The city guards hustled Amyu to the Castle, hugging the sides of the buildings, keeping a wary eye for the flying beasts as they trotted along deserted streets.

The Castle was a brooding presence, guards with bows and crossbows at every window. The Palace guards rushed her through the gardens and the kitchens, avoiding the courtyard. The monster that had attacked the day before was still laying there, its carcass being rendered for removal.

“Nobody’s tried to eat it yet,” one of the guards muttered. “But there’s interest in the leather and other bits.”

Amyu nodded silently.

“The Queen’s in the Council Chamber, with the Overlord. The Seneschal’s there, with the others.”

Amyu nodded again. Up the stairs then and through the corridors. She knew the way, but the guards didn’t leave her side. Amyu didn’t complain; everyone was jittery and on edge.

So was she, if she were honest.

As they climbed the stairs, Amyu realized that Eloix’s blood was still on her hands and leathers. Amyu shuddered, trying to conceal her fear. She’d never been in battle, never killed another, never watched a warrior bleed out before her eyes.

Maybe being a child was not such a bad thing.

But before she could scold herself for such a cowardly thought, they reached the double doors of the Council room, and heard voices raised inside. Amyu paused, drawing a steadying breath, and then opened the doors, hoping to slip in quietly.

The large stone room was darker than normal, with wooden shutters drawn closed over the windows. Candles flickered as her entrance stirred the air, causing the tapestry behind them to rustle against the wall. The airion on the tapestry almost seemed alive as the cloth moved. A blend of horse and eagle, its wings flaring in the candlelight.

All of the chairs that normally surrounded the large Council table had been pushed back. The table was covered with large swaths of paper. ‘Maps,’ as Xyians called them. Many people were crowded about the table, but Amyu focused on the Warprize and her Warlord.

The Warprize was the first to speak, her fey blue eyes wide. “Amyu, is that blood?”

The talk in the room went silent, and every eye focused on her.

Amyu flushed, and looked down at the blood smeared on her leathers. “It is not mine,” she assured her. “I was at Master Healer Eln’s when a messenger from the Plains was brought in with a wyvern-sting.” Hopefully, none would question as to why she had been there. Amyu lifted her gaze, only to be caught by the Warlord’s piercing blue eyes as he stared at her.

“Report,” he commanded.

Faces grew grimmer all around as she explained Eloix’s injury. They’d known the warrior and they knew what happened to those wyvern-stung. But the Warprize held out hope. “Was Eln able to counter the poison?” Lara asked. Her face fell when Amyu shook her head.

“Were Eloix’s rites seen to?” Wilsa asked, her face a mask of pain. She stood next to Lord Marshall Warren.

“I aided her to thank the elements before she went to the snows. I did not presume to do more.” Amyu kept her voice steady, trying to hide her trembling. “Eln said he would keep her body there, until a warrior could perform the rites.”

“And her words?” Keir demanded.

“I have them,” Amyu said. She took a deep steadying breath and began, repeating Eloix word for word, translating it into Xyian as she went.

It was only when the Warprize went pale that Amyu realized she was reciting it as Eloix had spoken it, with every gasp and moan as she’d fought past her pain to deliver her charge. Amyu looked away, closed her eyes, and continued, concentrating on the recitation. But she made sure to stop before the death ritual began.

“That was all,” Amyu finished. “Other than her death.”

“Skies above,” Keir said, his voice a bare whisper. “You did well, Amyu.”

“You did,” Wilsa said. “I will see to Eloix’s rites myself.”

Lord Marshal Warren was standing next to the Warlord, and he frowned at her. “Are you sure that was all?” he asked. “That you got it right?”

Amyu stiffened at his words, but surprisingly Wilsa came to her defense. “Warren, you city-dweller. Remember our memories.”

“Ah, lass, I meant no insult,” Warren said ruefully. “I ask pardon.”

“What does it mean?” the Warprize asked.

Keir stood, his arms crossed, staring at the top of the table, brooding. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Simus is facing those bragnects alone.”

“Not alone,” Atira of the Bear spoke up from where she stood next to Heath of Xy, Seneschal of the Castle. “Simus has his people, including Yers. And more will flock to his side.”

“Should you go to him? Go to the Plains?” Lara asked quietly, and the pain and the strength in her voice was clear.

Keir shook his head, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side. “We are under attack by these monsters,” he said. “I must see to the safety of Xy before we discuss leaving. Let us deal with the troubles before us.”

“Here is what we know,” Lord Marshal Warren said, spreading out a large map of the City and the fields beyond.

The others drew closer to the table, but Amyu faded back to stand against the wall. She debated leaving, her message delivered, but she didn’t want to disturb their work. She’d wait, and slip out at the first chance. The solid stone felt good on her back, and its coolness seemed to leech out her tremors.

“The first attack was just yesterday, on the day of Heath and Atira’s wedding,” Warren continued.

“Bonding,” said Atira, giving Heath a fond glance.

“That was the first we saw of the beasts. Heath managed to kill it with one of the Plains lances,” Warren said. “We lost one man to the sting that day. As far as we could tell, it came down from the mountains, and its target was the horses in the courtyard.”

“The stinger,” Lara said. “That was given to the healers, correct?”

“Yes,” Warren said. “They’re still clearing the carcass. Hard to believe the size of its claws, and its horns.”

“It’s a fearsome creature,” Wilsa agreed. “But we know they can die. Since the first attack, dozens of the creatures have been sighted, all hunting in the fields beyond the walls. Since that first attack, we’ve kept the people and the animals in the City under cover.”

