“Aye,” the oldest Guard said, nodding in understanding. “Best to be careful.” He reached over, and removed Eloix’s weapons from their sheaths.
Amyu slid toward the door, feeling in the way, but Eln stopped her with a look. “Stay.” He jerked his head into the corner near Eloix’s head. “You speak Firelander, and we don’t.”
Amyu obeyed, darting into the corner, and trying to make herself small as Eln called for supplies. “Wine,” he ordered his apprentices. “Water hasn’t worked before this. I need this armor cut away. Be careful not to let any of that venom get on you.”
There was another rattling of jars and bottles as they all moved about the room, getting into position. An older apprentice with leather gloves stepped forward, and started to peel back the shreds as another cut with a large knife. The sight of the wound got no better as the leathers and padding were removed.
The city guards were stoic, but they averted their eyes. One was having a hard time, and started to retch.
“Go,” Eln commanded and the guard released his hold on Eloix’s arm and darted for the door. “Amyu, take his place,” Eln instructed, and she did so. But even as she gripped Eloix’s wrist and shoulder Amyu couldn’t help but stare in revulsion and fascination. The bloody flesh bubbled and frothed before her eyes. She’d heard that wyvern poison ate away the flesh it touched, but she’d never seen it. She glanced at Eloix’s lax face, glad that the warrior wasn’t feeling the pain of the wound.
But that ended at the first touch of wine on her back. Eloix heaved up, half off the table, her hands clutching the edge with a white-knuckled grip. Her pained howl filled the room as hands pressed her back down.
“Skies above,” she panted, her eyes wild and unseeing as she was pressed back down on the table. “What has happened?”
“You were attacked,” Amyu spoke in the language of the Plains. “Injured by a flying beast.”
Eloix was gasping, taking in air, her eyes wild and dazed. Amyu kept talking, repeating the words as Eln worked furiously.
“Wine isn’t working, Master,” one of the apprentices said.
“We will try milk next, but only to a small area,” Eln instructed. “Keep trying the wine.”
Amyu looked down to see sanity return to Eloix’s eyes. “You,” she struggled to speak. “Child.”
“Yes.” Amyu set aside the all too familiar pain of rejection. “We have sent for the Warlord,” she said.
“We will give her something for the pain,” Eln said. “Tell her to drink it.”
Eloix blinked up at her. Her sweat-soaked hair was plastered to her skull. “What kind of wound is this?” she gasped out.
Amyu took the small bottle from the apprentice. “A sting, from a creature they call a wyvern.”
Eloix’s breathing came in harsh pants. “How bad?”
“Bad,” Amyu said. “This potion he offers you will take away the pain.”
“And my wits?” Eloix asked, taking the bottle.
“Probably,” Amyu said honestly.
“No, then.” Eloix took a breath, her face contorted, her voice shaking with strain. “These city-dwellers are soft. We are of the Plains. Give me the truth, child.”
“As you request,” Amyu said in their language as Eln and his people worked around her and Eloix. “It is said that the poison of the beast eats the flesh. The Warprize has told me that they have not found a way to heal it.”
“He can’t cure it?” Eloix drew in air between clenched teeth.
“The cure has been to cut off the struck limb.” Amyu felt her own voice quake. “But you were struck in the back.”
Eloix panted and rested her forehead on the rough wood of the table. “Is there an adult of the Plains near that I can give my message?”
She was so used to being dismissed as a child, Amyu wasn’t even surprised. “Eln sent word to the Castle, but there may not be enough time.” She tightened her grip on Eloix’s sweaty arm. “I swear that I will deliver the words you speak, and I will see that your rites are done properly, by a warrior of the Plains.”
Eln swore under his breath, and Amyu glanced over in time to see the despair on his face. He caught her looking, and scowled. “Have her drink,” he ordered.
“She will not,” Amyu said in Xyian. “She has messages to deliver.”
“She will when it gets bad enough.” Eln turned back to his work.
