One of the monsters launched up, and he heard Snowfall gasp as it soared high, carrying a dead gurtle in each claw as it flew away toward the Heart.
The remaining creature hissed and pinned its prey with long claws, and bent its snake-like neck for the killing blow. The gurtle screamed as it died.
The rest of the running herd collapsed to the ground, disappearing into the tall grass.
Simus couldn’t believe the suddenness of it.
Neither could the creature. It flapped its wings, peering about for more prey, and then focused on the only movement in its line of vision.
Pive and the others.
The children were fleeing, their gurtles continuing to run. Pive glanced back, and even at this distance Simus could see her fear.
Simus cursed himself for a fool. He’d sent those children to their deaths. “Pive, down, down,” Simus bellowed, knowing it was too late, knowing he’d—
He brought his bow up without thought, and launched two arrows, aiming at the creature’s chest.
The arrows didn’t pierce its hide. Didn’t even draw its attention.
The creature hissed, spread its wings, and then gave a hop before it jumped into the air, beating down with powerful wings, lunging after its prey.
‘Here,’ the power whispered. ‘Now.’
Snowfall didn’t have time to curse at its idea of a warning. She’d only time for one thought. ‘Not the children,’ rang through her head, making her own decision. ‘Not Simus.’
Snowfall clamped her knees around her trembling horse. “Stand,” she commanded as she raised her hands over her head and called the power to herself, seeking a weapon.
The power answered.
Fire danced around her hands, hot, destructive, and eager. She screamed at the monster, and flung a hot bolt of fire at its head. Over and over, one after the other, as fast as she could conjure them.
The first hit the creature’s snout. It shook its head and hissed.
Her horse stood beneath her, terrified but obedient. Snowfall narrowed her eyes, and threw again and again, watching as the creature turned toward her. The bolts of fire hit, and seemed to trail down the creature’s side.
With no harm done.
Snowfall’s heart caught in her throat. From the corner of her eye she saw Simus using his bow, but his arrows bounced from the leathery hide.
The magic...Snowfall could see the glow within it now. The creatures were not using the power, but they used the power naturally.
The monster turned in their direction, lowering its head with a glare, its beady eyes fixed on both her and Simus.
Now the danger was to them, but better her than Simus. It wasn’t even a thought, more instinct that sent one last blast of power right into that hideous face.
“HEYLA,” Snowfall screamed, turning her horse in circles with her knees, waving her arms. “Come here, come here.” She sent out ribbons of light, golden sparkles twirling in the sun as she tried to catch the beast’s eye.
The creature hissed, launched itself into the air, headed toward her.
Snowfall dropped into the saddle, and her horse bolted away. Snowfall kept her seat, both hands high in the air, the ribbons of light streaming out behind.
She had its attention. The creature flapped its dark, leathery wings, gaining height and following.
Even in her panic, Snowfall watched over her shoulder, eyes wide, as the creature used the power to launch itself in flight. What manner of beast?—but she cut that thought off, concentrating, weaving the ribbons from her hands, fleeing away, drawing the threat from the children, away from Simus.
The monster followed, taking flight and gaining.
He was going to kill her.
Simus almost howled when Snowfall created the distraction, successfully luring the creature away.
He urged his horse after them, and the animal responded with a leap, galloping along. He gripped his mount with his legs, and continued to launch arrow after arrow.
But the arrowheads didn’t pierce, didn’t even make it turn its head to look.
Its prey was Snowfall, and in another few feet—
“Circle,” Simus bellowed. His lance; it was the only hope of a kill.
Snowfall never looked back, but her horse began to turn as it ran. The creature shifted its flight.
Simus guided his horse to run alongside it.
The creature ignored him, intent on its prey. Simus reached for the lance in its quiver. One shot—he’d have one throw.
A tremor of fear for Snowfall passed through him, but Simus pushed it down and away, focusing on the beast, on the wings, waiting for them to rise, to give him that one precious target, one throw at the lungs—
The creature flapped its wings to gain height, and then plunged down with its wings spread high and wide, extending its claws at Snowfall’s back, shrieking its rage—
—exposing its chest.
