But for now, he had to consider the matter of timing.
He focused his gaze on two other sparkles, one behind the other, heading for the Heart in a straight line. It was almost possible to see them move if you sat still long enough. Not long now, and the hostage and the Sacrifice would be where he wanted them to be. And the Sacrifice would be more than willing, eh? At least once he saw the hostage kneeling at Hail Storm’s feet, his dagger pressed to his or her neck. For a moment, he could see it in his mind’s eye.
He’d surround the stone with archers. The woman that traveled with the Sacrifice was supposedly encased in metal. Hail Storm didn’t see that as a problem. One swift arrow could pierce the metal easily, or kill the horse. Either one would deal with that problem.
The Sacrifice would approach the stone alone, unaided, and offer himself to Hail Storm’s blade.
And after the Sacrifice had willingly shed his blood, the hostage could die, too. That one would know too much of these events, and his or her truths would die with him or her. A demonstration of a new power source would be done and swiftly.
Oh, there might be an uproar about the killing, but they’d settle down once they’d seen the benefits. It was really just expanding the language of the prophecy. Blood of the Plains, willingly shed, in willing sacrifice.
No, the question now was the timing. How should he deal with Wild Winds?
Hail Storm had issued challenge, and in order to control the arrival of the Sacrifice, he had to be the eldest elder before the man arrived.
Wild Winds still had support among the warrior-priests. It would be good to silence the old man with his death.
On the other hand, there might be more sympathy gained for him if he allowed the old sick man to live, rather than killing him outright. It also brought home that Wild Winds was failing to follow the traditions of the Plains, by not going to the snows before his body failed completely.
A slight cough at the flap, and a server entered with kavage. Hail Storm acknowledged the service with a nod but remained silent, not taking up the mug until he was alone again.
It was best to bend with the winds on this. He’d wait and see what condition Wild Winds was in when he confronted him. If the old man was able to raise his sword, well, then, death would be his fate.
If the old man only had words, then Hail Storm would respond in kind, dealing with the confrontation with mercy and compassion. He’d claim the authority, and let the title rest with Wild Winds until the man breathed his last.
With any luck, Wild Winds would seek the snows before he ever arrived at the Heart.
He’d arrange it so that he appeared at Wild Winds’s tent at dawn. Once he was dealt with, Hail Storm would go to stand at the center of the stone circle, await the coming of the hostage, and prepare for the arrival of the Sacrifice. By day’s end, he’d have all the position and power he’d need to deal with the warlords and singers.
He took a sip of kavage, and smiled as he watched the sparkles move, as if by his will, and his will alone.
Another cough. Hail Storm waited.
“A visitor, Elder. He claims that you sent for him.”
Ah. Hail Storm rose to his feet. “Send him in.”
The man entered. He stood in silence, wrapped in a cloak, his face hidden by the hood. Hail Storm moved to the flap, and tied a set of bells to the outside. “Welcome, Antas of the Boar.”
Antas pulled back his hood just enough to reveal his brown, deeply wrinkled face. He wore his customary glare. “There’s been no word, Hail Storm. Other than the order to pull back from the Heart. If you support me in holding to our traditional ways, why have you delayed the spring challenges?”
“I will tell you as much as I can, but we must be swift,” Hail Storm said. “It would be best if you were not seen.”
“Granted,” Antas agreed. “I do not wish to cause problems for your quest to be the Eldest Elder. I will need your support when I march to destroy Xy and Keir of the Cat. But what has happened?”
“Sit,” Hail Storm said. “I will share my truths and my news.”
TWENTY-NINE
WILD Winds spent the last of his waning strength fighting a losing battle.
He fought with words, meeting with other warrior-priests, talking for hours, debating, discussing, and trying to convince them to see their error. The wrongness of this decision.
But the lure of power and magic was a brighter beacon than honor and truth. As much as Wild Winds wished to blame Hail Storm and Hail Storm alone, he could not. It was arrogance and pride that had brought them to this moment and this choice.
