The bolt bounced off the hide of the giant with a twang as Yuma fell off Aston’s back and rolled onto the ground. Her injuries from her battle with the stormbird flared up with so much pain it made her dizzy. By the time one of the nullstones was in her hand, the giant was already rearing up to stomp on her face. But even in that moment, Yuma hesitated in crushing the stone.
Incredibly, the moment was interrupted with a weak shout.
“Fractica…!”
The giant’s leg stopped in midair, and the man in the net rolled out and onto the ground.
He was a slender man, thin in arms and legs and torso, like he had been stretched. He would have been much taller than she was, had she been standing. The metal frame around his body resembled scaffolding used in construction, but the frame glowed faintly with violet. The man had delicate features, the likes of which Yuma had never seen. He looked exhausted. The torrents from the Grim King must’ve been an ordeal for him.
Yuma kept her eye on him as she propped herself up on her left elbow. With her right hand, she felt around for the crossbow she’d dropped.
“Earnest, regrets.”
The man’s Mersehi was stilted. He pointed at himself. The frame clicked as it followed his movements. What she had first taken for the frame’s tint was actually violet light that glowed weaker and stronger according to how he moved. Yuma’s eyes followed his gestures. He continued to speak, each word an effort.
“Peace. Amity. To Mersia… No, Merseh! Emissary, Empire. To Danras.”
Mersia.There was the word Yuma had been hearing in the markets of Danras in the last few years. Foreign merchants and travelers had begun to refer to Merseh as Mersia, the Mersehi as Mersians. Perhaps it was an Imperial rendition of her homeland’s name?
“Ridiculous, when you’ve brought that fearsome weapon!” Yuma shouted, pointing at the silver giant.
The man mouthed Yuma’s words back to himself, and said, “Ah,” and, his eyes shining, he said in a louder voice, “Averte, Fractica.”
The metal giant was silenced. Only then did Yuma realize it had been humming loudly all along. She got to her feet.
The man said, “Don’t be alarmed.” Then, he collapsed where he stood.
Yuma picked up her crossbow and approached him. He was still breathing, and his body looked even thinner than her first impression. His face wasn’t thin, but his arms and legs looked almost devoid of muscle. She touched his face—he was feverish. Too much shivering in the rain, skinny as he was. The man smiled and his voice was weak.
“I am Lysandros. I do not harm. Do not worry.”
Yuma called for her three herders. The two who had kept their distance out of fright came running. Trudie, dazed but barely hurt, managed to get to her feet. Yuma checked to see if the three of them were all right before giving her orders.
“Find your horses and return to camp. Tell them everythinghas been put right. When you see Aidan, tell him to send everyone back and come alone.”
The herders tipped their hats and turned away. To their backs, Yuma added, “And tell the Host that we have a patient.”
Thankfully, the wildfire was dying down. If it weren’t for all of the rain a few days ago, this patch of the steppe would not have had enough grass left for the oroxen to feed on. Yuma examined Lysandros more closely. The violet light was gone from his metal scaffolding.
“This frame, it allows you to move, correct? You’re wearing this because it enables you to walk?”
No answer. Lysandros’s eyes were closed, and he was unconscious. He must’ve been very exhausted indeed.
This man had stopped the giant when he couldn’t walk, much less protect himself. She didn’t know if this was bravery or foolishness. She stared at his face. Many foreigners came to the market in Danras, but his features did not seem to fit with any of them. It was hard to tell his age. Maybe twenty-three or so? Or perhaps even thirty, a year or two older than herself, if the way he acted earlier betrayed his age despite his youthful features, and not the other way around.
Aston was standing far from the fire, looking warily in her direction. Yuma whistled, and the horse approached reluctantly. She hugged his neck, praising the beast, and unrolled the sleeping bag she had packed. She slid Lysandros, frame and all, into it. His body seemed light enough for her to lift on her own, though the frame around him was heavier. But if she left him on the damp ground like this, he would lose too much body heat.
But what if he did? Once he was given over to the Grim King, he would be killed anyway, then brought back from the dead, andthat’s when the interrogation would begin. The prospect didn’t thrill her, but she decided she would at least treat him like a guest while he was with her. That was the custom of the herders of Danras, to extend hospitality to whomever one encountered traveling alone on the steppe. This was simply another lone traveler—albeit one with a rather unusual, violently tempered, oversized horse. That also had arms and no head.
“Too pretty a face, for a man,” she murmured out loud. She placed a hand on that face. It was still burning. She looked around at the smoldering wildfire. There was someone approaching on horseback. Aidan. Yuma stood up and waved.
Aidan didn’t take his eyes off the metal giant until he reached her.
“What is that thing?”
Yuma glanced at the unmoving giant and said, “A horse.”
“What?”
