Still, it was better than walking and carrying his packs. He’d have trouble replacing this mount when it fell apart. Living horses sensed his presence from afar and would not come close. He’d not be able to lure one to its death at his hands.
But maybe he didn’t need to. His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibilities.
There was so much death in the land, so much corruption. Where prey had been taken, where the very grasses of the Plains shriveled and died, all that was power for his taking. It was as if a cloth had been torn away from his unseeing eyes. With no access to the elemental power, other sources made themselves known.
What if he could imbue the horse’s carcass with enough energy that it didn’t need the physical body? What if he didn’t need to constantly focus to make it move on its own? Hail Storm considered that thought with the greatest of joy. There was enough power that he could build up as he went, and then he could find a place where deaths had been frequent and—
The Heart.
Hail Storm lost his focus and the horse stopped moving.
The Heart. The dead warrior-priests. He remembered their bodies scattered everywhere. There was a source of power, most likely fresh and undiminished, just waiting to be tapped. To be used. To be used against Antas of the Boar, against Keir of the Cat, against any that would block his demand for power.
The young warrior-priests would return there, sure as the sun would set. The armies would gather for the Fall Council. The Council would be reborn, and beneath its tent he would
claim mastery of the Plains and its people. He could raise up a new generation of warrior-priests, and their powers would not be mocked, would not be dismissed. They would be feared and obeyed and he would be their Eldest Elder.
In the meantime, he must learn and grow. Practice his new arts. Be certain of his strength and skills.
He turned his mount toward the Heart.
Everything would be decided there.
Cadr felt relief when Lightning Strike called an early halt. Gilla’s warcats had flushed out and killed three deer. More than enough for their needs.
Cadr slid from the saddle with a grateful sigh. He was healing and there was less pain, but every once in a while, a twinge caught him off guard.
They’d stopped by a gully with a pond and flowing stream, protected by thick alders.
“Our regular watches,” Lightning Strike said. “We can dig a pit for the meat, and dry some for the journey.”
“I’ll set wards,” Rhys said quietly, and he and Sidian walked off together.
“I’ll gut,” Cadr offered. A messy job, but with the pond close he’d be able to wash himself after. A few of the others moved to help, and it didn’t take long before the carcasses were cut up. Cadr hauled the offal out a distance from the camp. The cats followed him, making odd chirrips and mews, eager for their reward.
The pit was finished, and the fire started. It would have to be tended all night once the meat was racked for drying. Cadr went to the pond, stripped and plunged into the icy water, using the sand to scrub himself. It felt good to get clean.
The sun was lowering when he returned to the fire, his armor and gear in his hands. The warmth felt good as it dried his skin.
Rhys was seated there, and kept averting his eyes from Cadr’s nakedness, just like a city-dweller would. Cadr chuckled, but Gilla gave him a shove, so he donned his leather trous.
They all set to work cutting the leaner bits of meat into strips for the drying rack. Lightning Strike and others set up tents.
Cadr sighed with satisfaction. He’d take a night watch, eager to make up for his lack while he’d been recovering.
Night Clouds and Moon Waters approached the fire, their arms filled with ogden roots for roasting.
“Oh, these will taste good,” Gilla said, starting to clean the roots.
“There’s more,” Moon Waters settled next to her, pulling her dagger. “Plenty for all and enough left in the ground to grow.”
“Night Clouds,” Rhys piped up. “I have an idea I want to try. Would you show me how you scry?”
“Sure,” Night Clouds wiped his hands on his trous. “I’ve a scrying bowl in my pack.” He trotted off, returning in a moment with a bowl filled with water. He knelt beside Rhys, and placed the bowl on as level a space as he could find. “What shall I scry?” he asked.
“The Heart,” Lightning Strike came up behind them, soaking wet from bathing, his gear in his hands. He shrugged at their looks. “Easiest to focus on. That’s what we all learned at first.”
Cadr went over and stood shoulder to shoulder with Rhys, just as curious as anyone. They both leaned over the bowl, looking down.
“The Heart,” Night Clouds whispered. He was staring at the bowl, talking under his breath. The water was still and dark within. For long moments, nothing happened, and then Cadr squinted. There was an image, a vision.
Suddenly he was looking at the Heart, as if standing on the rim. The circular grey stone arched around either side, and there in the center lay the body of a dead wyvern, covering half the stone. Ravens pecked at its eyes and back.
“Skies,” Cadr breathed.
“I can see it too,” Rhys said softly.
Lightning Strike came over, Sidion close behind. “Is that a wyvern?”
Cadr nodded. “The one that was killed, when Simus and the gathered warriors rescued the Elders.”
Sidion whistled, peering down. “That is some creature,” he said. “Is that a stinger on the end of that tail?”
“It’s vivid and detailed.” Rhys crouched for a better look. “I might be able to portal—”
“No,” Cadr interrupted. “Night Clouds, can you change it? Show us the shore?”
Night Clouds said nothing, just turned his head slightly. The image fluttered and moved. The shore appeared, seething with wyverns. They were all tearing prey, and feeding young in rocky nests. The young ones had their wings spread, and Cadr could almost hear their cries for food.