“After all, what is the life of a city dweller to us?” one had said as heads had nodded all around. “City dwellers die at our hands when we raid for what we need to survive. How is this different?”
Now the day dawned, and word had been brought that Hail Storm was finally approaching. Clever, to delay his arrival and challenge. Wild Winds suspected that he was hoping the elements would remove Wild Winds before he arrived.
Pity he’d be disappointed. Wild Winds was still breathing.
But the truth needed to be faced. He had exhausted his strength in an effort to bring the others around, and now he wasn’t certain he could draw a weapon, much less wield it. And his supporters numbered slightly more than he could count on two hands twice. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Wild Winds sighed. Perhaps this was what the elements intended, although he found that hard to believe. Perhaps Hail Storm was right.
Perhaps rain would fall from the ground up.
Snowfall and Lightning Strike were seeing to the evening meal, although it had been days since he’d kept anything down but broth. The pain grew daily, and the snows called. But he had this itch of curiosity to see how events would unfold, and he wanted to view them firsthand, not as a spirit.
It was warm in the tent, the braziers glowing. He closed his eyes and started a meditation to relax the stiffness in his muscles and ease his pains. He’d open his mind and heart to the elements, as he’d been taught, and see what came of it.
Snowfall’s voice was raised outside, in protest. He felt the air stir as the tent flap was lifted.
“What, not dead yet?”
He smiled as he turned to look at his visitor. “Mist. I see your breasts have not yet fallen to your waist.”
She stood before him, as lovely as always, his old friend. She snorted, shedding her cloak in the warmth of the tent and taking the pallet opposite his. She set her staff carefully to the side, the skulls rattling together. “It’s hot as summer in here.”
“I feel the need,” Wild Winds replied.
Snowfall entered the tent with a pitcher of kavage and two mugs. She appeared calm, but Wild Winds could see she was not pleased with Mist for barging in. She served him first.
Mist was giving him a good hard look, her sharp eyes taking in his lost strength, no doubt. She accepted kavage from Snowfall, then waved her off.
Snowfall raised both eyebrows and looked to him.
“Thank you, Snowfall. Please leave us now.”
Snowfall went, but not willingly, and probably not much farther than the tent flap. Wild Winds hid his smile in his mug.
“Hail Storm comes. He will arrive when the sun is overhead,” Mist said.
“So.” Wild Winds looked at her. “You are in his confidence now?”
Mist looked at him over the rim of her mug. “He comes, and the Sacrifice follows.”
“Ah.” Wild Winds set his kavage down. “Willingly?”
“Hail Storm has taken a hostage. One of the young warriors that was part of the escort.”
Wild Winds pressed his lips together. “I performed the rites for those young people. All strong young warriors, eager to serve the Plains. And in his hostage taking were any killed? Injured?”
“I do not know,” Mist said.
“You did not ask.” Wild Winds narrowed his eyes. “Power is worth any price, eh? Even the very lives we take oaths to
protect?”
Mist set her mug down, her face stubborn. “What are a few lives to restore our powers? To possibly restore your health? Have you thought of that?”
“I notice that your life is not the one being offered,” Wild Winds said dryly. “Your opinion might change.” He rested his hands on his knees. “So you will support him.”
Mist took another sip of her kavage.
“I will say to you as I have said to others.” Wild Winds reached for his kavage. “Each of us will have to make a decision, and each of us must live with the consequences of that choice.” He paused, and smiled at her. “I wish you well, old friend. Regardless.”
“Wild Winds,” Mist started to speak.
He shook his head, and let his voice take on a formal tone. “My thanks for your news, Elder, and your truths.”
Mist stiffened. “There’s—”
“I’m weary,” Wild Winds cut her off. “I would prepare for the challenge with quiet thought and communion with the elements. Again, my thanks.”
