Warsong

  Antas was on his feet, roaring. “Seize that drummer!” he screamed.

  His warriors rose, crowding, spilling out of the tent and into the night. Ietha jerked to her feet. “What means this?” she demanded of Antas.

  Her warriors milled about adding to the confusion. Quartis rose with the rest, and was swift to leave the tent. Warriors were headed to the right, presumably where the drums were.

  Quartis went left, to where the deepest shadows lay, and he didn’t stop.

  Antas was still shouting. “Where is my Warprize?”

  Quartis kept going, sticking to the shadows, pausing to avoid being seen by rushing warriors.

  “Where is my Singer?” Antas bellowed.

  ‘Not yours,’ Quartis smiled grimly to himself and kept moving.

  He was in the herds in moments, but didn’t take to horse just yet. He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He’d left his gear in the tent assigned him, but he had his weapons, his horn, and his life.

  He watched the camp in the darkness, listening to the sounds of fighting. He considered going back, to aid Hanstau and possibly Reness, but he shook his head regretfully. The information he carried was too critical. He wished them well, but Essa must be told.

  He turned to mount.

  A scream of defiance came from behind, from the center of the camp. Quartis glanced back, to see the tops of the nearest tents erupt in flames.

  He allowed himself a fierce grin. Besides, it looked like they were doing just fine.

  Quartis mounted, and fled.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hanstau’s heart beat hard in his chest as he followed Reness. He didn’t even realize that they’d reached the drums.

  “Antas’s guards are derelict. Sloppy.” Reness muttered her disgust with the guards into his ear as she pushed down on his shoulder.

  “I’m just as glad,” Hanstau murmured.

  “Stay hidden,” she said as she reached for the drumsticks.

  He knelt, pulling his cloak and hood tight around himself. He faced away from her, watching her back. But there wasn’t much movement in the area. All the focus seemed to be at the front of the command tent, with light and talk spilling out. They had not been spotted, but Sun God above, he wasn’t sure how. His heart still raced, blood pounding in his ears.

  Reness took a breath, planted her feet, and struck the drum.

  His heartbeat was nothing in comparison. The sound thundered through his bones. The silence after seemed to echo in his ears, as if waiting for—

  She struck the drum again, pounding out a signal, dropped the sticks, tugged at his cloak and they were off and running between the tents. No hope of hiding in shadows, they were forced into the open to avoid tent ropes and stakes.

  Warbling rose in the distance, seeming to come from all around the camp.

  He heard Reness grunt as they ran. He risked a glance to see her feral, satisfied smile.

  Warriors boiled from every tent. From behind, Hanstau swore he heard Antas bellowing his rage.

  Reness guided him, heading for the edge of the camp. He could see horses just beyond the last of the tents, a large herd. If they could—

  A shout of recognition. Two warriors barred their path, weapons ready.

  Reness didn’t change stride, didn’t make a sound. She moved forward, sword and dagger out and then somehow, she was past the warriors. The warriors fell back, cursing and shouting.

  It wasn’t clear in the darkness but Hanstau smelled blood.

  Reness didn’t stop.

  Neither did he. He ran right past them, following her.

  But there were more warriors now, he could hear them. His hood fell back as he ran, his breathing harsher and harsher in his ears. There were running footsteps behind him, a jerk on his cloak—

  Even as he fell, he saw Reness turn, her eyes gleaming with rage and battle lust. She turned back and plunged into the warriors around them.

  Hanstau rolled away, and then watched wide-eyed as Reness fought what had to be four, five warriors. Admiration rose, for she was a fine wild sight. But then fear washed over him. He struggled to rise. She’d be killed. No, no, he couldn’t let this happen, but there were so many—

  His despair overwhelmed him, and he almost sobbed. His breath caught as he tried to beg them to stop, not to hurt her—

  Light exploded around his boot. Hanstau froze in astonishment. Golden light. Golden power. He sucked in air and with breath came hope. He could—

  An image came to him from the power, of warriors engulfed in flame, burning, writhing, agony… burn them?

