter as soon as we saw an imperial warrior, which is a rare occurrence in these parts . . ."
He blathered for a few moments longer. Gavril and Moria shared eye rolls, but Tyrus heard him out and then said, "Slavers."
The young man stiffened. Moria and Gavril did, too. Bandits and smugglers were one thing. But slavers? It was indeed the duty of every citizen to report those engaged in human trafficking.
The young man babbled more about how he and his parents had no proof, and how they'd been awaiting proof--along with a convenient, passing imperial representative.
"How recent is this camp?" Tyrus asked.
"Very recent," the young man said. "Less than a moon. I truly know very little of it, but I did hear word from someone who traded with them that they had healers. Several of them."
Sorcerers more likely, as it certainly sounded like the shadow stalker camp. Tyrus asked the young man for directions and got them. Then Gavril returned to the fire to reheat his blade.
"We cannot take you to a slaver encampment," Tyrus said. "It would be unsafe. Rather, we will bring aid to you. From there or elsewhere. We will ensure you're safely hidden with food and water and, if you are correct about the distance, we'll be back by sunrise."
The young man nodded. His gaze was fixed on Gavril, who was returning with the red-hot blade, and he seemed to pay little mind to Tyrus's words. As Gavril approached, the young man dug his fingers into the dirt, pulling himself backward.
"Is this necess--?"
"It is," Gavril said, and put the blade against the young man's stomach wounds as Moria and Tyrus each grabbed an arm to hold him still. The young man screamed. Moria was ready with a scrap of cloth to shove in his mouth. Then his screams took on a note that had her hackles rising and Daigo charging back from his prowling, letting out a yowl himself, and as he did, Moria felt a familiar dread, one she now recognized. She shouted, "Begone!"
Tyrus looked over in shock, but Gavril was already reacting, his blade at the young man's throat. Too late he seemed to realize it was his heated dagger rather than his sword. The red-hot steel hit the young man's throat, and he
let out the most horrible, inhuman scream. A familiar scream, though--or it was to Moria and Gavril.
Tyrus had recovered, and even if he had no idea what was going on, he leaped up, bringing his foot to the young man's chest, pinning him and pulling his blade. But before he could get it clear, the young man grabbed Tyrus's boot and, with a heave of superhuman strength, sent him flying backward. That's when the young man's face began to change, to contort into the twisted visage of a shadow stalker.
"Begone!" Moria shouted.
Gavril swung at the creature with his sword. The thing reached out to stop the blade and it cut right through its clawed hand. Blood spurted, yet the shadow stalker seemed not even to notice. It was lunging for Tyrus, who was on his feet. Tyrus's blade cleaved halfway through the creature's torso, but the thing only pulled itself free.
It leaped at Tyrus, as if unharmed, and Moria saw Tyrus's blade in flight and saw Gavril's, too, and Daigo leaping, and she knew it would do no good, that they could hack and claw and rip and the thing would keep coming. She repeated her command, pouring all her rage and fear into it, and finally the black smoke surged from the young man's body, and she started to heave a sigh of relief. Then the smoke shot toward Tyrus.
"No!" she screamed. "Begone!" She rushed at it, and she shouted for it to begone, and the smoke turned on her and everything seemed to stop. Dimly, she could hear Daigo's snarling yowl and Tyrus's shout of "Moria!" and Gavril's "No!" But their voices seemed to come from so far, as she stood, transfixed by the black smoke. By what she saw in the smoke. Faces. Human faces, contorted in agony and blind animal terror. Then she heard voices, coming clearer than Tyrus's or Gavril's. Whispers and whimpers and cries.
Keeper.
Help us.
Goddess, please.
Keeper, please.
Stop it.
Please stop it.
Keeper, please.
"I set you free," she said. "By the ancestors and the goddess, I set you free of this curse and I bid you peace and safe passage."
The smoke hovered there. It made no move to come closer, just writhed and twisted, the faces writhing and twisting within it. She kept saying the words, feeling them, opening herself up to the spirits' pain, and sincerely and fervently wishing the spirits peace and safe passage. The black smoke gathered on itself, as if the magics were resisting her, but she kept repeating the words of peace and freedom and, finally, of forgiveness. For whatever these spirits had done. She poured all of her power and all of her strength into that, granting them forgiveness and beseeching the goddess to do the same.
That's when the smoke exploded. Burst apart into a thousand particles of black dust that scattered in every direction.
A voice whispered past her ear, Thank you, Keeper. And then they were gone . . . and Moria collapsed to the ground.
THIRTY-ONE
Moria woke to Tyrus desperately trying to rouse her, his voice sharp with panic, his face above hers, Daigo pushed in right beside it.
"Tired," she said. "So . . ." She couldn't even get the rest out. Exhaustion threatened to pull her back under, and her eyelids flagged. "Sleep."
"Does anything hurt? Do you feel anything?"
"Just tired."
"She doesn't show any outward signs of trauma." Gavril's voice came from somewhere behind Tyrus. "Her heartbeat is strong and her breathing seems--"
"How do you feel, Moria?" Tyrus said, cutting Gavril short with an uncharacteristically sharp look his way.
"Just tired. Give me a moment. I'll be . . ."
She drifted off before she could finish. When she woke again, she was curled up with Daigo, Tyrus right there, anxiously crouched beside them. She barely had time to open her eyes before he was pushing a waterskin to her lips.
