“I wouldn’t want to bet my life on it,” Elois said.
Simus considered for a moment, then shook his head. “If you are right there would be a benefit to delay, but I will not wait on a guess.” He looked at the younger warriors. “You five take the healer. Find what is left of his tent and scavenge his gear with him. Watch the skies.”
“Aye, Warlord.” They scrambled to their knees, ready to go.
“The wounded should be brought to me,” Hanstau said firmly. He shifted closer as the others crawled away. “We can set up an area, hidden in the grasses.” He gave a sick sort of chortle. “My poor oxen are probably dead.”
“What of your powers?” Elois asked Snowfall.
Snowfall shook her head, the twists in her black hair dancing. “It has limits, being unseen. Movement, trying to cover others, all add to the difficulty. Like sparring with five warriors at the same time.”
“Maybe if I could use that glow like you do, I could have saved that man.” Hanstau pursed his lips.
Snowfall’s eyes went wide. “You can see—?”
“Why risk more death in a fatal attempt?” Nona interrupted, spitting her words. “It’s useless to—”
“Enough,” Simus commanded.
Silence fell, and no one met his gaze.
“Go back to your warriors,” Simus said. “Tell them to gather what gear and supplies they can and head out away from the Heart, to regroup. Tell them to warn the theas, protect the herds, and watch the skies at all times.” Simus took a breath, awaiting protest.
None came.
“Those that are willing to aid us are welcome,” Simus continued. “Return here, with ten of your best warriors, ones willing to take a risk. The winds favor the bold,” he concluded.
The wind rustled the grass around them.
“Agreed,” Mirro said. “My Warlord may be within and alive. I will return.”
“I don’t know,” Nona said, as the others around her looked uncertain.
“We will proceed,” Simus said. “With or without you.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Simus was alone on the edge of the rise, lying flat, watching and waiting to issue commands.
Almost all of the warriors had returned, bringing others with them, with saddled horses and lances to spare. They were back behind him, hidden by the rises, waiting for his command. They’d organized quickly, once Simus had explained it in terms of an ehat hunt, putting on helmets and strapping shields to their backs for protection against the stings.
Simus drew a breath, taking a moment to appreciate the afternoon sun on his face, the blue of the skies above. One could plan and plan and plan, but it might all come to naught. “Aid us, elements,” he whispered in a final prayer.
All was ready.
Simus rose to his knees, the better to see. It was a risk that he might draw the wyverns’ attention, but he needed to be seen by his people. The risk was small, given the distraction he was about to unleash.
He raised both fists in the air, and dropped them down.
Behind him, two groups of horses began to run, charging past him and down the slope toward the Heart. As they galloped past, they called out battle cries and sounded horns. Their charge was swift, and they split as they reached the Heart, each taking a side, riding straight for the wyverns.
The wyverns noticed.
The monsters raised their ugly heads with their long, curling horns, focusing on the warriors and horses. Some started to turn, hissing, spreading their wings—
Simus’s breath caught, but his warriors never faltered. Both groups charged close to the lake and then as soon as they had the monsters’ attention—
—they each turned in the opposite direction, running along the lakeshore, rousing every wyvern that could be seen.
The wyverns launched, but the turn had caught them by surprise, and a few tumbled into one another, hissing and biting each other. But more than enough took to the air, following the riders.
“Move in,” Simus bellowed, and resisted the urge to stand in order to see better.
Warriors rose from the grasses around the ruined tent, Snowfall in their midst. It had taken time for them to position themselves, but it had been time well spent under her protection. They darted under the debris as others attached ropes to the edges of the collapsed tent.
Simus watched for the wyverns. But the beasts were all up, pursuing the riders. As they moved along the shoreline, more beasts rose into the air, adding to the congestion.
Simus held his breath as the first of the wyverns closed, but the musk teams darted away from the lake as planned, turning away from the water, still calling, still taunting the creatures. Some had strips of cloth in their hands, letting them flutter out behind them.
The wyverns screeched, and followed. The area was clear.
Simus raised his hand, drew a circle in the air, and then dropped it.
More warriors charged in on horseback, some with spare horses. They swooped in to grab those climbing out from under the tent debris.
“Come on, come on,” Simus urged as the wounded were aided to mount, and some bodies were flung on saddles. Once mounted, the riders wheeled and galloped back, forming a long line of activity that was sure to be noticed. They would keep going, leading the others to where Hanstau had set up his camp. Far enough from the Heart to be safe.
They hoped.
Simus caught a glimpse of Essa mounting, and Haya on the back of another horse. Simus let himself look for Snowfall, but once he saw she was well, his gaze returned to the skies. Tsor had been right. The wyverns had broken off their pursuit of the riders, and were starting to return to their places on the shore. Not much time left.
The last of the riders cleared the area, riding hunched down. Simus waited a breath or two, and then bellowed, “Pull.”
Snowfall and her team had also laid the long ropes, and now a team of horses pulled, attempting to shift the debris off the Heart. Simus had proposed this with the vague idea of repairing and preserving the tent, as well as shifting any warriors too tangled to emerge from under. It wasn’t the best of plans; shifting the mess might in fact kill those within. Better that than a slow death, was Simus’s thought.
The ropes grew taut; the pile began to move. Snowfall and her team began to run, getting out of the way, moving toward the rise where he sat. All of them cast anxious glances above and behind.