Eloix took the bottle, and gripped it tightly. “He forgets,” she snorted. “I speak Xyian.”
“If I try to grant you mercy, they will try to stop me,” Amyu said. “It is their way.” She loosened her hold on Eloix’s wrists for a moment. “There is a dagger on my belt.”
“When I have given you Simus’s words,” Eloix said through clenched teeth. She coughed wetly, and spit. There were flecks of blood on her lips as she started to speak. “I hold you to your oath, child. Listen well. On the morning of the night of the pillar of fire,” she began, panting between words. “The warrior-priests drove us from the Heart...”
Amyu listened carefully, as Eloix recited Simus’s message to Keir. She focused on those painful words, ignoring the sounds around her. Of sizzling flesh, and frustrated healers.
Toward the end of her message, Eloix let out a surprised gasp. “The pain. I can’t feel—”
Eln lifted his head, his eyes so stark and so old. The healers around him all paused in their efforts, moving back. The guards paused, confused.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Eloix finished in Xyian.
“Yes.” Eln’s voice was little more than a croak. “It’s eaten through—” He swallowed hard. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s harder to breathe,” Eloix said, more cough than voice.
“It’s working toward the lungs.” Eln sounded harder now. “If you understand me, know that I am not stupid. I would ask, before you—” He stopped, his jaw working.
“Snows,” Amyu said. “We say she is going to the snows.”
“I know,” Eln snapped and Amyu almost stepped back at the rage in his voice. The apprentices flinched, glancing at one another.
“Clear the room,” Eln commanded, and the guards and apprentices bowed their heads and left, some murmuring soft prayers.
“Amyu stays,” Eloix demanded, grabbing her wrist.
“I know what she will do,” Eln repeated, his voice filled with sorrow. “I would ask that she let me try one more thing on the wound, before—”
“Yes,” Eloix said, coughing. “Try what you will.”
Eln didn’t hesitate. He reached for a large basket on a top shelf and pulled out a handful of bloodmoss. Amyu watched as he took the plant and placed it on the edge of the wound, where the poison still glistened.
The pale yellow leaves curled, turned brown, and crumbled into dust. Eln stared at it, and then closed his eyes.
“He is finished,” Amyu whispered.
“The fire warmed me,” Eloix choked out the beginning of the ritual. “I thank the elements.”
Amyu released her hold, pulled her dagger, and placed it in Eloix’s hand. Eloix gripped it tightly, her fingers bone-white. Eln had stepped back from the table, his face buried in his hands.
“The earth supported me. I thank the elements,” Eloix said, but started coughing, bringing up blood. She struggled to continue.
Amyu knelt by the table, shaking inside, but striving to be the warrior Eloix needed her to be. “The waters sustained you,” Amyu picked up where Eloix had left off. “We thank the elements.”
Eloix’s eyes were wide, focused on Amyu, but unseeing. She nodded as she choked, and placed the tip of the dagger at her throat.
“The air filled you. We thank the elements.” Amyu’s voice shook despite her best efforts. “Go now, warrior. Beyond the snows and to the stars.”
Eloix thrust the dagger home.
And for long moments both Amyu and Eln stood silent as the last breath of life left her body.
Eln finally moved, striding over to jerk open
the door. The guards outside came to attention.
“Amyu carries a message for the Queen and Warlord,” Eln’s voice rasped. “See her to the Castle.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The city guards hustled Amyu to the Castle, hugging the sides of the buildings, keeping a wary eye for the flying beasts as they trotted along deserted streets.
The Castle was a brooding presence, guards with bows and crossbows at every window. The Palace guards rushed her through the gardens and the kitchens, avoiding the courtyard. The monster that had attacked the day before was still laying there, its carcass being rendered for removal.
“Nobody’s tried to eat it yet,” one of the guards muttered. “But there’s interest in the leather and other bits.”
Amyu nodded silently.
“The Queen’s in the Council Chamber, with the Overlord. The Seneschal’s there, with the others.”
