The airion did, it seemed. It clucked with seeming regret, tucked its wings in, and… fell.
Amyu shrieked, and lost her grasp on the mane. The airion’s body was slipping out from under her. Her stomach gave a huge lurch. She’d fall and—
The wings snapped out and the airion slowed. The hesitation was enough for Amyu to regain her seat and her grip. Her heart racing, Amyu remembered the saddles in the cave, with the buckles and harness for the rider.
Sheer instinct gave her power. “Aid me,” she cried out, and the magic responded as if a saddle. Golden light wrapped around her waist securing her to her mount.
The airion creed, pulled in its wings and once again they plunged to earth, down toward the field where the cows were starting to run, mooing their distress. Amyu gulped against the feeling of having no weight, but then the wings spread again, and she grunted as the creature slowed.
Light as a feather, the airion settled down to the earth. Amyu released the golden straps, and dismounted, falling to her knees. The world spun as she laughed and emptied her stomach. She’d found them. Against all odds, she’d found—
“Amyu?” a voice called.
She was on her feet in a moment, her blades out. She stared at the group of people coming toward her. “Cadr?”
“What are these?” one of them asked, pointing.
Amyu turned to see her airion, the golden one, leap for a cow, and bring it down with a bite through its spine. The herd was setting up a ruckus, scattering into the woods as shadows passed over the field. She looked up to see more airions in the sky above her, circling. All different colors, their wings spread, their cries filling the air.
“Airions,” she laughed, sheathing her weapons. She wiped her face, the taste of vomit and success in her mouth. “They’re airions.”
Quick introductions were made, with quick explanations as they watched the airions devour the dead cow.
“Look at those claws,” the man named Rhys said. Amyu knew he was not of the Plains, but little else.
“Talons,” another corrected him. Sidian. Older, and the bushiest eyebrows to rival Enright’s. He wore the ritual scarring of a full warrior-priest. They all bore some partial tattoos of warrior-priests, except Rhys, Gilla, and Cadr.
The other airions had joined the golden one at tearing at the carcass. Amyu wasn’t going to get close to them while they were feeding. But she and the others looked their fill, and it was glorious. She was still lightheaded, from the discovery and the flight.
She had flown. Amyu’s smile was so wide her face hurt.
“Can anyone ride them?” Lightning Strike asked.
“I don’t know,” Amyu continued to stare as she described her first flight and the drop. They all nodded at the description of the saddle.
“Makes sense,” Cadr said. “What if you were injured in mid-air?”
“We’ve so much to learn,” Amyu said. Then she frowned, something other than flying invading her thoughts. “Where did you come from?” she asked. “Did you meet the Warlord coming from the Plains?”
“Well,” Lightning Strike shrugged. “We didn’t exactly walk.”
Amyu opened her mouth to demand more, but the alarm horns were sounding from the walls again. “They think it’s a threat,” she frowned. “We need to get word to them.”
Sidian shook his head. “You need to go tell them.” He said with a grin. “Might warn them about us, too.”
“I’ll take a horse,” she started but just then the golden airion danced over, its wings half-spread, clacking its beak and tossing its head.
“Oh, lass,” Sidian laughed. “How can you resist making an entrance like that?”
Amyu kept her mount clear of any crossbow shot, flying high over the city, heading to the castle. The air grew colder the higher they went, and it felt like she was losing her breath, but better that than a bolt to the chest.
She circled the highest tower, seeing Enright ringing his alarm bell, until she saw Heath and Atira burst through the trap door, swords at the ready. She warbled then, using the calls of the Plains, calling ‘friend’ and ‘scout reporting’.
Atira sheathed her weapons, but it took sometime before the others lowered their crossbows.
She urged the airion down then and it obeyed, its wings beating as it landed, raising a cloud of dust.
Amyu released her magic, and dismounted with much more grace than before. She couldn’t help grinning at the looks on their faces while they were all staring at the golden creature beside her.