Simus threw. And he threw true.
The creature screamed, even as its claws plunged down. Snowfall’s horse stumbled, and both she and the horse fell into the grasses.
The creature screamed again, biting at the lance, then it hit the earth, tumbling and writhing, its tail lashing about as it struggled. Clods of earth and grass flew as flailed about, its wings beating desperately against the ground.
“Snowfall,” Simus whispered in a wordless prayer to all the elements. He dismounted and ran forward as her horse struggled to its feet.
He found her in the grass, face-down and limp. His hands trembled as he turned her over, her face bruised and scraped.
“Snowfall,” he called, checking for wounds on her arms and legs, checking—
Her eyes flew open, and she gasped in air, clutching at his shoulders. He pulled her into a hug, relief flowing through him. But Snowfall was pushing him back, and he released her for fear—
She took his face in her hands, pulled him close, and kissed him.
The taste of Snowfall exploded in Simus’s mouth.
Her lips were warm and sweet. Simus closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around her tight and reveled in the pure pleasure of the kiss. But in a breath Snowfall jerked back, her eyes wide as the same thought struck both of them.
“The children,” they both breathed.
Simus pulled her to her feet and they both scanned the grass around them. The creature lay dead, their horses close, but all that was to be seen was grass. The thea tents were gone. Simus took a few steps, his heart in his throat. They’d run in an arc...the bodies...
“Oh skies, no,” Snowfall started to run with him, speaking under her breath. “Skies and stars and sacred fires, please—” Her voice was half sob, her prayer his.
A gurtle head popped up from the grasses, looking about. “Muwaaaap,” it called as it staggered up.
Simus sucked in a breath, running full out. “Elements, please—”
Horns sounded from where the thea tents had been, and warbling cries rose, calling to the children. The pit in Simus’s stomach grew as the wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of blood and death.
“Muwaap, muwaap.” More gurtle heads popped out of the grasses as the herd rose and complained.
Pive’s head popped up as well.
Simus’s knees went weak, stumbling in his relief, but he kept running as four more little heads appeared. Alive. They were alive.
“Praise the elements,” Snowfall choked out.
Simus kept running.
Pive was blowing her horn in response to the theas’s call. She squealed in surprise when Simus scooped her up and hugged her. For just an instant, she hugged him fiercely, and then pushed back at his chest. “Warlord,” she protested, and struggled to be let down.
Snowfall knelt, gathered the others, checking them for injury. Simus closed his eyes in relief. None were harmed.
The gurtles had not been so lucky.
“What were those things?” Simus demanded of Snowfall.
“I have no idea.” She rose t
o her feet, looking back at the huge, dead monster.
Warriors ran from the thea camp toward them, Seo at the lead. Behind them, huffing and puffing, was Hanstau.
The warriors formed a circle around the children, bows and swords at the ready. Seo strode toward Simus as Hanstau checked the children. Other warriors watched the skies.
“Those things attacked and wrecked our tents.” Seo faced Simus. “I’ve deaths among my warriors, and dead horses.” He nodded toward the huge carcass. “What is that thing?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” Simus said.
“I do,” said Hanstau.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hanstau stood as he spoke, adjusting the strap of his satchel, sweat gleaming on his pale pink head. He spoke in rushed Xyian, breathing hard. “My grandfather would tell us scary stories by the fire late at night. He’d talk of tales told by his grandfather, of monsters that once lived in the mountains, huge flying lizards. ‘Vicious and cruel, with sharp claws and a poison that pierced men’s hearts.’ Wyverns, he named them.” Hanstau drew in a deep breath to calm his panting.
Simus translated what he had said.
“I caught some of that. But ‘grandfather’?” Seo asked. “I do not know that word.”
“Father’s father,” Simus replied and turned back to the healer. “I saw none of these when I was in Xy.”