  NO. Hanstau rejected the horror he saw in his mind’s eye. No, no. He cast about for another target, anything but—

  The tents. Burn the tents!

  With a WHOOSH and a crackle, the tents did just that.

  All of them.

  All around them.

  Two of the warriors stayed on Reness, another grabbed Hanstau’s shoulder from behind. The others ran off, yelling warnings, pulling down tents to smother the flames.

  Reness was fighting hard, but these warriors were wary and experienced, moving to circle her like wolves. Hanstau’s captor had an arm around his neck, pulling him up. Hanstau felt him take a breath, ready to shout—

  Hanstau jerked the dagger Reness had insisted he carry out of its scabbard. He stabbed blindly back at the warrior’s face. The blade hit bone, then slid into something softer.

  His captor screamed.

  Hanstau pushed harder, twisting his body away, twisting the dagger, turning to face his enemy.

  His captor cried out again, the blade buried deep in his eye.

  Hanstau yanked it out, intent on another strike, but the man collapsed at his feet.

  Hanstau stood there, numb, breathing hard, staring down at the dying man.

  “Hanstau,” Reness’s voice cut through the fog, and he blinked to see her at his side. The others were dead, and chaos reigned around them. “Come,” she said.

  He sheathed the dagger, and they ran together toward the herds.

  Amyu’s eyes popped open, staring at the night sky. Her heart racing, she lay still for a long breath.

  Joden’s breathing was soft and regular against her shoulder. He didn’t stir.

  Something had woken her, something… she turned her head slightly, taking in their quiet camp.

  Rafe and the others lay in their own bedrolls, still asleep. Fylin and Soar kept watch, their weapons at the ready, but they showed no signs of alarm. Neither did the horses, or the cows.

  Amyu drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. A dream, perhaps. Nothing more.

  She closed her eyes, settling back, willing herself back to sleep. They’d leave in the morning, and seek out the Warprize and Master Eln. It would be a long day, and she should rest. She focused on Joden’s breath. In and out, in and out…

  Her heart slowed to its normal rate. Her breathing eased, and she fell back into sleep.

  Simus roused, half-asleep, as Snowfall sat up, letting their blankets fall back. He grumbled, fumbling for them and for her.

  “Power,” she whispered. “Someone’s using the power.”

  That brought him up, alert, sword in hand. “Where?” He demanded.

  “Not close,” Snowfall rose, reaching for her armor. “And further south, deep in the Plains.”

  Simus stood, considering. “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” Snowfall shook her head, the beads of her weaving jangling softly.

  “A threat?”

  “Maybe,” she pulled on her leather trous. “I will stand watch.”

  Simus sighed, and reached for his own trous.

  Cadr was grateful when they finally stopped to make camp. Lightning Strike kept them at a steady pace the last few days, but wouldn’t call a halt until the sun was past the horizon. Cadr agreed with pushing on, but his aching ribs were just as happy to dismount from his horse.

  “We’ll risk a fire,” Lightning Strike said as they started
to pull saddles from the horses.

  “I can help with that,” Rhys offered.

  “We’ve enough fresh meat,” Gilla frowned, looking around for her warcats. They’d disappeared into the tall grass. “We can hunt tomorrow morning—”

  All of the warcats’ heads emerged from the tall grass, all facing the same way: south.

  Lightning Strike’s face went pale and he turned, wide-eyed, toward the south.

  As did everyone else around them.

  Cadr frowned, looked around as well, but there was nothing to see. Gilla and Rhys looked just as puzzled.

  “What?” Gilla demanded.

  Rhys shrugged, but Sidian answered her, his voice distant and distracted. “Power,” he said. “A flare of power.”

  “Someone just used magic,” Lightning Strike whispered.

  “Like the sacrifice?” Gilla asked, shading her eyes.

  “No,” Lightning Strike said. “Not that strong, but—” he cut off his words. “It’s gone.”

  The warcats lost interest, fading once again into the tall grass.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Cadr said.

