“So.” Wild Winds looked at the gagged and bound girl, her hair in disarray, her trous stained and damp. Her face was stained with tears, but her eyes held frustration and rage. A low murmur swept through the crowd of witnesses as they noted her condition.
“This is how you treat the very people we are pledged to serve and protect.” Wild Winds let his anger show in his voice.
“Some must sacrifice, so that the magic can be restored to the Plains,” Hail Storm said, realizing that he had been put on the defensive.
“Willing sacrifice, willingly made,” Wild Winds said. “The very words of our tradition distorted and shifted, as if they were no more than sand in the wind.” He looked about their audience. “And those of you who stand here, the warrior-priests of the Plains, those that are supposed to be the very protectors of our land and our people, you agree with this? Sanction this?”
There were mutterings then, and some heads nodding as if agreeing with Wild Winds. But Hail Storm saw support for himself in the majority of those faces.
He drew his sacrifice dagger. “Wild Winds, answer my challenge. I claim the position of Eldest Elder Warrior-Priest. It is I that will lead our people to—”
“Pah,” Wild Winds said. “You are welcome to it.”
Hail Storm stood there, taken aback. What was the old man doing?
“I renounce my position as Eldest Elder.”
“You can’t reject—”
“Ah, but I do. I reject this path.” Wild Winds’s voice rolled over the crowd like thunder. “There is no honor, no truth in this, none whatsoever.”
“You would not return the magic?” Mist spoke from the edge of the stone.
“If this is what magic requires”—Wild Winds pointed at the girl—“I want none of it. The Plains would be better off without its return.” He lifted his head, and looked around. “Who will turn from this path with me?” With that, he started to walk off the stone, away from Hail Storm.
Hail Storm frowned, uncertain. He could kill the old man . . . but that might cost him support. He stared about, as others started to thread through the crowd, following Wild Winds. He held his breath, then let it out slowly when only twenty or so left the crowd. All young, none with full tattoos.
As Wild Winds left the stone platform, he staggered; a female warrior-priest ran up, and tucked herself under his arm to offer support. That decided Hail Storm. No need to kill a man already dead.
Mist watched Wild Winds leave, and for a moment it seemed as if she, too, would go. But then she turned her head and looked at Hail Storm, and seemed to make her decision.
Good. Hail Storm sheathed his dagger, and gestured for them to remove the hostage from the stone. Better if she was not so obvious. He turned, and smiled at those that remained. “I claim the position of Eldest Elder of the Warrior-Priests of the Plains. Will any say me nay?”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, to Hail Storm’s delight, Mist started the chant to confirm his claim. With a deep sense of joy, he stood at the Heart of the Plains and received his due.
As the chant ended, he bowed his head, then began to speak. “The Sacrifice approaches, and is only a few hours away. There is much to be done. Let the elders gather here with me, and we will make our plans.”
HE’D failed.
Wild Winds was having trouble breathing as he leaned hard on Snowfall. There were only about twenty that had followed him. None with skulls on their staffs. None with their full tattoos. He licked his lips. Perhaps he should release them to return to the ceremony. The chant had just started.
An image flashed in his mind, one of a short woman with long, curly brown hair, looking at him with wide eyes of the lightest blue. Ah, of a certain the winds were laughing. He’d fought the change a Warprize represented, and now here was even worse, from his own people.
“Let us take you to your tent.” Lightning Strike came on his other side, and put his arm on his shoulders.
“No,” Wild Winds gasped. “Take me to that rise. I want to see what happens. There’s one last thing. . . .” He lost his breath, and his legs failed.
“Let us do the work, Eldest Elder.” Snowfall handed his staff to another, and she and Lightning Strike formed a chair with their arms.
“I am no longer eldest elder,” he wheezed.
“You are,” she said. “To us. Now, there’s ehat broth left, and I can—”
“Send someone else,” Wild Winds tried to command, but it came out as a strangled whisper. “I’ve another task for you, if you will. Take a message—”
“Breathe,” she ordered. “I will do whatever you ask, once we are at the top of the rise.”