Who promptly nudged her shoulder and creed. She reached up, and scratched under its mane.
All eyes shifted to her, then, and she tried for a more dignified look. “Heath, Warden of Xy,” she started formally, but then her joy was too much for her. “I found them!”
Other people flooded the area, Warren, Wilsa, and more guards. They all froze and approached cautiously.
“You did,” Heath laughed with her. “How did you—”
Amyu pulled the sword from her back. “Warden,” she said solemnly. “The Crystal Sword of Xy is whole again.”
That brought a gasp from everyone, at the sight of the sword in her hands. It glittered blue in the sunlight, and the stone of the ring flashed as well. Amyu noticed that Enright was using his white cloth to wipe his eyes.
“The protectors of Xy have arisen,” Amyu said as she gave the Sword and Ring back to Heath.
“Them?” Heath exclaimed. “There’s more?”
“Yes,” Amyu said. “Of various colors, including black. They are with the others. We didn’t want them flying off toward the walls, for fear they would be harmed.”
“Is it tame?” Atira asked, eyeing the sharp beak and talons.
“So far,” Amyu said. “But we have much to learn. The others are willing,” she grinned again, remembering the look of horror on some faces. “Well, some are.”
“Others?” Heath asked.
Amyu took a deep breath. “The warrior-priests-in-training,” she said.
Atira and Wilsa stiffened.
Amyu continued, “The ones that Joden spoke of. They heard me call to the airions and used their powers to travel here. They will aid me, if you allow it.”
“Warrior-priests,” Atira’s voice was flat and angry.
Amyu stared her down. “Yes. They seek their place, as I seek mine. As a barren woman of the Plains. As a child who disobeyed her elders. As a magic-wielder. As one who has given her oath to the Warlord and Warprize.”
Atira dropped her eyes, glanced at Heath, and then nodded. “Truth,” she acknowledged. “But they have not yet given their oaths.”
“We will come to you,” Heath said. “We will talk, and see what comes of that. What needs do you have?”
Amyu mounted the airion, and called her magic to form the straps. “We are in the fields outside of Kalisa’s cheese cave,” she said. “We need the saddles within, and new ones made,” she frowned again. “And more cows. I do not wish to wipe out their herd.”
“If they eat cows,” Heath laughed. “Then more cows you shall have. We will come as quickly as we can, Amyu of the Skies.”
Amyu jerked her head around to look at Heath. He bowed his head as a warrior bows to another. Her gaze traveled over all of them, and they all bowed their heads to her.
Emotion welled up in her chest. Pride, joy and something she dared call happiness.
Amyu blinked rapidly against her tears and urged her mount with her knees. The great creature creed and sprang up and off the tower, its wings spread as it dipped then rose gloriously into the sky.
Her heart was full. And maybe, just maybe, some of the cracks within were healing. But the largest crack? The largest flaw?
Joden was not here to see. To know. To share.
If she wept as she flew, only the skies were witness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joden was behind Queen Xylara as she rode out, waving to her people, using something called a sidesaddle. Cheers and w
ell-wishes filled the air as the joint forces of Xy and the Plains passed through the gates of the City of Water’s Fall.
“I know, it looks odd to you,” Lara had wrinkled her nose at all of the Plains warrior’s comments. “But trust me, it’s the only way I am going to mount Greatheart at this point.”
The crowd loved her, and there were just as many cries of support for Warlord Keir of the Cat, Overlord of Xy, who rode at the side of his beloved, waving to the crowd between worried glances at the saddle.
“Stop that,” Lara said at one point. “I am not going to fall.”
Keir just gave her a skeptical look.
Once he saw the gates. Joden kept his eyes on his horse’s mane. It was a truth, but if the dead were waiting outside the city walls, it felt like more than he could bear. But he couldn’t help himself, and after a few minutes, he glanced around.
The fields were empty except for the burial mounds.
He drew a breath, and sat a bit straighter, grateful and yet disappointed as well.