Mist rose, taking up her staff and cloak, her lips pressed tight together. Her glance fell on his staff, and then flickered back to his face.
Wild Winds gave her a steady look, then a nod of dismissal.
Mist left.
Snowfall popped in the moment she was gone. She picked up the mug of kavage and looked at him questioningly.
He handed her his mug. “You heard?”
She nodded.
“I wish to pray for a while,” Wild Winds said. “The broth will keep?”
“Yes,” Snowfall said. “I traded for a bit of ehat meat and fat.”
“I’ll call when I am ready.” Wild Winds shifted on his mat, then arranged his mind for quiet thoughts and prayers. He heard Snowfall check the braziers, then slip out the flap without letting in much cold air.
This hunt was not yet done. If one was not careful, the prey could slip away, or even better, turn into something far more dangerous than the hunter.
GILLA got her hands free just as they were stopping for what seemed the hundredth time.
She’d been quiet and obedient, taking what rest she could in the saddle. They’d fallen for it, their watch growing lax. Now they were meeting up with another group, and it was time.
She’d brought her leg up and over the horse’s head, and had slid to the ground before her handlers had reached her. Her captor still had the reins in his hand as she drew his dagger from his belt.
No one had reacted. As much as she wanted vengeance, as much as she wanted to lash out and take at least one with her, she brought the blade up to her neck as quickly as she could. One slash, and then, if there was time before she bled out, she’d cause as much damage as she could.
The stone blade was cold on her skin. She started to slash at her neck, just below her ear and . . . froze.
Unable to move, unable even to breathe. Her muscles trembled, but nothing. Skies, what was happening to her?
A warrior-priest appeared before her, his eyes blazing with pure rage, his hand on his own dagger. “Secure her,” he snapped.
Hands caught her then, pulling the blade from her hands. The hold on her broke and she gasped as she drew in precious air. There was no time to struggle. Her hands were bound again, behind her this time.
That warrior-priest stood before her, looking at her as if she was a piece of meat. His eyes were cold and dead in a strange way that made her shiver. He was in charge, that was certain.
“Don’t bother,” he said as her handlers approached. “Let the piss run down her legs. We need to be at the Heart by noon.”
Her captor grimaced, but obeyed. She was placed back in the saddle, and they were off, galloping like the wind.
The cold-eyed one was ahead of them, leading the way.
HAIL Storm allowed a brief stop as they drew close to the Heart of the Plains. This gave him time to make sure he appeared at his best for the coming confrontation. It also allowed them to summon fresh horses and keep their pace.
The hostage was a bit the worse for wear. Hail Storm permitted them to dismount for a fresh horse but nothing else. The fool that had let her get to his knife looked miserable; his saddle was no doubt ruined. Punishment enough.
A clever girl, though. He’d been blessed by the elements that he’d seen her little suicide attempt and acted before she could do damage to herself. What a thrill, to see his will worked so fast on another person. He looked forward to more of that in the future. But it had taken a lot of power to freeze her like that, more than he cared to admit.
Ah, well. She was a pretty morsel. He’d get that back and more with her death.
Hail Storm cast an eye to the weather. The day was a fine one, flowers bobbing in the slight breeze, the sky clear. The sweet-scented air filled his lungs, as long as he was upwind of the hostage.
He’d be sure to arrive as the sun reached its peak. No doubt Wild Winds was in his tent, awaiting the challenge. Probably grateful for release. But it would not do to take that for granted.
He cast an eye back as well, but there was no sign of the Sacrifice. Still, he was coming. Hail Storm had seen his movement before the scrying pool had been dismantled. He would come.
All was well. Hail Storm mounted, and started off at a gallop.
Soon, now. Very soon.
THIRTY
THE gallop of a horse had a certain rhythm to it, Ezren realized; one that mesmerized you as you rode. Ezren got lost in the feel of the animal as it moved beneath him, lost track of the days as they passed in quick succession. There was only the horse, the ride, and the constant pull toward the Heart of the Plains. Ezren Storyteller had one goal, and one goal alone.