Amyu nodded again. Up the stairs then and through the corridors. She knew the way, but the guards didn’t leave her side. Amyu didn’t complain; everyone was jittery and on edge.
So was she, if she were honest.
As they climbed the stairs, Amyu realized that Eloix’s blood was still on her hands and leathers. Amyu shuddered, trying to conceal her fear. She’d never been in battle, never killed another, never watched a warrior bleed out before her eyes.
Maybe being a child was not such a bad thing.
But before she could scold herself for such a cowardly thought, they reached the double doors of the Council room, and heard voices raised inside. Amyu paused, drawing a steadying breath, and then opened the doors, hoping to slip in quietly.
The large stone room was darker than normal, with wooden shutters drawn closed over the windows. Candles flickered as her entrance stirred the air, causing the tapestry behind them to rustle against the wall. The airion on the tapestry almost seemed alive as the cloth moved. A blend of horse and eagle, its wings flaring in the candlelight.
All of the chairs that normally surrounded the large Council table had been pushed back. The table was covered with large swaths of paper. ‘Maps,’ as Xyians called them. Many people were crowded about the table, but Amyu focused on the Warprize and her Warlord.
The Warprize was the first to speak, her fey blue eyes wide. “Amyu, is that blood?”
The talk in the room went silent, and every eye focused on her.
Amyu flushed, and looked down at the blood smeared on her leathers. “It is not mine,” she assured her. “I was at Master Healer Eln’s when a messenger from the Plains was brought in with a wyvern-sting.” Hopefully, none would question as to why she had been there. Amyu lifted her gaze, only to be caught by the Warlord’s piercing blue eyes as he stared at her.
“Report,” he commanded.
Faces grew grimmer all around as she explained Eloix’s injury. They’d known the warrior and they knew what happened to those wyvern-stung. But the Warprize held out hope. “Was Eln able to counter the poison?” Lara asked. Her face fell when Amyu shook her head.
“Were Eloix’s rites seen to?” Wilsa asked, her face a mask of pain. She stood next to Lord Marshall Warren.
“I aided her to thank the elements before she went to the snows. I did not presume to do more.” Amyu kept her voice steady, trying to hide her trembling. “Eln said he would keep her body there, until a warrior could perform the rites.”
“And her words?” Keir demanded.
“I have them,” Amyu said. She took a deep steadying breath and began, repeating Eloix word for word, translating it into Xyian as she went.
It was only when the Warprize went pale that Amyu realized she was reciting it as Eloix had spoken it, with every gasp and moan as she’d fought past her pain to deliver her charge. Amyu looked away, closed her eyes, and continued, concentrating on the recitation. But she made sure to stop before the death ritual began.
“That was all,” Amyu finished. “Other than her death.”
“Skies above,” Keir said, his voice a bare whisper. “You did well, Amyu.”
“You did,” Wilsa said. “I will see to Eloix’s rites myself.”
Lord Marshal Warren was standing next to the Warlord, and he frowned at her. “Are you sure that was all?” he asked. “That you got it right?”
Amyu stiffened at his words, but surprisingly Wilsa came to her defense. “Warren, you city-dweller. Remember our memories.”
“Ah, lass, I meant no insult,” Warren said ruefully. “I ask pardon.”
“What does it mean?” the Warprize asked.
Keir stood, his arms crossed, staring at the top of the table, brooding. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Simus is facing those bragnects alone.”
“Not alone,” Atira of the Bear spoke up from where she stood next to Heath of Xy, Seneschal of the Castle. “Simus has his people, including Yers. And more will flock to his side.”
“Should you go to him? Go to the Plains?” Lara asked quietly, and the pain and the strength in her voice was clear.
Keir shook his head, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side. “We are under attack by these monsters,” he said. “I must see to the safety of Xy before we discuss leaving. Let us deal with the troubles before us.”
“Here is what we know,” Lord Marshal Warren said, spreading out a large map of the City and the fields beyond.
