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, limp 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.”

“What are you—” Hail Storm struggled again, but the warriors over him were grim-faced and hard. One of them grabbed his injured arm and pulled it straight out from his body. As the pain flared, Hail Storm bit through his lip in an effort not to scream.

“I’d grant you mercy, warrior-priest,” Antas said, stepping closer, “if I did not need you. Although your value is doubtful. So I will cure you in my own way.”

“No,” Hail Storm snarled. “I will not survive—”

“Need finds a way,” Antas said.

“Do this, and I will kill you,” Hail Storm shrieked, but Antas was unmoved.

“You have to live,” Antas said, shrugging. “Then I will fear.” He brought the axe down in a swift, powerful blow.

Bone shattered and flesh burned.

Everything stopped, even his breath. It was as if it was happening a distance away, to another. Hail Storm watched as the warrior lifted his severed arm, and tossed it into the fire.

The arm lay there, reddened by the coals, charred at the end. His fingers...its fingers moved. Hail Storm reached with his power, and watched as the singed fingers formed a fist.

But then everything crashed down on him. The sounds of the warriors, the sizzle of scorched flesh. His lungs demanded air.

Hail Storm gasped, and then screamed until his breath was gone and the pained darkness claimed him.