After an hour, they came to a rise, where wooden wagons were waiting under heavy guard. Rafe and Prest were there as well. The royal contingent pulled off the road, as the army continued on.
Lara dismounted quickly. “Are they still sleeping?” she asked as Keir aided her up onto the wagon.
“Yes,” Anna said. “As sweetly as you could wish,” she was settled in a corner with the babe’s baskets beside her. “I swear the rocking motion soothes them.”
Marcus turned where he sat next to the driver. “Let us offer to the elements for that,” he said. “Now settled yourselves, and let’s be off. The army is leaving us behind.”
Lara nodded, and sat opposite Anna on a pallet of gurtle pads and pillows. “Anna, are you sure you—”
“You are not going without me,” Anna said firmly.
Joden had to admire the woman’s grim determination. A city-dweller her entire life, she was leaving her kitchens, her family, her world behind to care for her loved ones. There was a fierce commitment in her eyes, covering over her nervousness.
Keir was talking to the Xyian guard. “Keep them in the middle at all times. There will be Plains warriors in front and behind you.”
“Aye, Warlord,” The man said. “We’ll keep them safe.”
Keir gave a nod, and the wagon headed out, merging in with the mounted units.
Keir mounted. “The wagons will remain in the center,” he said. “Have the scouts gone out?”
Prest gave a nod. “I have them ranging to the fore, the sides and behind. I also assigned watchers to the skies to watch for wyverns.”
“Warren and Wilsa have the front,” Keir ‘s mount stamped under him, expressing its impatience, and he patted its neck. “I will travel with each unit in turn, but I will spend each night with Lara at the wagons.” He gave a rueful smile. “At least, that is my intent. We will see what the skies will.”
A murmur of assent. One never knew what the need would be when the armies marched.
“We are limited,” Keir said. “The Xyians march well, but we must travel at their pace.” He looked out after the army, moving slowly past the rise. “Also, we bear supplies for Liam and Simus and any other Warlord that joins with us. Those wagons slow us as well.” Keir looked at Joden. “Which is where you come in, Joden. Our travel will be slow, and I worry that Xyian and Plains will not all rub along smoothly. Especially since they are all men, although I think they have learned there is a price for disrespect to our warriors. If you would, be my eyes and ears where I cannot be. Let me know what you learn.”
Joden nodded. He served Keir before in this manner, and would again.
“One last thing,” Keir frowned. “There have been no messages from Liam or Simus for some time. If a messenger comes, get word to me or Lara immediately.”
Prest cocked his head. “You fear news of betrayal.”
Keir shook his head. “I can deal with betrayal,” he said. “It is the silence I fear.”
Joden had deliberately lost himself in the preparations for the march to the Plains. It was easy enough to do. The familiar thrum of the warriors around him had let him forget, even ignore his heartache.
He’d honored Amyu’s request. He’d not sought her out after she’d left his room. He had not tried to get a glimpse of her during the days, and the nights…
Well, she’d said nothing of his dreams.
She’d haunted his dreams. Her scent, her hair, her face as she’s taken pleasure in both their bodies. But even more, her wry wit and sparkling eyes. She was so very special, so very precious to him. Yet as a Singer, a would-be Singer, he should not feel this way. He should be the first to urge her to the snows as one who would never become a warrior and a drain on the Tribe’s resources.
He stilled himself, reminded himself that she was safe in Xy, worthy in Xy, and she would be well. He kept that thought clear, and tried to fill the emptiness with other things.
Thankfully, preparedness had a call of its own, and he’d kept his mind on the sharpening of weapons, checking over his armor, and standing at Keir and Lara’s side.
But now, on the march? He had time, and then some. Time to think on things he did not wish to think on.
Like everything that had happened so quickly since he’d entered the Singer Trials.
And what he had lost taking the old paths.