“They’d not been seen in my grandfather’s lifetime either.” Hanstau’s eyes were a bit wide. “Only in my grandfather’s grandfather’s time. Honestly, I thought them only stories. Myths.”
“Not so,” Simus growled.
“They came from the north,” Snowfall said quietly.
Simus looked toward Xy, and spared a moment of fear for his friends. But then he remembered stone tents. Relief and envy flooded through him. “Seo, spare two warriors, and have them examine the body. We need to know all that we can.”
“Tell them to beware the tail,” Hanstau said. “If memory serves, that is where the sting is.”
Seo nodded, an odd look on his face. Simus knew he had not yet adjusted to the Xyian way of forgetting things told them.
“Take the children and life-bearers into one of the winter lodges,” Simus started, but Seo interrupted.
“There will be no stores, no food—” Seo argued, but Simus cut him off
“Regardless,” Simus said. “Look.”
In the distance, another black mass approached.
“Skies,” Seo breathed.
“Everyone down,” Simus bellowed, and they all flattened into the grass.
“Hold the horses, if we can,” Simus commanded, and Snowfall nodded.
The wyverns passed overhead as Simus stood close and tried to soothe his trembling horse. Once again, a few creatures swooped in to take gurtles, but most flew past.
When the sky was clear, Simus rose to his feet.
“We will shelter,” Seo said. “And you, Warlord?”
“I will take Snowfall and return to the Heart,” Simus said.
“Take Hanstau,” Seo said grimly. “You will have a need.”
Simus considered, then nodded. “He can ride double with Snowfall.”
“But,” Hanstau started, but Simus cut him off.
“I don’t trust your riding skills if we are attacked,” Simus growled as he mounted his horse.
“Warlord.” Hanstau’s tone was dry as Snowfall went to aid him mount. “I have all the skill necessary to fall off a horse and hide in the grass.”
Snowfall’s eyes crinkled in the corner, but her face remained blank, unreadable to most. Simus’s heart swelled, but there was no time for such things now. He turned his horse’s head to go.
Seo reached out, his hand on Simus’s boot. “Warlord, find Haya. She was to attend the tent raising. She was at the Heart.” Seo’s worry was clear.
Simus gave him a sharp nod, and turned his horse toward the Heart.
Awareness flooded into Hail Storm, through his fevered dreams. He’d heard—
“Here, Warlord,” came a voice. “We’ve found him.”
Hail Storm was hot, suffocating, the leather of the collapsed tent covering his face, sticking to his sweat, his own stink all around him. He opened his dry mouth to gasp as the debris was ripped away. Sunlight flooded his eyes, blinding him.
“Alive?” came a distant bellow, one he recognized. Antas of the Boar.
“If you want to call it that,” said another above him.
Hail Storm blinked at the muck in his eyes, trying to understand what was happening. He lifted a hand to rub the crust away, bringing his swollen arm into sight, oozing pus and pulsing red. The pain hit then, and he grit his teeth as it washed over him.
Hands reached down, grabbing his arms, legs, and shoulders, and lifted him. His vision blackened as the agony raced through him.
“Bring him.” Antas stood between him and the sun, his blond hair and beard glowing in the light.
Hands supported him, and half-marched, half-carried him forward.
“Antas.” Veritt came up to walk beside. Hail Storm fought to focus on his words. “There’s more dead than I care to say. I will have a count later. The tents are all torn down and destroyed, but our supplies and gear are in decent shape.” Veritt took a breath. “We lost children to those creatures.”
Antas stopped dead in his tracks and swore. He stood for a long moment, contemplating the skies. Hail Storm used the precious moments to find his feet and push the trembling from his limbs.
“I’d think the elements had cursed us,” Antas said finally. “Except the same death and destruction seems to have fallen on the Heart. Perhaps we are all cursed.” Hail Storm caught Antas’s glance in his direction. “Still,” Antas continued. “No plan survives the enemy.”
“Truth,” Veritt replied.
