Warsong

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Reness broke the kiss. Her breath danced on his cheek. “You are who you are, Hanstau of Xy, and you are who I want. I have a need for you. A need to learn all of you.”

  Hanstau opened his eyes, and stared into hers. Her eyes reflected the stars.

  “Hanstau of Xy, would you share with me this night?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, his mouth dry.

  “Good,” Reness’s smile was bright. “Now, take off those boots.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Antas was fond of the scent of death and smoke on the battlefield.

  Just not in his own camp.

  The sun was just rising, just enough to see. Smoke and stench filled his lungs as he stood with his Token-Bearer and his Second, and considered the damage. All around them his warriors sorted through smoldering tents, stomping the few flames that remained.

  Antas knew that every eye watched and every ear listened.

  “Report,” he commanded softly.

  “Every tent was hit,” Veritt said just as quietly. “Even the small ones. Some only scorched, some completely destroyed. An attack from within.”

  Catha nodded, her arms folded over her chest, her head down. “The dead were all at Reness’s hands,” she said. “Your Warprize is nowhere to be found.” She glanced at him, as if expecting him to explode. “We assume he fled with Reness.”

  Antas nodded, calmly. Now was not the time for rage. He’d save that for later. “Hail Storm?” he asked.

  “No sign,” Veritt said. “He disappeared in the confusion.”

  “And the Singer?” Antas asked.

  “Gone as well,” Veritt said. “But he only left with what he had on him. His tent was burned slightly.”

  “Hail Storm.” Antas raised his voice. “It had to be. Only a warrior-priest would have the power to do this. He has betrayed us.”

  He looked at Veritt and Catha, but from the corner of his eye he could see nods and scowls on the faces around them. Good. Let their hate be focused elsewhere.

  “Yet he was seated next to you when the drums sounded,” a dry voice spoke from behind him.

  “Ietha,” Antas said, and made sure he was smiling before he turned.

  Warlord Ietha stood there, surrounded by her people, her arms folded over her chest. “You held the Eldest Elder Thea captive?” she demanded, as if she didn’t already know the answer to her question.

  “No,” Antas said. “I offered the warmth of my tents and asked her to stay to discuss the situation, and listen to my way of thinking. I wanted to persuade her.” He shrugged. “I admit that I had forgotten the extent of her stubbornness.” He sighed, and rubbed his hand over his face. “And perhaps I was stubborn in my own way,” he admitted.

  A snicker of laughter rose around them. Ietha’s mouth quirked in one corner. “Perhaps?”

  Antas shrugged again, then gave her a sheepish grin. Which was too much too fast, as Iaetha frowned again.

  “To hold an Eldest Elder against their will, is not the way of the Plains, Antas.”

  “Ietha,” Antas shook his head. “How could I hold her against her will? A thea? No, if she truly wished to leave she would have been gone or dead on her own blade.”

  There were nods to that, and he hurried on, making a wide gesture to draw their eyes to the camp. “The damage is done now. Hail Storm must have plotted with Reness against us.”

  Ietha considered him.

  “Who else could use his power in such a way?” Antas demanded. “And after all that we had done for him. Offered food and shelter and—”

  “Cut off his arm,” Ietha added drily.

  “Saved his life, from the sickness within him,” Antas said. “Caused by a city-dweller, coming to the Plains.”

  “Yet he has fled,” Ietha said. “With Reness.”

  “And my Warprize,” Antas growled. “We are betrayed.”

  “He was seated beside us in the tent,” Ietha frowned again.

  Antas shrugged. “Who knows the power of a warrior priest?”

  “I am almost of a mind to cry challenge on you.” Ietha hadn’t moved, hadn’t changed her stance, but the threat was there now, in the air between them.

  The winds died, and it seemed as if the entire camp held still in anticipation. For a wild breath, he thought of pulling his sword, and running her through with a swift lunge, but sanity prevailed. He needed her and her warriors, and she knew that.

  Carefully, Antas made a show of sighing, and slowly running his hand through his hair.