“Bossy,” Wild Winds muttered, then decided to do the wise thing and do as she said.
“ANOTHER hour,” Lander said, looking at the setting sun. “From what I remember, the Heart is another hour away.”
Chell nodded. “That’s what I think, too.”
Bethral pulled her horse to a stop. “Then we’ll get ready here.”
“Rider,” Ouse said, pulling his bow up and taut.
They all turned and saw a rider coming at a gallop from the direction of the Heart. It was a warrior-priestess, heading right for them. When she saw that she’d been spotted, she raised both hands, to show that she carried no weapon.
“Steady,” Bethral said. They waited.
Chell squinted. “Isn’t that the female who was at the rites?”
“She was with Wild Winds?” Ezren craned to look.
The warrior-priestess pulled her horse up while still at a distance, then dismounted, and started to run toward them, her hands empty and no sword at her waist. She slowed as she neared, then stopped within calling distance. “Ezren Storyteller. I bring word from Eldest Elder Wild Winds.”
Ezren urged his horse forward. “What word?”
The woman walked slowly toward him, her hands held out to the sides. “I am Snowfall, in training with Wild Winds.”
“She offers her name,” Chell whispered, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“He asks that you hear his truths before you confront the one that has caused your warrior to be kidnapped.” Snowfall stood by Ezren’s horse, her face turned toward his. “He has sent me as his living token, your hostage to his honor. Will you come?”
THIRTY-ONE
“I have failed them, and you.” Wild Winds whispered his regret, every word an effort. “I am sorry, Ezren Storyteller.”
Ezren Storyteller knelt by his side as Wild Winds struggled to breathe. “It was not your doing, Wild Winds. I understand that.”
They were just below the rise, on the far side from the Heart. The stars had come out by the time Snowfall had brought them to his side, but there wasn’t much time to talk. They’d dismounted and gathered around where he sat in the grass, his followers surrounding them, keeping watch.
The Storyteller’s chest glowed with magic, and it pulsed to the beat of his heart. The warrior-priests that had followed him were trying hard not to stare at the auburn-haired man.
Wild Winds drew another breath, trying to explain to this city dweller how bad the situation really was.
“I’ve sundered the warrior-priests as surely as Antas the Boar sundered the Council. But the few that followed me, the ones you see here, have not the rank or status to do much, if anything.” Wild Winds stopped to breathe again, and the Storyteller waited patiently. “Snowfall will have my skull for her staff, for what it is worth. But will that be enough?” Wild Winds shook his head.
Ezren Storyteller was looking at Snowfall, who was shaking her head. They clearly thought Wild Winds was rambling, his wits taken by the wind. He still had so much to tell them. And there was no time.
“We could not rescue your warrior. She lies at Hail Storm’s feet.”
That got the Token-Bearer’s attention. She frowned. “Describe the situation to me.”
Wild Winds gestured, and Snowfall gave them the description of the stone, of all the sources of l
ight. The warrior-priests were surrounding it. “We think they will let you in,” she added, “but the archers will make sure that you do not leave. Hail Storm stands at the center, ready to place his blade at the hostage’s—”
“Gilla,” Ezren said. “Her name is Gilla.”
Snowfall nodded. “Gilla’s throat. The area is circled with torches, and the fire pits are all burning. The place is lit as bright as day.”
“We thank you for your truths, Wild Winds.” Ezren looked at Bethral, who nodded and moved toward the horses. Their young warriors were unloading their pack animals, pulling metal pieces from their bags that seemed to match the armor Bethral wore.
“Can you foresee how this will end, Wild Winds?” Ezren asked.
“I cannot,” Wild Winds said. “I only know that Hail Storm is wrong.”
Ezren looked over his shoulder, to where they were working around Bessie. “I will command Chell, Ouse, and Lander to stay here. We don’t need to give them any more hostages. They are to witness the truth of this, and tell the tale.”
