Simus crawled to the edge of the rise, keeping to the taller grasses. This was where he’d first encountered Wild Winds and Snowfall; it would give them a good view of the Heart and the lakeshore nearby. Elois was next to him, keeping her head as low as she could.

Simus just stared at the destruction. The Council tent was flat, covering the stone Heart, a pile of shredded leather and splintered poles. Bodies, too, of warriors that had fallen trying to defend themselves. “Skies above,” he swore.

All along the shoreline, as far as one could see, a writhing mass of wyverns flew, flapping their wings and snarling and hissing at one another.

Nothing else moved. Nothing dared.

“They had no warning, I’m sure,” Elois choked, but kept on. “The warning horns mingled with the ceremonial ones and the chanting. They didn’t have a chance.”

“Smart move on your part, knocking down my own tent,” Simus said.

“We waited, Tsor and I.” Elois’s voice hitched. She paused, then continued. “We waited for you. Else we’d have been down there with them.”

“Has there been any sign of survivors?” Simus nodded toward the devastation.

“Not so far,” Elois said. She sighed. “At one point, something moved within. The beasts attacked the tent and then tore into it like it was a living thing. I don’t know if any are still alive underneath. Two rescue attempts failed,” she added, nodding toward where a cluster of warriors lay dead.

“Tsor took some of the younger warriors, to stalk the beasts,” Elois continued quickly. “Not to attack, but to watch and learn. He told them to stalk as if hunting prey, but to make no attacks.”

Simus grunted, still considering the mound that was the collapsed Council tent. It was—it had been—the largest of the tents on the Plains, covering the circular stone with tiered seating for the Elders. It lay in shambles now, but it was possible that under its weight, someone survived. Perhaps...was Joden under that mess?

Simus squashed the thought. Best to deal with what he knew. Better to focus on the problem at hand.

“And those that have gathered there?” Simus asked, deliberately not looking behind him at the warriors gathered out of sight of the Heart.

“What remains,” Elois grimaced. “Thirds and Fourths, and the odd Tenth. All lost since their Warlords and Seconds were within the Council tent.” Elois snorted. “And them supposed to take over command if the leaders fall.”

“Go easy,” Simus said. “They’ve never had to deal with something like this. We’ve had to face much that is new and different since dealing with Xy.”

“But nothing like this,” Elois said.

“No,” Simus agreed. “Nothing like this.” He took one last look. “Let’s return.”

They crawled back to the group of warriors waiting, kneeling and sitting in the grass. Their hunched shoulders, and anxious scanning of the skies, was telling.

Snowfall and Hanstau sat to one side. Snowfall, with his permission, was trying to contact Wild Winds. She had a small bowl of water in her hands that shimmered with her power. She met Simus’s eyes, and shook her head slightly before returning to her efforts. So, then: Wild Winds was either dead or unconscious under the debris.

Simus sat before the group, Elois on his right. “I will call this senel to order,” he said, keeping his voice low.

That brought startled heads up to glare at him.

“By what right,” one warrior growled.

“Because no one else did,” Simus said firmly. “We must make decisions, and quickly.”

There was a muttering, but no further protests.

“Tsor, my Second, has taken warriors to watch and learn about the creatures. When they return, we will mount a rescue attempt.” He looked around the group of roughly thirty warriors.

“Another?” one voice said. Simus raised an eyebrow in the speaker’s direction. “Nona, Third to Osa of the Fox,” she said. “We risk more deaths, and there may be no one to aid.” She scowled at him. “My Warlord would say save the living.”

“Mirro, Third to Loual of the Boar,” a male spoke up, his voice flat and angry. “And why would you try, Simus, when those that opposed you are dead?” Mirro’s face contorted as he spoke. “You may be the last living Warlord on the Plains, and you and Keir of the Cat would be free to—”

“I would not want to win that way,” Simus said simply. “Nor would I serve a WarKing that would take that path to power.”

Silence fell over them.

“Those are our best down there,” Simus continued. “Our Warlords, Elders, Seconds, and Token-bearers. We know not if they live, but we must try to save them.”

That brought a stir within the ranks.