He kept trying as he rode, to break the pattern of speech, to go over and over what he intended to say, only to have the words catch when he spoke. The singing worked, although he hated it. It sounded false to his ear, and felt false on his tongue. Chanting worked as well. He could sometimes trick his tongue, substituting another word for the one he’d intended, but not before he had tripped over the first sound.
As the days passed, he found himself angrier and angrier. This was what the Ancients intended? The loss of his voice? This was the gift of the old paths to being a Singer? How could that possibly be true? Joden scowled at the horizon. One thing was certain, he’d not go to the snows until he got some answers from the dried little turds.
He tried to let the anger go, but it sat deep in his belly. Sparring helped when they camped for the night. So did listening to the woes of others as they marched.
It was known among the Plains warriors that he was a Singer-to-be, and so held words in confidence. And while the tales of his affliction had certainly spread, it had an odd effect, one that Joden had not anticipated.
Apparently, when you can’t talk, people trust you with their most private truths.
“It didn’t matter how often I went up there,” Prest said. The bells in his horse’s mane chimed as they rode off to the side, far enough away from the other warriors to be seen but not heard. “Every single time, my head would spin, my knees would knock, and I would have to crawl over to the trap door and slide down a few steps before I could stand.” Prest shook his head. “To think that Amyu is braver than I am. Even Enright, old and fat and crippled, is braver than I,” Prest brooded.
Joden frowned and opened his mouth but Prest continued on. “Ever have I faced my fear in the past, but this has defeated me. A horse is as high off the ground as I ever want to be.” He drew a deep breath. “But I have been thinking, Joden—”
Joden didn’t even try to speak. He just raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe that is the way of things,” Prest said. “Maybe not all fear can be controlled or permanently conquered,” the younger man mused, as if trying to convince himself. “Maybe they can only be faced, over and over and each time, conquered anew.”
Joden grunted, and for long moments they rode in silence.
Prest looked over at Joden. “Maybe that is a new kind of courage. A new kind of strength.”
A hail came from the road. One of Prest’s scouts had returned.
Prest leaned forward to remove the bells. “My thanks, Joden. Your truths are always welcome.” He tucked the bells in the saddle bags, and urged his horse toward the road.
Jod
en quirked his lips into a smile and followed. It seemed the less he talked, the more they seemed to solve their own problems.
Between listening to the talk among Xyians and Plains warriors, and dealing with his own inner turmoil, it took Joden a while to notice. But after a few weeks, it occurred to him that Rafe and the women of his tent were always nearby. As if they were taking turns.
Rafe grinned, no apology in his face or his voice when confronted. “It’s the Warlord’s command,” he said, guiding his horse next to Joden’s. He gave a sharp whistle, and the other warriors of his tent appeared, surrounding Joden.
“You noticed?” Fylin said.
“Took you long enough,” Soar added, frowning.
“We had a bet going,” Rafe said. “She lost.” He appeared quite pleased.
“The Warprize told us that you were our special charge,” Lasa said with a gentle smile.
“The Warlord’s and the Warprize’s command,” Rafe said.
Lasa continued, “She wanted our eyes on you at all times, in case you had—” she caught herself.
“In case you had the falling sickness,” Ksand finished, rather cheerfully. “She told me what to watch for. Master Eln told us how to make sure you didn’t swallow your tongue. But you haven’t fallen once,” she added, and her disappointment was clear.
Joden looked at Rafe, who nodded. “Yes, the Warlord, the Warprize, and Master Eln all took us aside and told us to watch over you.”
“There was one other,” Lasa said slyly.
“True,” Rafe laughed as Joden’s eyebrows went up. “Amyu threatened us if we let anything happen to you on the march.”
Joden blinked. ‘Amyu?’ he mouthed.
Rafe laughed. “Sure enough.”
Joden couldn’t help smiling at the thought. Amyu, afraid to put herself forward, threatening warriors for him. Warmth bloomed in his chest as the image rose before his eyes.
Rafe chortled, clearly enjoying the look on Joden’s face. “So, we don’t have to hide our duty any longer. Who has this watch?”
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