“So many,” Lightning Strike breathed. “I didn’t realize.”
“And vicious,” Cadr said. “That sting is a deadly poison that eats flesh.”
“No portal,” Sidian said.
“No portal,” the others agreed.
“Night Clouds,” Sidian continued. “Does there need to be water in the bowl? To Scry?”
The image faltered and then disappeared. Night Clouds looked up, eyes wide. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Try it,” Sidian suggested.
This gained them more attention as other warrior-priests gathered. Cadr gave way his place, more interested in making sure the roots got roasted. Gilla also backed away. But those not on watch gathered around, all talking as Night Clouds dumped the water from the bowl, and dried it.
It must have worked, from the soft exclamations that came after a while. Next thing Cadr knew, everyone was trying it, pulling out their own bowls. Then those with metal shields were using those, clearly pleased with the results.
It was only at Cadr’s second call that they stopped and started eating.
“It takes more power,” Night Clouds said as he blew on his ogden root to cool. “And it’s harder to keep the image stable.”
“I wonder,” Sidian said. “Can you do it while moving?”
Night Clouds looked at him with wide eyes, and then jumped up.
Sidian laughed. “Finish your food, then try.”
“Why do you ask?” Lightning Strike asked.
“For the next spike of power,” Sidian said. “If they can get an image…”
“I could portal,” Rhys continued. “Might link us to your Hanstau.”
Cadr brightened.
“Might get us in more trouble,” Lightning Strike countered then he shrugged. “Still, a good skill to learn while we continue on.”
“To Xy?” Gilla asked.
“To Xy,” Lightning Strike confirmed.
Hanstau lay back on the bedding, staring at the tent over him, saf
e and warm and toes well and truly curled.
Reness was out by their fire braiding her hair. He turned his head enough to see the curve of her back and the glow of her skin in the firelight. As she moved, lifting muscular arms, he caught glimpses of her breast. It roused him, as it had in the past, and always would, he suspected.
At least, for as long as this lasted.
Reness had found a small herd, and they had stayed within their midst the past few days, hiding from the world. Hanstau knew he should return to Xy, and take word to his Queen of all that had happened. But his heart wanted to stay here, with this woman, in this bubble of time for as long as he could.
He tried to feel guilty. He really did.
But in all honor, they needed to travel more directly so that they could—
The golden glow of power appeared in the corner of his eye.
Hanstau turned his head toward it, away from Reness, to see the glow pooled beneath horses’ hooves. It couldn’t be true, but the light seemed to dance around them, deliberately, as if celebrating light and life and joy. Foolishness on his part, surely.
As if it noticed him watching, the light danced over and gathered around his fingers. He held them up, looking at the glow that surrounded his hands against the dark of the tent.
“You are playing with the light,” Reness said, crawling in beside him, and stretching out her long legs against his.
“How did you know?” he asked. “You can’t see it.”
“You get this look in your eyes,” she chuckled. “Like fleeing prey.”
“Er,” Hanstau huffed out a breath. “I’m not sure—”
“Like you are looking at something dangerous and fascinating at the same time,” she said. “Maybe like a child with its first real sword. Or—”
“Maybe you should stop there,” he said dryly.
She huffed a laugh.
“But you are right,” he said. “I am looking at something dangerous. I don’t think I should try to use it again.”
“Why?”
Hanstau frowned. His fingers still glowed. “Because.” he said slowly. “Because what I did back there, it felt loud. Obvious. Frightening.”
“You did the right thing,” Reness said. She eased up to pull their bedding over them.
“Yes,” Hanstau said. “I know that. But they were trying to kill you, and it was dire. My fear could have led me to do terrible things, Reness.”
“How is it terrible, when they are trying to kill you?” she asked with simple warrior logic.
“It is,” Hanstau said firmly. “And I am not going to try to use it again.”
“Unless someone tries to kill us.” Reness reached over to caress his cheek.
“Unless someone else tries to kill us,” Hanstau agreed.
Reness smiled against his lips and kissed him, driving away any need for talk.
Antas stood on a rise, and watched an army approach.
It had taken time and precious supplies to repair the damage, deal with the dead, and calm his warriors.
Ietha had also required careful handling, and he still wasn’t certain that she’d support him in the end. Antas flexed his fists. Talking with no action was starting to irritate him, and he knew if he lost his temper he’d lose support.
And now Reht approached, and all the messengers would say was that she wanted to talk. Reht was a short woman, short of stature, short of hair, short of temper. Antas wanted in the worst way to say exactly what he thought of that, but he kept his truths in his mouth and agreed to a meeting. He brought Veritt, his Second with him.
He could only hope it came to blows. Much more talk and he’d—
“Hail, Antas of the Boar, Warlord and Eldest Elder Warrior,” Reht rode forward, ahead of her warriors.
That boded well. Antas stepped forward and boomed his own greeting. “Hail, Reht of the Horse, Warlord of the Plains. What brings you here?”
“I’ve come to join with you,” Reht said. “I offer my support against Keir of the Cat.”
Antas grinned. “Welcome,” he said simply.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Amyu slowly climbed the last remaining stairs of the highest tower of the castle, her heart as heavy as her footsteps. She went up through the trap door, stepping out into the sunlight and clean, clear air.