The others drew closer to the table, but Amyu faded back to stand against the wall. She debated leaving, her message delivered, but she didn’t want to disturb their work. She’d wait, and slip out at the first chance. The solid stone felt good on her back, and its coolness seemed to leech out her tremors.
“The first attack was just yesterday, on the day of Heath and Atira’s wedding,” Warren continued.
“Bonding,” said Atira, giving Heath a fond glance.
“That was the first we saw of the beasts. Heath managed to kill it with one of the Plains lances,” Warren said. “We lost one man to the sting that day. As far as we could tell, it came down from the mountains, and its target was the horses in the courtyard.”
“The stinger,” Lara said. “That was given to the healers, correct?”
“Yes,” Warren said. “They’re still clearing the carcass. Hard to believe the size of its claws, and its horns.”
“It’s a fearsome creature,” Wilsa agreed. “But we know they can die. Since the first attack, dozens of the creatures have been sighted, all hunting in the fields beyond the walls. Since that first attack, we’ve kept the people and the animals in the City under cover.”
Warren spread out a new map, a larger representation of Xy. “It seems that the creatures roost in the mountains. Once we moved the herds down into the trees, there were fewer attacks. But they still go after horses and cattle.”
“And any riders on the roads,” Keir said grimly.
“Lances work best to kill them,” Heath said. “Crossbows as well.”
Detros, head of the Palace Guard, nodded his head. “I’ve men trained with both on the walls and on watch. They’ll not take us by surprise again.”
“How far have they spread through the land?” Keir asked.
“I don’t know,” Warren said. “But the gods help anyone caught out in the open with no warning.”
“We’ve taken down all the flags and pennants from the Castle walls,” Detros said. “They’re attracted to movement.”
“The Trials have started,” Keir said. “The challenge banners will have been raised.”
“The Plains...” Xylara whispered.
Amyu’s stomach clenched at the idea of the monsters attacking her home.
“Before his death, Father sent crossbows and bolts in the supply caravan,” Heath said firmly. “And obsidian for making lances.”
“And we don’t yet know if the wyverns have attacked the Plains,” Atira said. “It may be they are only here in the mountains.”
Truth, to be sure, but Lara didn’t seem any more reassured then Amyu was. The warriors would h
ave no warning, and the poison in their stings—
“The Plains will fight.” Keir’s voice was a rumble. “And they will kill the beasts. Remember, on the Plains, one can see open sky for miles around.” He shared a look with the Warprize who smiled, but did not look any more confident.
The door behind Amyu opened and Archbishop Iian stumbled through, his arms filled with scrolls and books, followed by two acolytes, their arms just as burdened.
“I may have found something,” Iian said as he tried to thrust part of his load into Amyu’s arms. She took a step back, and he stopped and blinked at her, noticing the blood.
“Are you hurt?” he asked urgently.
“I’m fine.” Amyu suppressed a smile. The archbishop had come into his office suddenly, and was not much older than she was. But he handled his duties with skill and dignity. He’d been the one to recognize the wyverns and give them a name.
“What have you found?” Keir leaned forward eagerly.
The archbishop recalled himself, and deposited his books on the table. Iian pulled out one that looked the oldest to Amyu’s eyes and opened it to a place marked with a ribbon.
“An ancient reference, with illustrations, if you can believe.” Iian let the book fall open.
Amyu gasped at the vibrant colors. Both pages were covered in a picture of what had to be the Castle and the city of Water’s Fall. In the air, wyverns flew, and were being attacked from the air by airions, and from below by some sort of contraptions.
Everyone leaned in to look.
“I know it seems fantastical,” Iian said. “With the airions in the skies. But look at—”
“Are those riders on their backs?” Amyu breathed, caught by the image of people riding the airions. A wave of longing swept through her. “Is that even possible?”
“There are stories,” Lara said. She chuckled. “But they are old tales of fey times. Kalisa, in the marketplace, claims her ancestors rode them.”
“I care not for fantasies,” Keir said as he drew the book closer. “But those crossbows on the towers—”