Vengeance.
The others were with him, but there was little talk. They ate and slept and rode, following Ezren on a straight path across the vast grasslands. Whenever they came across a herd, Lander, Ouse, and Chell would summon fresh horses, and they’d shift the saddles and start to run again. Over and over, as the days and hours flew.
Night brought a quick meal, and sleep. Ezren would pull Bethral into his arms, and wrap the blankets around them. They sought comfort more than anything else in their tiredness. But just having her head on his shoulder, her scent on every breath he took, provided the strength to face the next day.
They were close now. Ezren looked at the lowering sun as the others summoned horses for the final push.
He heard a soft sound, and glanced at where Bethral was saddling a fresh mount. Bessie was close by, grazing while she could.
He stepped closer to Bethral, and saw wetness on her cheeks. The others couldn’t see her because she was concealed by the horse.
She glanced at him, then away.
He went to her side, and wiped her tears with his hand. “Oh, my Lady,” he said softly.
She looked at him, and choked back a sob. “It’s just that . . . there’s so much more I wanted with you. I just—” she cut herself off, and wiped her tears. “I’m so afraid of losing you.”
“Do you want to turn back?” He asked the question, but he already knew the answer.
She brought her head up, her face fierce and determined. “No.”
“Good. Because I am not sure I could, even if I wanted to.” Ezren admitted as he looked to the northeast. “We are so close. Another few hours should see the end of this.”
Bethral nodded, wiping her face. She tightened the girth of her saddle. “Give us some warning; we’ll need to stop and prepare before we come into view.” She glanced at Bessie. “I’ll want to be on Bessie when the time comes.”
Ezren pulled her face around and kissed her softly. “I wanted more as well, Angel.”
Bethral leaned in, seeking comfort. For just a moment, he breathed in her scent, lost in their private world.
“We’re ready.” Ouse said, riding up with packhorses in tow.
HAIL Storm hadn’t quite known what to expect as they topped the last rise.
It wasn’t this.
Every warrior-priest was there, standing around the great stone that marked the Heart of the Plains. Every single one.
Wild Winds stood alone at the center of the stone, leaning on his staff.
Hail Storm had a moment to frown, and then Wild Winds looked at him, and every head turned his way.
He straightened in his saddle. If the old fool wanted a public confrontation, so much the better. A kick, and his horse started down the rise, followed by the others.
The only sounds were the wind in the grass and his horse’s hooves as he approached. The gathered warrior-priests melted away before him, leaving a clear path. Hail Storm dismounted and pulled his staff from its ties. The others did the same. Two of them pulled the hostage from the saddle. She kicked out, apparently not completely cowed. They threw her down, securing her at the knees and feet. She’d keep, until he was ready.
Hail Storm turned, and strode across the stone to stand some paces away from Wild Winds.
The old man did not look good. Ashen, with a white-knuckled grip on his staff. A staff with no skulls, Hail Storm noted immediately. Ah, he’d released his spirit mentors. A concession of defeat, if ever there was one.
Yet Wild Winds did not act defeated. He stared at Hail Storm with hooded eyes, and said nothing.
“Greetings, Wild Winds.” Hail Storm looked around at those gathered. “I have come to challenge, in the name of the—”
“In your own name,” Wild Winds said. “And in the name of your personal glory.” The old man’s voice carried well over the stone.
“Not so,” Hail Storm replied, calmly. “That which had been lost has been found, and the time of—”
“Spare me,” Wild Winds said. “Spare us all the speeches you prepared in the darkness of your tent.” He extended a hand, and gestured to the two who held the hostage. “Bring her here.”
Before Hail Storm could even speak, the two warrior-priests picked the girl up and brought her to stand before Wild Winds. As if the habit of obeying the old man was too ingrained to break.