  “I would have no warrior beside me that is not fully supportive of me, and my cause.” He said mildly. “We think alike, you and I. We defend the traditional ways, and would resist the changes Keir and his like would force upon us.”

  “We do,” Ietha said and with that the tension was gone. “Let us see to this mess, and then consider our options.”

  “Agreed,” Antas said.

  Hail Storm and his new apprentice traveled far enough during the night to be out of sight of the camps, away from any that might interfere with the lesson. Jahal had gathered supplies and two horses. The horses were ground tied now, and far enough away that they did not object to Hail Storm’s presence.

  They’d stopped to eat, and Hail Storm had the young one set snares. “For your first lesson,” he said casually, and the boy’s face had lit up.

  They’d talked as they waited. Earnest and eager, the boy had revealed more than he’d known. About the theas being suspicious of Hail Storm’s intentions. About how no other of his tent mates had been interested in the warrior-priest’s words.

  “But I am,” Jahal assured him. “I want to learn.”

  Hail Storm nodded silently, and considered. The boy seemed malleable and easily influenced. He’d no fear that he could train him on this new path to power. Once he’d claimed the dark power for himself, the boy would lose the ability to use the elemental magics, and really have no choice but to join with Hail Storm.

  But first, to let him make his first sacrifice.

  “Kill it, and see what I see,” Hail Storm demanded.

  Jahal looked down at the rabbit squirming in his hands.

  Hail Storm stood behind the boy, just to the side, watching.

  Jahal’s lips thinned, as he knelt and pressed the rabbit to the ground. He thrust his blade into its throat. The rabbit convulsed in his hands, its blood staining Jahal’s fingers.

  “You can see it,” Hail Storm asked. “The life as it flows out? Capture that dark essence and make it your own.”

  “I can,” Jahal’s voice cracked in excitement. “I can see it, Elder.”

  Hail Storm was careful not to sniff at the boy’s enthusiasm. There was little in the way of power from the death of the tiny animal, but it was a start. Once he’d learned the darker path, they could—

  “I see both, the golden and the dark, all the power!” Jahal crowed.

  Both? He sees both?

  Rage flooded through Hail Storm, pure fury that made his vision go dark, blurring his sight. He has what I’ve lost.

  Of its own accord, his hand pulled out his bone knife. A mere step and yank on the boy’s hair and his knife plunged itself into Jahal’s throat.

  Even as the blade hit bone, Hail Storm regretted his action. Alive, unharmed, the boy was worth more to him… but what was done was done. He followed the body down into the grass, and as he had with Arched Colors, he drained the boy’s power and life as he died.

  Yet with Arched Colors he’d been pressed for time, and here, now, he could take the time to go further, to drain every bit of energy until the body was a dried husk of nothing.

  Hail Storm knelt there, panting, feeling the exultation of the power he’d drawn within.

  One of the horses snorted, scenting the blood.

  Hail Storm froze. The packs. The supplies. They were still on the horses.

  Mentally he cursed himself for a fool. The horses tolerated the boy, but they wouldn’t tolerate his approach. He glanced over. They
were a fair distance off, there would be no way he could reach them before they bolted.

  But he’d power now, didn’t he? And as he had done with that captive, he could use it well.

  Hail Storm rose slowly to his feet, clutching the knife in his right. He turned, focused on both the horses, and reached out, clutching his fist tight.

  Both horses jerked their heads up, their eyes rolling in their heads, but unable to move. Their chests heaved as they fought for freedom.

  Hail Storm strode forward, focused on their struggle, letting his power flow out.

  Sweat gleamed on their hides, foam flecking in the corners of their mouths.

  Hail Storm stopped steps away, his own breathing ragged and hard. They were big animals, bigger than a human, and they were struggling. His control was slipping.

  A moment’s thought, and he released the one with the saddle. It reared, screaming its fear, and galloped off.

  The other fought, but Hail Storm’s control held.

  He drew closer, the blade in his hand. He couldn’t subdue a living horse to his will for long.