She walked to the low wall that surrounded the top of the tower, and with a puff of breath, tried not to look at what she dreaded to see.
The City of Water’s Fall stretched out below her, as it had in the past. Beyond that the fields and forests still sprawled out in the valley below. The long road still snaked down the valley from the main gates of the city.
Only this time, down that road marched the combined armies of Xy and the Plains.
Somewhere in their midst rode Joden of the Hawk.
The wind caught Amyu’s brown hair, whipping it around her head. She caught the long strands in her hands, and bound it up in a quick knot.
She hadn’t gone down to the castle courtyard to see them all off. It would have been more than her heart could take. Joden had honored her request, and he’d not come to her. Nor had she gone to him. She’d managed to avoid him as she’d aided the Warprize in preparations, thinking she’d done the right thing and yet—
He was gone, and she’d give anything for one last word. One last chance to say goodbye.
“We’ll be able to see them for some time,” came a familiar voice.
Amyu looked over to find the Xyian guard Enright sitting in his usual position, on a bench facing the low wall, working on repairing a bit of armor. His crossbow sat beside him, cocked and ready, and an alarm bell sat on his other side.
“Takes a while to move an army that size.” He gave her a knowing look. “The sun will set before we lose sight.” He shifted over a bit, making his wooden leg clack, and patted the bench next to him. “Have a sit.”
Amyu sat. The sun was warm, and the stones beneath their feet radiated warmth. Around them bees buzzed in their large basket hives. The mountain towered above, its craggy walls stark and unforgiving.
“Someone you care about down there?” Enright gestured toward the army.
Amyu shrugged, then nodded.
“They’ll be back,” Enright said confidently. “Maybe not every one of them, I’ll be honest with ya, but on the whole, they will be back. Triumphant, if I know the Warlord.”
Amyu stared out, watching the long line of men and horses moving along the road. “Joden goes to finish his Trials and become a Singer, the Singer he was destined to become. Maybe even the Eldest Elder Singer. Keeper of our ways. Our laws.”
“The laws that keep you here?” Enright asked quietly. “The laws that deems you outcast.”
“Not outcast.” Amyu still stared out over the wall without seeing anything. “Useless.” Her voice sounded flat and odd to her own ears.
“Ya know that’s not true,” Enright said.
Amyu nodded but couldn’t speak, her eyes welling up.
“Well then,” Enright shifted again, then stood with a clatter. “I gotta use the privy,” he said gruffly. “Might take me a bit, what with the stairs.”
Amyu nodded again, keeping her eyes on the army, her tears starting to fall.
“Here,” a large white piece of cloth appeared in front of her face.
Amyu took the cloth, and Enright left, his wooden leg clacking as he made his way down. She was grateful for the privacy. She didn’t want to weep, but the tears kept coming.
It all felt so hopeless. The Warprize had told her to keep searching for the airions, but she didn’t truly believe that Amyu would find them. She also asked that Amyu learn to read and write Xyian. An honorable task, but… Amyu felt useless, and a failure and—
Footsteps came up the steps, and it was not Enright. Amyu mopped her face, and stuffed the cloth away.
“Amyu,” Atira came up through the trap door and walked over to sit beside her. She looked around the top of the tower with a satisfied smi
le, then turned to Amyu. “I have been looking for you.”
Amyu resisted the urge to look back out at the departing army. She met the warrior’s gaze bravely. Atira was tall and fair of hair and face. She was the Bonded of Heath of Xy, and a well-respected warrior.
“Heath said that you need a sword re-forged,” Atira said. “The Crystal Sword of Xy?”
“Yes,” Amyu nodded. “Do you know how?”
“I don’t,” Atira smiled. “But I know someone that might.”
Amyu followed Atira through the streets of the city, until she led her through a large wooden door. Amyu stood dumbstruck in the doorway of the forge, staring at the men laboring over red hot metal.
Atira glanced over her shoulder at her, and laughed. “I had the same reaction,” she said. “Come, we will get closer.”
It was as if all the elements danced at the big man’s command.
The heat hit her first, like a blow to the face, heat so hot it dried the sweat that formed. The air held an acrid tang.
The room was huge, with stone walls and a high vaulted ceiling. Heavy wooden beams arched over the room. There were clusters of men and boys around the walls, working at tables. The noise battered at Amyu’s ears. Each group worked on something different, but her eyes were drawn to the ones in the center.
The greatest heat came from the furnace in the middle of the room, where a circular stone ring sat, covered by an arched dome. She could see flame flickering within the openings. A young man worked some sort of odd wooden and leather thing up and down, and the fire at the center danced in response, crackling and swaying with his movements.
“That’s the fire that Dunstan uses to heat the metal.” Atira raised her voice to be heard over the noise. “The apprentice works the bellows, see? It keeps the fire at the right heat.” She pointed to three men, working close by the fire. “See the anvil? That large metal piece there?”
“What are they doing?” Amyu asked.
“Making bolts for the new ballistae.” Atira stared at the forge, desire raging in her eyes, awe in her voice. “Heath as Warden had given orders for hundreds of them.”