The next day, Moria said nothing about Gavril's attempt to leave. By the time they'd finished talking last night, he'd been quite embarrassed about the whole thing and agreed that, yes, lingering grief over his mother had caused him to react foolishly to the new travel configuration.
They spent most of the day walking companionably, as quiet conversation turned to lighthearted storytelling and heated debates. Of course, they did not forget they weren't merely strolling through the steppes. They were still hunting for Alvar's camp. They'd decided that, having not seen a shadow stalker since the previous afternoon, they'd either encountered all who had escaped or they were headed in the wrong direction. Since the latter seemed more likely, they changed course. After a half-day's walk they found an empty shadow stalker corpse. The man was not one of the bandits. Nor was he dressed as if he'd come from Edgewood or Fairview. He was perhaps in his fifth decade. His coloring suggested he was native to the steppes, and his bag contained items that had clearly come from the bandit's wagon, meaning he'd happened upon it and helped himself to the abandoned goods. They found another corpse--a woman around the same age--also carrying a satchel of stolen items. She had not been turned into a shadow stalker, but rather set upon by the man, likely her husband.
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?"