  But a dead one?

  It took Quartis a few days to locate Essa and the others. While he had a general idea of the location, it wasn’t like the Eldest Elder wanted to be found.

  He passed the guards on watch, and then headed toward the main tent where they had gathered for the evening meal.

  He pushed through the flap, and the laughter and music stopped.

  “Quartis,” Essa called from his elevated seat on the wooden platform. “What news?”

  Quartis stood before him, bowed, and then started talking. There was much to tell, and halfway through someone pushed a mug of kavage into his hand.

  At the end, Essa shook his head, and gestured for Quartis to sit next to him on the platform. “Eat,” he said.

  Quartis balanced his mug with a platter of fried gurtle meat and flat bread. The red flakes were thick, just the way he liked it. The spicy scent made his mouth water.

  “Eldest Elder,” Para stood. “What will we do?”

  Essa shrugged. “Summer comes. It is the Season of War. Many of the Warlords have gone off to loot, to plunder, and raid, for the benefit of the Plains and the Tribes, as they do every summer. It is the way of our people. It is in our blood.”

  Quartis hurried to swallow. “Singers too,” he said.

  “Singers too,” Essa said. “But this season, the warriors with Keir and Antas will sit idle in the heat, waiting for a confrontation that will not come for perhaps months. Maybe at the Fall Council, maybe at the borders of Xy itself.” Essa regarded the room. “Regardless they will gather at the Heart whoever prevails, and we will be waiting.”

  “So, we will do as we have always done. What do we normally do in this season? We gather. We sing, exchange news, and talk. But unlike other seasons of war, in this season we will not join the armies. We will scatter into the grasses, to stay safe and low until—” he broke off as one of the guards entered the tent, clearly agitated. “What is it?”

  “Eldest Elder, the tent of the Ancients has appeared.”

  Quartis could feel the loathing rolling off of the Eldest Elder Singer as Essa rose to his feet. He pitied the man, even as he took another bite. To have to face those—

  “Quartis,” Essa commanded. “Come with me.”

  Quartis scrambled to his feet, swallowing and wiping his hands on his trous. He followed Essa out of the tent, and they both stood looking at a far rise where a tent stood alone against the horizon.

  Essa swore under his breath, and started walking through the tall grass. Quartis followed.

  It had been years since his Trial as a Singer. Quartis only had a vague memory of the Ancients when they had blessed him. The tent was as dark and hot as he remembered, and the three old figures wrapped in blankets had not changed.

  Essa marched up to stand in front of them, and glared. “What?” he demanded. “It’s not enough you have cost me a fine, potential—”

  “Where is Joden of the Hawk?” Came a thin, quavering voice.

  Essa gaped at them. “You don’t know?” he asked.

  The Ancients stared at him with three sets of glittering eyes. Quartis felt the very air grow thick and oppressive.

  “You don’t know,” Essa breathed.

  The silence was deafening. Quartis’s heart pounded in his ears.

  Essa folded his arms over his chest. “When we opened the grave, Joden was gone.”

  “Dead?” this voice was a cackle. Wavering and uncertain to Quartis’s ears.

  “We’d know,” a third voice said. “We’d know if he were—”

  “Silence,” whispered the last voice.

  “You are supposedly all powerful, all knowing,” Essa demanded. “And yet you—”

  “Be gone,” the voices chorused, and with that Quartis found himself outside the tent, Essa at his side. Before he could even turn, he knew the tent was gone.

  “What was that about?” he asked Essa.

  “I have no idea,” Essa said. He glanced behind, snorted, and then started walking back to camp. “But my decision is made. We will fade into the grass, and stay safe and distant from any and all disputes. Except for you, Quartis.”

  “Me?”

  Essa nodded. “You, I am sending to the border of Xy. You will be my eyes and ears.”

  “To watch for?” Quartis pressed.

  “Whatever is to come.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Joden awoke to Amyu in his arms, the camp stirring around them.