Wild Winds nodded. “I’ve commanded my followers to head to Xy. There may be nothing here for them when Hail Storm restores the magics. Whatever happens, their lives will be endangered. Keir of the Cat may not listen, but Xylara—” He stopped, and started to cough. “There . . . there isn’t much time. They will suspect—” Snowfall supported him as he coughed helplessly.
“If I get a chance . . . or a choice . . . I will try to heal—” Ezren started.
Wild Winds shook his head, and reached out to grasp Ezren’s scarred wrist. “No. Heal the Plains, Ezren Storyteller. My time is almost done.”
“As you say,” Ezren stood. “I need to prepare.”
Wild Winds looked at him. “May your Gods walk with you, Ezren Storyteller.”
“Thank you, Eldest Elder.” With that Ezren rose and went to where Bethral was working. The younger warriors had completed their work on Bessie. Wild Winds blinked to see a horse covered in such metal. He’d heard of such a thing, but never had seen armor such as Bethral and her horse wore.
The young warriors were offering Bethral a quiver full of lances; their own, he suspected. She secured them to her saddle, reaching out to take each of their hands.
Bethral of the Horse mounted, and she and her horse glowed in the light of the torches. It was a light different from that carried by the Storyteller. Bethral was all silver, glittering like a star, while Ezren Storyteller glowed like the midday sun.
Ezren’s horse was a fresh one, and they’d strapped a shield to Ezren’s back as well as his arm. He took up a helmet, and gave a nod and a command to the young ones. There was a protest, but then Bethral spoke a command, and the three young ones bowed their heads and stepped back.
The Storyteller stepped to his token-bearer. He said something quietly, then kissed her gently. Wild Winds grunted to himself in approval. At least that much had been accomplished.
Bethral took his helmet from his arm and settled it on his head, securing the strap. They both mounted, and Bethral took her shield from the young man with the broken nose.
Wild Winds narrowed his eyes, trying to get a clearer view. Odd, it looked as if some small animal had leapt to the back of Bethral’s horse, clinging to the bedroll. But Bethral didn’t react.
Wild Winds blinked rapidly, trying to clear his gummy eyes. He had to have imagined that.
BETHRAL turned Bessie to face the cluster of their friends and allies, and Ezren moved his horse beside her. “You don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “You are of the Plains. You could stay here, and live and help—”
Bethral shook her head, her face serene under her helmet. “Ezren Storyteller, I want to live with you forever. How can you not think I wouldn’t die with you as well?”
His throat closed as she graced him with her loving smile.
“Stay close,” Bethral said. “They will let us pass, thinking we will offer ourselves up. But we’re charging through, onto the stone. I’ll hold them off, you free Gilla. Then we fight our way free. If the magic flares within you . . .”
“I’ll burn them all,” Ezren said.
Lander, Ouse, and Chell knelt before them, and bowed their heads.
“We release you from our service,” Ezren said. “The quest is completed.”
“We thank you for your service, warriors of the Plains,” Bethral said.
Ezren raised his voice. “May the Lord of Light and the Lady of Laughter grace your days and nights.”
Lander looked up. “May the elements protect you both.”
Bethral raised her mace over her head. “HEYLA!” she shouted, a battle cry and farewell in one.
“HEYLA!” was the response.
Bethral turned Bessie’s head, and the horse leapt forward, up and over the rise, Ezren close behind.
“HEYLA!” The response tore from Wild Winds’s throat. Everyone around him cried out as well, and surged after Bethral and Ezren, running to the crest of the rise, wanting to watch.
Snowfall and Lightning Strike stayed by his side, but Wild Winds wasn’t satisfied. He tugged at Snowfall’s trous.
Snowfall knelt by his side. “Eldest Elder, do you wish mercy?”
“No,” he managed to croak. “Want to see.”
Snowfall frowned. “You wish to see the end of this?”
Wild Winds laughed weakly as he tried to catch his breath. Snowfall took his arm, and heaved him up as Lightning Strike helped. They each took an arm, and helped him walk to the top of the rise.
