Destiny's Star

  Bethral had caught them staring, and they had looked away, because her expression made it clear that city dwellers were private about kisses, too. Gilla had the oddest notion: that had been the first time they’d kissed, but that was not possible.

  Still . . .

  They’d turned back to their task, using a bloodied cloak to gather up the burnt ruins of what had once been a warrior-priest. The blackened skin flaked in their hands, and Gilla shuddered, but they rolled it onto the blanket and took up the four corners. The other three bodies were also taken up.

  Seo watched as they waited for his command, his face grim. “Bring them,” he said as he started to walk back to the main camp.

  “Elder, will we offer them to the earth?” Ouse asked after they had walked for a while.

  “No,” Seo answered. “We shall arrange them in a storage tent. They must be seen by the others. When the warrior-priests come, they will decide if it is to be an earth or a sky burial.” He glanced back at the burnt body. “I think there has been more than enough fire.”

  Gilla exchanged glances with her friends, each daring the other to ask the questions they all wanted answered. Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. “Elder, did the Storyteller actually throw fire?”

  “You did not see?” Seo lifted an eyebrow.

  “No, Elder.” Lander’s disappointment was clear. “We were focused on our blades!”

  “As you should be,” Seo snapped. But then, to Gilla’s surprise, he continued. “No harm in telling, since you will serve at the senel. Yes, the City Singer burned this one with fire.” Seo looked at them each in turn. “You will hear all truths tonight, with the other warriors.”

  Cosana stumbled, almost spilling the corpse out of the blanket. “Other warriors?”

  “Warriors,” Seo barked. “Warriors who honor the fallen with respect and silence.”

  Their grins quickly stifled, the young warriors continued with their task.

  SUN Setting urged his horse on at a full gallop, as Grass Fires had commanded. His horse flew over the Plains, running hard.

  As he rode, he scanned the grasses for the soft glow of magic. He would need as big a source as he could find quickly, if he was to obey his orders. His heart raced with growing excitement that he would bring amazing news.

  The Sacrifice had been found, bearing the magic of the Plains.

  On the horse ran, as Sun Setting leaned forward, watching the land ahead. Skies above, let there be a source—

  There!

  Sun Setting jerked the reins, and his horse turned, bucking a bit at the command. Sun Setting patted its neck in apology and allowed the animal to slow.

  The glow was a good-sized area, visible under the new grasses. He’d need all of it, and though the teaching of the Elders said that no area was to be drained, he had no choice.

  He flung himself from the saddle, pulling at his saddlebags. He fumbled with his small scrying bowl and waterskin. His horse shook its head, breathing hard.

  Kneeling in the grass, Sun Setting tore the grasses away and set the bowl in as level a place as possible. He filled it with water, slopping some over the side. The water trembled in the bowl, his hands were shaking so.

  The horse came over to investigate, drawn by the scent. Sun Setting cursed, pushing its head away, then caught himself. He needed to be calm before casting the spell.

  He stood, and removed the saddle and halter from the animal. He’d release it to find the water it needed. The casting would drain him enough that he would need to rest. He could summon another animal in the morning.

  Once freed, the horse lifted its head to scent the air, then started off, leaving him alone in the grasses.

  Sun Setting knelt, and waited until his breathing was under control before invoking the elements. He stared into the depths of the water, placed his palms on the ground, and drained the magic from the land. He started the chant as he concentrated, using the magic to bear his message on the wind.

  “Hail Storm . . . I seek Hail Storm. . . .”

  The grasses swayed around him as he focused, seeking . . .

  The water clouded, then an image appeared, the face of Elder Hail Storm. His face was covered with the traditional tattoos, but the stylized markings around his eye identified him.

  “Elder Hail Storm.” Sun Setting barely dared to breathe, for fear of disturbing the water.

  “Sun Setting”—Hail Storm frowned—“what is it?”

  “The Sacrifice,” Sun Setting said. “The Sacrifice has returned to the Plains.”