  Amyu was warm, cuddled close, her head under his chin. He breathed in the scent of her hair, as he blinked against the morning. Something smoky in the smell, carrying a hint of the grasses of the Plains and the open sky.

  Rafe knelt by the fire, stirring up the coals. Joden caught his eye.

  Rafe smiled. “Toasted bread with gurt, and some hot kavage before we start,” Rafe offered. “Then we will get you to Water’s Fall.”

  “If he can ride,” Fylin said, setting flat bread to warm on the stones.

  “He can ride,” Amyu said sharply. She moved in his arms and Joden released her with regret. She rose, tossing the blankets aside. Joden stood slowly, feeling every bruise, and started to fold blankets.

  “We could load you up in that cheese wagon, and haul you to the city.” Rafe made the offer with a grin, his eyes sparkling as he nodded toward the wagon over by two big wooden doors.

  Joden stopped what he was doing, narrowed his eyes and glared at Rafe.

  Rafe laughed, and shrugged. “Just as well. I have no idea how you harness horses to it anyway.”

  Amyu wore her leathers, and now stared at the mass of white cloth Joden had shed the night before. She frowned. “This is the worse for wear.” She glanced over at the wooden doors. “I wonder if there is anything in there we could use.”

  Joden caught her eye, and tilted his head toward the doors with a lift of his brow.

  “It’s where they store their cheese,” she explained. “Those saddles I told you about? They are in there as well.”

  “Locked up tight,” Soar said as she brought out a sack of gurt. “Kalisa’s…” she paused, frowning. “Sons of sons?”

  “Nephews.” Rafe said firmly. “They moved most of the herds to different grasses and locked up the barn. Not too happy, it seems.”

  Amyu flushed bright red.

  Joden stepped close, and took the white cloth from her hands. “W-w-we can m-m-make this work.” he said.

  “Best not to shock the city-dwellers with naked Firelanders,” Rafe laughed. “At least, not this early in the morning!”

  It felt good to be riding again. The feel of the horse under him, the reins in his hand, the wind on his face, it was all familiar and welcome to Joden.

  Rafe had taken the lead and the other warriors had surrounded Joden. Amyu had dropped back, behind and to Joden’s right. He frowned at her, but she shook her head at him. He gave her a nod, and faced front. N
ow was not the time to make an issue of her status.

  Not that he had the words to aid her, or argue in her defense.

  The road ahead went through the trees, heading down to the valley before the City of Water’s Fall. Rafe had said it would take a few hours, and he kept them at a good pace.

  Joden tried to focus on riding, and not on the meeting to come. While it would be good to see Lara and Keir again, whether Master Eln or Lara could heal his affliction was not something he wanted to think about.

  Had the winds done this? Joden strived to remember. He’d asked to take the old paths. He could remember singing to the others, dancing in the ring of earth. But the memories grew hazy and faint, until there was a blank in his mind. Joden shook his head, as if the motion would restore lost thoughts. He’d never felt this before, being unable to recall. It was a terrible, empty feeling and—

  “Finally,” Rafe called out ahead. “I can see the walls.”

  Joden lifted his head. They were coming out of the trees and the ruins of Water’s Fall stood before them.

  Ruins.

  Joden sucked in a breath.

  The great city was shattered, destroyed. The walls had fallen, mere rubble before them. The proud gates were gone, only angry black scorch marks in their place. The buildings were collapsed within, their roofs sagging or gone completely. There were no signs of life, other than the wyverns wheeling above in the sky, circling and circling—

  “Let’s run for a bit,” Rafe called and urged his horse to a gallop.

  Joden frowned, but said nothing. Did they not see what he saw? A glance told him that they didn’t, or at least that they thought nothing of it. He looked back at Amyu, but she returned his look with one of concern, not shock.

  Joden turned to stare again, only to find the city walls whole and well, with guards walking the walls, scanning the clear skies above.

  His horse kept up with the others of its own will. Joden was too stunned to do more than keep his seat. What had he seen? He had seen it. It had been as real as his own breath. But now it was gone.