Warren spread out a new map, a larger representation of Xy. “It seems that the creatures roost in the mountains. Once we moved the herds down into the trees, there were fewer attacks. But they still go after horses and cattle.”

“And any riders on the roads,” Keir said grimly.

“Lances work best to kill them,” Heath said. “Crossbows as well.”

Detros, head of the Palace Guard, nodded his head. “I’ve men trained with both on the walls and on watch. They’ll not take us by surprise again.”

“How far have they spread through the land?” Keir asked.

“I don’t know,” Warren said. “But the gods help anyone caught out in the open with no warning.”

“We’ve taken down all the flags and pennants from the Castle walls,” Detros said. “They’re attracted to movement.”

“The Trials have started,” Keir said. “The challenge banners will have been raised.”

“The Plains...” Xylara whispered.

Amyu’s stomach clenched at the idea of the monsters attacking her home.

“Before his death, Father sent crossbows and bolts in the supply caravan,” Heath said firmly. “And obsidian for making lances.”

“And we don’t yet know if the wyverns have attacked the Plains,” Atira said. “It may be they are only here in the mountains.”

Truth, to be sure, but Lara didn’t seem any more reassured then Amyu was. The warriors would have no warning, and the poison in their stings—

“The Plains will fight.” Keir’s voice was a rumble. “And they will kill the beasts. Remember, on the Plains, one can see open sky for miles around.” He shared a look with the Warprize who smiled, but did not look any more confident.

The door behind Amyu opened and Archbishop Iian stumbled through, his arms filled with scrolls and books, followed by two acolytes, their arms just as burdened.

“I may have found something,” Iian said as he tried to thrust part of his load into Amyu’s arms. She took a step back, and he stopped and blinked at her, noticing the blood.

“Are you hurt?” he asked urgently.

“I’m fine.” Amyu suppressed a smile. The archbishop had come into his office suddenly, and was not much older than she was. But he handled his duties with skill and dignity. He’d been the one to recognize the wyverns and give them a name.

“What have you found?” Keir leaned forward eagerly.

The archbishop recalled himself, and deposited his books on the table. Iian pulled out one that looked the oldest to Amyu’s eyes and opened it to a place marked with a ribbon.

“An ancient reference, with illustrations, if you can believe.” Iian let the book fall open.

Amyu gasped at the vibrant colors. Both pages were covered in a picture of what had to be the Castle and the city of Water’s Fall. In the air, wyverns flew, and were being attacked from the air by airions, and from below by some sort of contraptions.

Everyone leaned in to look.

“I know it seems fantastical,” Iian said. “With the airions in the skies. But look at—”

“Are those riders on their backs?” Amyu breathed, caught by the image of people riding the airions. A wave of longing swept through her. “Is that even possible?”

“There are stories,” Lara said. She chuckled. “But they are old tales of fey times. Kalisa, in the marketplace, claims her ancestors rode them.”

“I care not for fantasies,” Keir said as he drew the book closer. “But those crossbows on the towers—”

“They are called ballistas,” Iian said, pulling out another scroll. “And here is a reference to their manufacture.”

“Something like that, even if we could learn the way of it, would take time,” Heath protested.

“And here—” Iian drew out yet another scroll, “—is a reference to where the parts were stored when they were disassembled after the creatures were banished.”

“Stored?” Heath asked. “Where?”

“Banished?” Lara asked. “How?”

“In the old passages into the mountain. As to the banishment, I don’t know,” Iian admitted. “Perhaps with more time to research—”

“Those old passages are a maze,” Heath said. “But there are storage places here and there. Whether the parts remain is another story. In the meantime—”

The door opened, letting in a fresh breeze that set the candles dancing and the tapestry moving against the wall. “Warlord,” a guard said tersely, clearly struggling with his composure. “Five more of the fell creatures are overhead.”

The warriors all headed for the door, orderly, but wasting no time.

“Keep looking,” Keir said to Iian. “The past may yet aid us in this fight.”

“I will,” Iian promised.

“We could still send a messenger to the Plains,” Lara said hurriedly. “Get word to Simus.”

“I can spare no warriors,” Keir said firmly.

“Amyu could go,” Lara insisted.

Amyu flushed, and looked down.

“No, Lara,” Keir said, but his eyes were not unkind. “Aside from Amyu’s status, I will risk no one until we have contained this threat.”

With that, he was gone with the others.

“Amyu,” Lara sighed. “I—”

“I will clean up,” Amyu said. “Before I return to my duties.”

“That would be best,” Lara said with a smile, and followed the others out of the room.

The door closed behind her, and with the drafts gone, the tapestry settled against the wall. Although the airion’s eyes caught Amyu’s eye, for they still seemed to gleam in the light.

What would it be like, to ride such a thing?

Iian was gathering up his scrolls and books. “I’ve more reading to do,” he said, sounding pleased.

“I would help you with those,” Amyu offered.

“I thank you, but—” Iian gestured at her leathers and wrinkled his nose.

“Ah.” Amyu grimaced and nodded.

Iian returned her nod amiably, as he rolled and stacked his scrolls carefully. “Amyu, why didn’t the Warlord send you as a messenger?”

Amyu’s throat closed, but his question was an honest one. He was Xyian, he’d have no way of knowing. “It would not serve,” she replied. “To my people, I am a child who will never go through the Rite of Ascension. I should have gone to the snows long ago for my failure to produce warriors for the Tribe. In their eyes, I am a failure.”

“Oh. I see.” Iian studied her, no judgment in his gaze, just a natural curiosity. Then, like a wise Singer of the Plains, his gaze sharpened, and his eyes bored into hers. “And in your eyes, Amyu? In your own eyes, what are you?”

She found she had no answer.