  “It wasn’t seen with the eye,” Sidian said, still staring in that direction. He glanced at Lightning Strike. “I thought you said that all the warrior-priests that were left were here?” he asked.

  “They are,” Lightning Strike said. “All those that followed Wild Winds are all that survived the night of the Sacrifice.”

  “Hanstau,” Cadr breathed. “It has to be Hanstau.”

  “The Xyian?” Lightning Strike asked.

  “Yes,” Excitement bubbled up in Cadr’s chest, a relief of pain he hadn’t known he was carrying. “The one Antas took. It has to be him. He is alive.” Cadr turned on Lightning Strike. “I have to go, to rescue him. Where? Where was he?”

  “Cadr,” Sidian shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “You can’t be sure,” Lightning Strike said. “It could have been Hail Storm.”

  “Or against Hail Storm,” Night Clouds added grimly.

  “But I could, maybe I could find—” Cadr stopped when he saw the faces around him.

  “You are still injured,” Gilla said. “Even if we knew where—”

  “Could you scry?” Cadr demanded.

  “The surge didn’t last long enough,” Sidian shook his head, his arms folded over his chest. “There is nothing left to focus on.”

  “You think he’s dead,” Cadr said flatly, spinning to stare at Lightning Strike.

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “But I had the same spike of power when I lost control back when Wild Winds was teaching us.” Night Clouds held out his hands. “That amount of power…” he let his words trail off, with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Cadr gave the south one last glance, then turned away. “Let’s see to that fire,” he said gruffly.

  Later, after the others had settled into their tents, Cadr sat alone by the dying fire, poking at the coals with a stick.

  Lightning Strike appeared, and sat next to Cadr. The fire danced on his tan skin, his dreadlocks falling forward to hide his face. His partial tattoos around his neck gleamed in the light.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “I have failed my Warlord,” Cadr said softly. “I failed to keep my charge safe.”

  Lightning Strike nodded. “As I failed my master. As I fear to fail my fellow warrior-priests.”

  Cadr frowned. “You will not fail them. You are taking them to safety.”

  “Am I?” Lightning Strike shook his head. “What use will Keir of the Cat and Simus of the Hawk have for half-trained warrior-priests?”

  “You trust Snowfall,” Cadr said.

  “I do,” Lightning Strike sighed. “But the doubt lingers.”

  Cadr offered his stick. “Poking at coals seems to help,” he said.

  Lightning Strike snorted, but accepted the offer.

  “I know this much,” Cadr said firmly. “I have served under both Keir of the Cat and Simus of the Hawk, and they listen to a warrior’s truths. Even if it is not their truths.

  “Are you certain they will listen?” Lightning Strike asked ruefully.

  “Are you still a warrior-priest?” Cadr asked.

  Lightning Strike poked at the coals as Cadr waited. Finally, he looked at Cadr, his eyes glittering. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  Cadr nodded.

  Lightning Strike threw the stick into the fire, and rose to his feet. “The watches are set. We’d best sleep.” He hesitated slightly. “I know something that might help with your pain. Would you share with me this night?” He reached out his hand.

  Warrior-priests never shared with warriors, never forged bonds, never gave their names. So it had been for as long as Cadr knew. He reached out, and took Lightning Strike’s hand.

  “I would,” Cadr said. “With pleasure.”

  Hanstau sat silent in the tall grass, watching. After a few hours of walking, Reness had decided to warble a thea camp for supplies, and a rider approached leading horses.

  Reness wanted him hidden, but in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to stand even if he wanted to. Hanstau felt dazed, bruised, and everything around him seemed distant.

  The rider approached, and Reness greeted her as an old friend. “I’ve brought the supplies,” the thea gestured to the horses behind her, loaded down with supplies. “Saddles, blankets, tents, food, and waterskins.”

  “My thanks,” Reness took the reins of the horses. “What news?”

  “All the theas have taken their children into hiding,” the thea shifted uneasily. “The camps are moving off, and we are going to scatter to the winds to prevent Antas from pursuing. None will support him now.”