“Ah, you are so young,” Wild Winds gasped as he struggled to take a step.
“Save your breath, Eldest Elder,” Lightning Strike said.
“You have so much to learn,” Wild Winds said. “Haven’t you realized yet? All endings are beginnings. And in turn, all beginnings mark the end of something.”
“Just a few more steps,” Snowfall said, ignoring his words.
Ah well, they’d learn. Eventually. Wild Winds smiled to himself as they crested the rise. He lifted his head, and strained to see what was happening at the Heart of the Plains.
BETHRAL led the charge, plunging up and over the rise, screaming the battle cry of the Plains. Ezren was keeping pace, his horse just a head behind.
Heads turned among the warrior-priests. As predicted, the crowd parted, making a narrow path for them to proceed to the Heart. Clearly, they’d planned that she and Ezren would dismount, and surrender themselves.
Bethral let her lips curl in a snarl. Not likely.
Bessie surged under her, charging forward, unconcerned about the humans between her and the goal. Bethral knew full well that few warriors could face a charging horse easily; and a fully armored warhorse was a fearful sight.
Bethral nodded in satisfaction as the eyes of the warrior-priests went wide. They dodged to the sides, scrambling to avoid the charge. The path became wider, and wider still as Bethral swung her mace.
Then Bessie’s hooves rang on the stone, and they were headed straight for the man who had to be Hail Storm.
He’d pulled Gilla up, keeping her before him, his blade at her throat. But his eyes grew wide as Bessie covered the distance between them, headed straight for her target. Bethral almost laughed out loud at the look on his face. She swung her mace high, with every intent of crushing his skull.
Hail Storm jerked back, dodging the charge, dragging Gilla with him. Bethral had her mace ready as she passed, but Gilla was thrust toward her as a shield. Hail Storm ducked his head, his arms wrapped around Gilla as Bessie charged past. Bethral hesitated, checking her blow, cursing.
A yowl cut the air, and the cat launched itself off the bedroll, and straight for Hail Storm’s arms. Claws and teeth bit deep, raking long scores down his tattooed arms.
Hail Storm cried out, releasing his hostage. He flailed with his dagger, fending off the enraged animal.
Gilla dropped and rolled clear as the big roan horse leapt over her, pivoting on its hind legs.
The ca
t fell to the stone, its fur puffed out. It streaked off, disappearing into the grasses at the stone’s edge.
Bethral clung to Bessie’s back, her mace swinging up in preparation. But Hail Storm was fleeing, running for the far edge of the stone, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest.
Bethral cursed, and made to follow. But the warrior-priests around the stone allowed Hail Storm to disappear into their ranks, and brought their bows to bear on her. She could hear the bastard shouting behind their ranks, and some of the others were drawing swords and coming toward her. They wore nothing but their tattoos and their trous. Fools!
“Ezren, free Gilla,” Bethral said as she tried to guard them from all sides at the same time. Hopeless, perhaps. Eventually, they could overwhelm her. But a few broken heads and arms might keep the others at bay. One of them was more foolhardy, rushing toward her with sword and shield high.
Bessie pivoted again and kicked out, striking him in the chest. Everyone heard the ribs break as he was tossed back into the crowd.
Screaming her battle cry, Bethral fell to with a will, trying to be everywhere at once.
GILLA rolled free, avoiding flying hooves as best she could, struggling against her bonds.
“Gilla,” came a voice. She looked up and saw Ezren Storyteller swinging his leg over the horse, preparing to dismount. Bethral was holding off the warrior-priests, but they didn’t have much time. She watched as his boot touched the stone, relaxing at the thought of rescue.
The stone rang with a bell-like tone.
Gilla gasped through her gag. The warrior-priests at the edge of the stone all exclaimed as they backed away, looking around for the source of the sound.
Ezren Storyteller spread his arms, hands out, as if afraid of losing his balance. Gilla half expected him to sink into the stone as if it had turned to water beneath his feet.
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