  WILD Winds, warrior-priest and Eldest Elder of the Plains, shifted in his saddle. Riding was becoming harder and harder with his waning strength.

  Even that slight movement caught the eye of Snowfall. She glanced at him sharply, as if assessing his ability to continue. He ignored her raised eyebrow, and settled back down into his saddle.

  The day was a fine one, and the Plains seemed unusually fair this season. It would be good to conduct a few Rites of Ascension and celebrate the passage of new warriors to adult status. Being Eldest Elder, he seemed to deal more with the arguments and problems of the Plains than with the young ones. He was looking forward to it. A familiar ritual, and a joyous one.

  Provided he had enough strength.

  Well, that was easily done. He’d make certain he had enough rest before the rite was held. Even if he didn’t, young Snowfall would. She who did not even have all of her tattoos yet.

  It bordered on disrespect, to treat an elder—an Eldest Elder—as if he were the child.

  Were she not the best and brightest of his charges . . . Lightning Strike stiffened in his saddle, reaching for a lance. “Rider,” he called out. “Warrior-priest.”

  The others reached for weapons as well. Wild Winds shook his head. So this is what they had come to now, with the Council of Elders sundered. Change was sweeping the Plains, and not for the better. Keir of the Cat did not understand that he and his Warprize were—

  “It’s Swift Arrow,” Snowfall said. “Wasn’t he with Grass Fires?”

  The others did not relax.

  The rider came on at a full gallop, not slowing until he was well within speaking range. “Eldest Elder,” he gasped as he pulled his horse up. “The Sacrifice has been spotted. He is on the Plains, bearing the magic within him.” Swift Arrow paused to gasp for air. “There was an attack . . . I do not know. . . .”

  “Show me,” Wild Winds demanded.

  “SO.” Haya sat on her stool and surveyed the tent crammed full of warriors. “We sit in senel, and my token is here before me. The city dwellers are secure in their tent and well guarded. You have seen the bodies of the warrior-priests. Seo, Quartis, and I have given you our truths.

  “It would seem that there are three paths before us,” Haya continued. “We can let the city dwellers go on their way, with the tributes that they earned with the City Singer’s tale.”

  A few of the warriors nodded, and others shook their heads.

  “We can hold the city dwellers here, and wait for the arrival of the warrior-priests who may come. We do not know when this might happen, for we do not know where the messengers headed when they rode off.”

  More nods to that statement. Haya was fairly sure that warrior-priests would arrive within days, but there was no way to know for sure.

  The young ones were circling about, refilling mugs with kavage. Haya watched them as they moved, so serious and intent. Seo had let their intentions slip, and it was clear the young ones wished to be taken seriously.

  “The final path is to kill them both, and give their bodies to the sky.”

  A clatter as Gilla started, spilling her pitcher. There was a stir as she moved to clean up the kavage and the warrior she’d spilled it on. Haya sighed. Gilla was a strong one, serious and dependable, but she had a soft heart.

  “The decision is mine to make. But I would hear everyone’s truths. What say you, Seo?” Haya sat, and took up her mug of kavage.

  Seo
stood. “Change may be on the wind for the Plains, but not for our traditions. The warrior-priests rode in with Quartis and attacked the city dwellers with no explanation. No insults were exchanged that I know of, no tokens asked for. Even after Elder Thea Haya stated that they had been offered the shelter of her tent, still the warrior-priests attacked—and attacked Haya in the bargain.” He shook his head in disgust. “I have no love of change, and no love for city dwellers who fall from the sky. But the arrogance of the warrior-priests is as large as the sky itself.”

  Helfers stood next. “The Storyteller threw fire, burning the warrior-priest to a crisp. I have never seen such a thing, but I believe your truths. Can we risk releasing such a weapon onto the Plains?” Helfers looked around. “What if he throws such fire during the dry season, when the risk of grass fires is high? He could wipe out camps and herds with a wave of his hand.” Helfers shook his head. “I heard the Singer’s tale and was much impressed. Yet, I say they should be killed for the threat they represent.”