  “Did Hail Storm get any children?” Reness demanded.

  “There was only one teaching session.” the thea said. “Antas will have no further access.”

  Hanstau couldn’t see her eyes, but he could read the shame in the way she avoided Reness’s gaze. “But there is a lad missing from Elder Nancer’s camp. Nancer fears he has gone to Antas.”

  “Or Hail Storm.” Reness shook her head.

  “Come back with me,” the thea urged. “Join our camps. You would be welcome, and there is strength in our numbers.”

  “No,” Reness said firmly. “I have other plans, plans that involve staying away from Antas. I have not yet decided which direction I will take.” She squared her shoulders. “Make it known to the other Elder theas that Wild Winds is dead.”

  “Skies,” the woman breathed.

  “There will be a Fall Council of Elders,” Reness said. “And I will be there.”

  “As you say,” the woman said. “I will spread the word.” She looked up at the night sky. “I should be off. Antas hasn’t stirred from his camp, still dealing with the consequences of fires. You should not be pursued.”

  “My thanks again for responding to my call.” Reness said.

  “An honor, Eldest Elder,” the thea mounted. “May the elements be with you,” she added and rode off. Hanstau stayed where he was until Reness spoke.

  “Come,” she said softly. “I will not be easy until we put some more distance between us and Antas.” She knelt at his side, frowning.

  “In the dark?” Hanstau heaved a sigh, eyeing the tall horses behind her.

  “Not far,” Reness said. “A few rises, and we will keep the horses at a walk.”

  Hanstau nodded and rose to his feet. Reness helped him mount, and wasn’t that shameful? But he didn’t even have the strength to be embarrassed.

  They rode in silence, Reness leading the way, which left Hanstau alone with his thoughts.

  Well, worries, really. About the golden light that had seemed willing to fry warriors like so many eggs. About how easy it would have been to do just that, in his anger and fear.

  About whether Reness would still want him. It was easy enough to say in the confines of a prison but now? Here? Surrounded by
handsome, muscular Plains warriors?

  Hanstau looked up when he realized his horse had stopped moving. They were between two rises, next to a stand of alders.

  Reness was already dismounting, and pulling the packs off her animal. “There’s a stream here,” she said softly. “Within this grove. We’ll set the tents, eat, and sleep.”

  Hanstau fretted as they worked to make camp. He could help with the basics, carrying food and seeing to the horses. But he wasn’t much help with the small tent, even when Reness explained that it was actually two smaller tents combined into one.

  She had him build a small fire as she finished. “Just enough for kavage,” she said.

  Hanstau nodded, and set to work, finding the tinder and a striker. Easy enough to get a small spark, and sit and feed it tiny bits of wood and dried grass.

  Reness settled next to him, and dug out a small pot, and some dried meat. She handed him a share, and for a long moment, they both sat in silence, chewing and waiting for the pot to boil.

  “Give me your dagger,” Reness said softly. She was close enough to him that he could feel the heat of her body against his side. She took it, and tried to pull it from its sheath. The blade was stuck.

  “Tsk,” Reness clucked. “You are supposed to clean it, you know. On the grass or the clothes of the enemy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hanstau sighed.

  “No matter,” Reness stared at him. “I will clean it for you. But, Hanstau, what troubles you?”

  Hanstau opened his mouth, but the pot favored him by boiling, and he managed to busy himself with the kavage. Once they were settled back, warm mugs in hand, Reness nudged his shoulder, and gave him a questioning look over the edge of her mug.

  Hanstau sighed. “Reness,” he started, then rushed on. “I am no warrior. I am not muscled, not tanned, not strong. I am a stout, balding healer of Xy who, tonight, broke his sacred oath to bring harm to none.”

  Reness leaned in closer. “He would have delivered you to Antas.”

  “Or Hail Storm,” Hanstau shuddered. “But I could have found a way to—”

  Reness kissed him. Her lips were warm, and soft, and wonderful. Hanstau closed his eyes, and kissed her back.