Antas dropped his voice. “The other prisoner?”
“Secure,” Veritt said. “The tent was torn down around them, and two of the guards killed, but the others kept their post and saw to her.”
Antas grunted. “Set a watch on the skies, and have the others scrounge what they may. We will move camp.”
Veritt bowed his obedience, then jerked his head toward Hail Storm. “This one cannot ride,” he reminded Antas. “The horses reject him.”
Antas grunted as they both considered Hail Storm.
“I will be well soon enough,” Hail Storm insisted, trying to stand on his own.
“So you have been saying, yet I see no improvement,” Antas said. “I will deal with this,” he said to Veritt, who bowed his head again, and headed off, calling instructions.
“Bring him,” Antas commanded. Hail Storm found himself moving through the grasses, only now he could see the destruction around him.
They stopped.
Before them was the body of a huge winged animal pierced by a half-dozen lances. Horns on its head, black and curling. The beast still lived, its tail quivering in its death-throes.
“What—” Hail Storm coughed to clear his throat. “What is that?”
“I do not know,” Antas said, standing beside him. “I had hoped you would. I do know that whatever they are, they have wreaked havoc on my plans.”
“They?” Hail Storm frowned. His wounded arm hung heavy at his side, and throbbed with the beat of his heart. He lifted it, holding it up with his other hand.
“They filled the skies,” Antas said. There was pain and wonder in his voice. “I’d gathered my warriors to assault the Council tent and take Essa prisoner.” Antas’s voice hardened. “We saw a line of black on the horizon, and within moments they were overhead, attacking anything that moved. My proud warriors, dead all around me, and the only safety lay in cowardice. Face down on the ground, still and silent.”
The creature before them groaned and rolled, sending warriors scattering. “Get back, you stupid fools,” Antas shouted as the tail lashed out in all directions.
All got clear as the beast gave a final moan and died. The tail fell to the ground, lim
p and lifeless.
“The only good news,” Antas said, voice oddly calm, “is that so far as we could see, the Council tent was torn down and their losses are equal with mine.”
Hail Storm stayed silent, just looking at the huge beast with its curling horns.
Antas looked around, and Hail Storm followed his gaze. Even with fevered, blurry eyes he could see the ruined tents and the dead warriors still lying where they had fallen.
“So for now, I must rely on allies,” Antas almost seemed to be talking to the skies. “Ietha, Loual, and that hot-head Wyrik. They will have to deal with what has happened. The others, the neutral Warlords, will be watching to see how the winds blow. I really don’t blame them. The herd follows the strongest mare.” He rolled his shoulders. “No. The blame for this rests on Keir and his ilk.” He gestured toward the creature.
“How so?” Hail Storm blinked away the sweat from his eyes, swaying slightly. The two warriors grabbed his arms in support.
Antas turned to him, and his eyes burned with hate. “They came from the north. From Xy.”
“We will be avenged.” Hail Storm straightened, his own hate rising and giving him strength. “I will heal and we will see it done.”
“About that.” Antas nodded to one of the warriors at Hail Storm’s side. “Bring him,” he commanded, and once again Hail Storm was ‘assisted’ toward a fire pit.
“We cannot stay this close to the lake,” Antas told him as he walked alongside. “The creatures are gathered there, and the skies alone know what they will do next. We will fall back, farther south.” Antas stopped by the fire. “Lay him down.” Antas gestured toward the edge.
“What—” Hail Storm struggled against the hands that forced him down, stretching him out in the cleared area and holding him to the ground.
“I have no choice now.” Antas reached toward the fire, pulling an axe from its depths, its head glowing dull red. “I’ve instructed my theas to seek out the winter lodges, and secure the young and life-bearers. I’ve enough warriors left that we can harry them with smaller attacks, seeking supplies, theas, Essa and Wild Winds and any Elders I can get my hands on.” Antas nodded in satisfaction at the weapon in his hand. “This is a setback, nothing more. We will fade into the Plains and build our strength for another season.”