  Another warrior stood and took up the token, and so it went well into the night. Haya listened to all, taking each truth, and tried to weigh each truth in balance with the truths of the city dwellers.

  Finally, when all had said their truths, she stood. “I thank you all for the gift of your truths. As Elder Thea of this camp, the decision is mine to make. I will consider all these truths and the safety of our children in making my decision. This senel is at an end.”

  She sat down as the warriors began to stream out of the tent, talking among themselves. The young ones were milling around in the back of the tent, arguing about something. They probably were fighting about who would do the dishes.

  “Not an easy decision to make,” Quartis said softly.

  “No.” Haya sighed. “But one that must be made, and swiftly.”

  “Sleep on it.” Seo stood and stretched. “Share with me this night, since your tent has no top. In the morn—”

  He cut off his words as Gilla approached, followed by the other young warriors.

  Haya looked them over. “What?” she asked sharply. Gilla sank to her knees, then pressed her head to the ground before Haya. The others followed her action, abasing themselves.

  GILLA shook, and swallowed hard. She’d been willing when the others had told her to do the talking, but now her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. “Elders,” Gilla’s voice quavered, “we would quest.”

  “Eh?” Seo’s voice boomed over her head. “Quest?”

  “How so, child?” Haya did not sound pleased. “A quest is a warrior calling. It is not for children.”

  Gilla winced at that but plunged on, rushing her words. “Elder Thea Haya, we wish to quest in aid of the Singer Ezren Silvertongue and his Token-Bearer, Bethral of the Horse.”

  There was a long silence from the elders. It almost killed Gilla to stay still and silent, and wait, trying to look as mature as was possible, pressed to the ground.

  “Rise, all of you,” Haya said.

  Gilla lifted her head, releasing a slow breath of relief. The elders were willing to listen. They would be heard, and might be taken seriously. She rose to her feet, and the others did as well, staying behind her.

  Gilla straightened her shoulders. “Elder Thea Haya of the Tribe of the Snake, we have thought and discussed among ourselves, man and woman, element to element. We wish to go with the lost ones to see them safe to their home, as guides and guardians. I speak as a woman of the Snake and as Fire, to offer my sword and my aid.”

  “Well, they know the ritual,” Quartis said, a slight smile on his face. “The tradition is that such quests are taken by eight warriors. Four men and four women, one pair for each of the four elements.”

  Gilla looked at Lander, for him to speak next, but Haya cut him off. “Before you perform a ritual you have no right to, best you explain why.”

  “Our hospitality is broken,” Gilla said. “I would restore the name of our Tribe and the honor of our tents.”

  Haya looked at Lander, and raised an eyebrow.

  Lander took a deep breath. “Elder Thea Haya of the Tribe of the Snake, we have thought and discussed among ourselves, man and woman, element to element. We wish to go with the lost ones to see them safe to their home, as guides and guardians. I speak as a man of the Snake and as Earth, to offer my sword and my aid.”

  Haya’s gaze fell on Chell. “Just your tribe and element.”

  Chell spoke with her usual confidence. “I speak as a woman of the Boar and as Water. I wish to escort the lost ones, and see them to their home.”

  “I speak as a man of the Cat and as Water,” Arbon’s voice rumbled out. “For I wish to earn a place as a warlord someday, and the quest would add to my honor.”

  “That’s honest,” Seo growled.

  “I speak as a man of the Hawk and as Fire,” El said. “I wish to follow Gilla.”

  Gilla blushed.

  “I speak as a woman of the Snake and as Earth.” Cosana wiped her hands on her thighs. “I, too, wish to restore the honor of this camp.”

  “I speak as a woman of the Snake and as Air.” Tenna trembled as she spoke, her voice soft and meek. “I, too, would restore our honor.”

  “I speak as a man of the Fox and as Air,” Ouse said. “I would learn my enemy, even as I aid them.”