"How do you feel now?"
"Better."
"Drink. There's dried fish here. Whatever happened, it drained your energy. You need to get it back."
"Yes, your highness." She favored him with a smile and pushed to sit up, then drank and ate as he hovered and Daigo paced. The other member of their party was nowhere to be seen.
"Is Gavril . . . ?" She looked around.
Tyrus waved impatiently. "Somewhere. He did his healing magics and then wandered off. He's not much of a nursemaid."
"Eager for me to snap out of it so we can get back on the trail."
"No, just . . ." Another wave, and he said, "Gavril," as if that explained all. Which it did. "Can you tell me what happened?"
She did, finishing with, "The stories of shadow stalkers aren't like those of fiend dogs or other twisted spirits. They don't say what those spirits are--the vengeful dead, the angry dead, the lost dead, the traitorous dead. They are simply described as spirits, turned into shadow stalkers by sorcerer magics. I think that's because it's exactly what they are. Not twisted spirits. Simply spirits."
"Many spirits," Tyrus said. "Bound together with terrible magics."
She nodded. "They may think they've done something to deserve their fate, but I don't believe they have. Not truly. It's like when something terrible befalls an innocent person and they search for some way they have offended the ancestors or the goddess."
"When they haven't. No more than anyone does, in everyday life." He looked over her head. "Is she right? Her theory?"
"I have no idea," Gavril said, and Moria turned to see him approaching. "As I've told Moria, my father doesn't discuss the sorcery for shadow stalkers with me. The point is simply that we may finally have a way to expel them--permanently. Which will be useful if we ever get to that camp."
She looked at Tyrus. "I told you he was getting impatient."
"No," Gavril said. "I'm merely suggesting that if you are feeling up to it . . ."
"Yes, yes," she said. "You wish to get moving. And so we will."
They found the three horses that the dead family had ridden, and Tyrus declared that if the horses balked, then the goddess did not favor their endeavor. When the horses came easily, he took it as a divine sign. Or at least a reasonable excuse.
The horses were excellent steeds, and Moria decided that when she got one of her own, she would like a steppes horse. They were neither as large nor as sleek as imperial horses, but the shaggy beasts were sturdy and sure-footed. They had a mind of their own, and Gavril grumbled when his mount exercised it, but Moria rather admired this trait in a beast. Yes, she would have a steppes horse for riding and exploring the world. Once she had time to ride and explore the world. If she lived long enough to ride and explore the world.
They followed the landmarks the young man had given, and before dusk, they spotted the encampment. The steppes seemed an odd place to hide, given the open land, yet the barrenness and lack of road meant only locals would come this way, and Tyrus doubted they'd turn in the supposed slavers. He said he wouldn't be surprised to learn the locals had been trading with them.
They found a place for the horses to drink and graze and left them there. Then, as the sun dropped, they surveyed the situation.
The camp was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. Meaning sneaking up was nearly impossible. No rises to hide behind. No trees to climb. The occupants had even cut down the long grass in a wide swatch surrounding the camp. There weren't, however, any obvious guards posted beyond the low fence.
"The sun has dropped low enough that I can slip through the grass," Gavril said. "I cannot get close enough to see past the fence, but I'll be able to hear inside, and ascertain the likelihood it contains shadow stalkers."
"Can your sorcery detect them?" she asked.
"I mean I can listen for them."
"They don't make any sound unless they're screaming."
"Yes, Keeper, that is the point. If I hear nothing, then I will know it is shadow stalkers."
"Why? If it was slaves instead, would they be allowed to roam freely? Talk among themselves? Plan their mutiny?"
He gave her a hard look.
"As much as I'd prefer to stay out of your bickering," Tyrus
said, "Moria has a point. Slaves are kept bound and gagged until they reach their destination beyond our borders."
"Thank you. Now, Kitsune, if you have no magics for detecting shadow stalkers, might I remind you that I can detect them."
"You didn't notice the one hiding in that boy."
It was her turn to give him a hard look. "Because it was hiding. As soon as it manifested, I sensed it."
"Yes, and as soon as it manifested, I saw it. And you cannot get close enough to detect them because you glow in the dark like a lantern, Keeper."
She pulled up her hood. He reached out and tugged a lock of her pale hair. She scowled and stuffed it in.
"I am still better suited for sneaking up at night," he said.
"Through this grass?" She shook a handful of the golden stalks. "That boy spotted Daigo coming before he spotted us."
"Again, Moria has a point," Tyrus said. "You are too dark for this task, Gavril." Gavril opened his mouth to protest as Moria shot him a satisfied look. "And Moria is too pale."
"What?" she said.
"The mission, then, goes to the one who can best blend with the grass. Which would be me." He shucked his cloak. "Thank you both for pointing that out. Now, if you insist on following me part of the way to watch my back, I will not argue. However, I'll ask that you refrain from bickering. I know that will be difficult, but it does get rather loud."
They both glowered at him. He kissed Moria on the nose and headed out.
THIRTY-TWO
Moria, Gavril, and Daigo followed Tyrus until he lifted his hand, telling them they'd gone far enough. Daigo continued after him, slunk down on his belly to hide himself as much as possible. Moria reached out to touch his tail and he turned. He gave a chirp, which she interpreted to mean he would go as close as he could to watch over Tyrus while not attracting any undue attention. She murmured a thank-you under her breath and he set out.