“How?” challenged another. “Those creatures—”

“How is this different from an ehat hunt?” Simus flashed the warrior a tight grin. “We need musk teams to draw the monsters away, and then we send in rescuers to dig out the survivors. I think—”

There was a roar of hissing from the Heart. “Something is happening,” Simus said and crouched to go back to the edge of the rise. This time he was followed by a handful of warriors, and his people.

“Ah, no,” Elois whispered.

Simus saw that the edge of the tent was moving as someone struggled out. The wyverns had already caught the movement and were growing agitated.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” Elois whispered, but it was a hopeless plea. The warrior emerged from cover, and bolted directly for them, running with everything she had.

Simus watched in sick fascination, helpless and yet unable to look away. Two wyverns rose with single wing beats, and flew toward their prey with wide, spread wings.

The warrior was close, close enough that they could all hear her ragged breathing. The warriors behind Simus shifted, bringing out bows and crossbows, preparing for—

The nearest wyvern plunged down and hooked its claws in the warrior’s back, bearing her down to the ground. As the woman struggled, the wyvern hissed, whipped its tail around, and stung her.

Movement around Simus ceased. All knew what that meant. The outcome was inevitable, or so he had been told. Simus looked down at his hands, knotted in tight fists.

The other wyvern came up, and for brief moments they fought over the body, driving each other off. As if the creatures had lost interest, both took to the air and glided back to the lakeshore.

The downed warrior moaned.

“The poison will take her soon. We’ve seen this before,” Elois whispered. “Poor—”

A stir in the grass and Hanstau took off, running down the rise.

“What?” Simus’s jaw dropped. The pudgy healer ran like a pregnant gurtle toward the fallen warrior. The wyverns hadn’t noticed him yet, but it was only a matter of—

“That city-dweller has lost his wits,” Mirro said harshly.

“I need him,” Simus growled. “I need his skills. Elois, Tsor, crossbows and lances. We will try—”

A hand touched his arm. “I can save him.” Snowfall looked at him with bright eyes. “Permission?”

Simus hesitated, then nodded, and she was running, following the healer to her death.

 

 

Snowfall took off running as fast as she could, following the healer, keeping an eye on the wyverns. The creatures were stirring, their snake-like heads starting to turn toward the movement.

She’d have little time.

Ahead of her, Hanstau slid in the grass, down, next to the wounded warrior, hunching over her as if he could protect him. Snowfall threw herself down on the opposite side of the injured warrior. “Quiet,” she whispered, and drew on the power around them.

Hanstau’s eyes went wide, staring at her hands but he shook himself, and nodded, going still.

With a deep breath, Snowfall threw a veil up over all three of them.

The wyverns rose on their haunches, craning their long necks, but after what seemed like an eternity, they lowered themselves down and resumed their squabbling.

Snowfall breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel the power flicker. She’d never attempted a veil this large, and if it failed—

“What are you doing?” Hanstau asked, his voice the barest whisper.

“Hiding us,” Snowfall explained. “But they can hear, and maybe scent.”

“This may have not been my brightest idea.” Hanstau’s face was dripping sweat. He was looking at the warrior’s back even as he tried to watch the wyverns. “But I couldn’t let her just die.”

Snowfall grabbed his wrist. “We can’t stay here,” she said, trying to even her breathing. “I may not be able to keep us safe.”

Hanstau bit his lip. “Can we move? Can you help carry her? I can’t alone, but—”

“We will try,” Snowfall said, but then she glared at him. “But if I say for you to run, you will drop her and leave us, and run for your very life. Simus needs you more than—” She frowned at the stubborn expression on the healer’s face. “Swear it.”

“No need for dramatics,” Hanstau said. “Let me get her up, and her arms over our shoulders.”

Snowfall didn’t have the time to argue. “Move slowly,” she said.

“About all I can do,” puffed the healer as he eased the unconscious woman warrior into a seated position, her arm over his shoulder.

Snowfall moved in on the other side, and they got her to her feet.

Hanstau cast one last look back. “So far, so good,” he observed.

Snowfall nodded. “Move with me,” she cautioned and then put all her focus on maintaining the veil and carrying the warrior, trusting Hanstau to guide them.

Her steps blurred into the weight of her burden, the pain, and the power.