  Haya snorted. “Children asking to quest. Next the sun will come down from the sky and heat my kavage.”

  Quartis raised an eyebrow. “There are already people falling out of the sky. Be careful what you call down upon us.”

  Haya rolled her eyes.

  Lander took a step forward. “Elder Thea, I have made no secret that I wish to be a singer someday. What songs I may sing are yet to be determined. But these people offer a glimpse into other ways and lands. I would learn their language, of their towns and peoples.”

  “Is this a good thing?” Quartis asked.

  “Is any learning wasted?” Lander countered. “If an enemy wields a weapon that is unfamiliar, do we hesitate to learn its arts?”

  Seo coughed, giving Haya a sideways glance.

  Gilla held her breath.

  “You are still children, and will remain children until the ceremony takes place,” Haya growled. “I will hear no more of this. Be about your chores, and swiftly.”

  Gilla didn’t wait to be told twice. She moved, grabbing as many mugs as she could, and headed out of the tent.

  HAYA watched them go, and shook her head. “They’re a bold group.”

  Seo gave her a rare smile. “Brave, to face down an ehat like you,” he said slyly.

  Haya snorted.

  “Change sweeps the Plains, like a grass fire at the height of summer. It destroys, but it brings new growth.” Quartis stood slowly. “I wonder if Keir the Cat fully appreciates what he has started.”

  “This cannot all be laid at his tent,” Haya said. “He did not throw city dwellers through the sky at us.”

  “They are so young, those children.” Seo sighed. “They still seem as babies to my eyes.”

  “But it is well thought out—this plan of theirs,” Quartis pointed out. “And it speaks to your concerns. It offers your protection but removes them from your tents. You offer aid, but do not send your more experienced warriors.”

  Seo nodded. “We walk a fine line between the two sides and the warrior-priests, and protect ourselves. Who can challenge that?”

  “But they sacrifice their first year of service under the warlord.” Haya protested.

  “They can fight for a warlord later,” Seo said. “If they go with the city dwellers, the warrior-priests may make them fight anyway.”

  “I hate this,” Haya said suddenly. “They are so young—their legs are barely sturdy enough to carry them past the horizon.”

  “That is the pain we face each year: to send our young to war and battle,” Quartis agreed. “Young warriors, young horses, we send them too soon.”

  “The sun rises.” Haya stood again. “Come, both of
you, share my pallet. We will talk once we have slept.”

  “I’d welcome that.” Quartis rose.

  They’d taken only a few steps when one of the warriors entered the tent. “Elder Seo, come quickly.”

  “What?”

  “It’s another warrior-priest, Elder.”

  ELEVEN

  EZREN woke slowly, warm and comfortable on his pallet, the blankets wrapped around him.

  Odd how those felt pads could almost be more comfortable than a featherbed. He drowsed for a while, enjoying the faint spicy smell of the blankets. Gurtle fur even stuffed the pillows.

  With eyes still closed, he drew a deep breath, enjoying the warmth and comfort for just a moment longer. He felt rather odd. Tired, but restless. Starved, come to think of it. Part of him wanted to stay in bed for another few days.

  The other part wanted to roast an ox and eat it whole.

  Hunger won out. Ezren opened his eyes.

  The warriors had rigged a top for the burnt-out portion of the tent. They’d managed to close the sides as well. The braziers were placed carefully, and they glowed with coals. Ezren wondered for a moment what the fuel was. There were no trees on the Plains that he had seen. Where did the wood come from? He would have to remember to ask.

  Bethral was sitting up on her pallet, dressed in her armor, sword across her lap, facing the flap. His breath hitched in his throat to see her profile. A veritable Angel of Light. The living embodiment of tales of warrior women—tall, fierce, beaut—

  “Good morning,” Bethral said softly as Ezren blinked his eyes clear. “How do you feel?”

  “Were you on guard all night?” Ezren demanded, rising up on his elbow.

  “Yes.” Bethral gestured to one of the braziers. “There’s warm kavage, but I warn you it’s strong.”