The wyverns seemed to care more for reclaiming their territory. Except for one. It flapped its wings, gaining height, focused on the tent.
Simus tensed, waiting...
Snowfall saw it and barked a command, throwing herself down in the grass. The warriors with her dropped, crawled close to her, the shields strapped to their backs glinting in the sun. Simus caught a glimpse of Snowfall’s face, the sheen of sweat and strain—
They disappeared.
Circling above, the wyvern seemed more curious than anything else, watching as the debris shifted. The mass caught when it hit the grass, but then continued to slide, the scattered poles rising up like broken bones.
The wyvern snorted, and turned back toward the lake.
The tent debris slid further into the grass, almost clear of the stone of the Heart. Small debris was left behind. Shards of tent poles, kavage pots, a ceremonial drum...and a limp body, covered in tattoos and blood.
Wild Winds.
The wyvern started to circle back.
Simus heard a scream of anguish then, and saw a flickering below him where the warriors lay hidden. The warriors that were with Snowfall appeared, running for his rise.
Snowfall ran for Wild Winds.
Simus’s heart jumped, but he didn’t waste breath. He picked up the horn at his side, and blew a short blast.
Tsor and his kill team thundered past him toward the Heart.
The running warriors mounted the crest and threw themselves down at Simus’s side. “She ordered us back,” one gasped.
Simus just sat, forcing himself not to
move, a lump in his throat. “Beloved,” he whispered, and prayed again to the ever-silent skies. “Elements...please.”
The wyvern screeched, and started another circle.
Snowfall ran, beautiful and strong, her long legs eating up the distance, screaming to get the creature’s attention. Or maybe Wild Winds’s, who had rolled over to hands and knees, struggling to rise.
The wyvern started to dive—
Snowfall stopped dead, and raised her hands. The debris from the tent, including the ceremonial drum, rose in the air and struck the wyvern full on the snout.
The creature hissed. Snowfall now had its full and undivided attention. She stayed where she was, flinging bits of debris.
Undaunted, unhurt, the creature started for Snowfall.
Tsor galloped in, raised up in the saddle, and flung his lance at the creature, burying it in its chest. With a shriek of pain, the creature fell from the sky, perilously close to Snowfall.
The kill team didn’t stop. Two warriors brought their horses to Wild Winds’s side, and heaved him up behind one of the riders.
Tsor guided his horse toward Snowfall, and pulled her up behind him. They charged back for Simus’s rise, riding away before the other wyverns could react.
Simus was mounted and ready when they arrived. He urged his horse alongside Tsor’s as they galloped away from the Heart. Snowfall had her head pressed to Tsor’s shoulder, her hands around his waist.
“That was stupid,” Simus snapped, his anger getting the best of him. “You could have been killed.”
“Ride, Warlord,” Tsor said, beaming like a madman, flush with success. “Yell at her later.”
Dusk was more than welcome.
“We’ve only allowed small fires,” Tsor reported. “Dug down and well shielded. Enough for kavage, and hot water to aid the healer.”
Simus nodded, sitting to hear the reports of his warriors. “Scouts?” he asked.
Nona spoke up. “All around us,” she said. “With horns to warn of the wyverns’ approach. I’ve four watchers near the Heart as well. They will sound a warning if the creatures take flight.”
“Hanstau still tends the wounded,” Elois reported. “Those healthy enough have rejoined their warriors.” She shrugged. “As to who will live and die, Hanstau said we would know more in the morning.”
Simus nodded, knowing full well that some of those included the Elders. But all he could do was wait. “Supplies?” he asked.
Mirro gave him a tired smile. “Our losses were not so bad,” he said. “Of more concern will be fresh food, since the gurtle herds have moved even farther off. But for now, we are fine.”
“The same is true of the horses,” Nona said. “Scattered but alive, and willing to come to our hands.”
“The tent debris is being sorted,” Elois said. “The skies alone know if it can ever be raised again. But we are saving what we can.”
“What of our losses, Warlord?” Tsor asked.
“None of ours,” Simus said. “But the dead from the others’ camps are far too many.”
There was a studied silence then, as they considered his news. Weariness crept into his body, but Simus fought it off. Later. He would sleep later. One piece of good news. Simus had asked, and his people had searched. Joden was not among the dead. Wherever he was, Simus hoped he was safe.
“The other armies have scattered wide, fearing the monsters will return. There are others scavenging the destroyed camps, and keeping watchful eyes on the beasts. It could have been so much worse,” Tsor said, bringing Simus’s thoughts back.
Elois nodded. “Still, it is not good. So many good warriors, the pride of their Tribes, dead. Especially the death of Kiza of the Cat. Her Second and some of her warriors have approached me, asking if you would accept their swords.”
“That is for tomorrow,” Simus said, feeling his grief settle in his bones. “If there is nothing further, I think we should seek our tents.”
Eyes cast up, looking at the darkening skies before rising to their feet.
“This night might prove your idea,” Nona said to Tsor. “That they are not night-flyers.”
“I would offer to the skies that they aren’t,” Tsor muttered.
Elois stood at Simus’s side as the others drifted off. “I’ll set you a small tent here, for the night.”
“Good,” Simus said.
“There’s a bathing stream along that path.” Elois nodded toward it. “Rinse off, and I will have hot kavage for you when you return.”
Simus was almost too tired to care, but the dried sweat in his hair was starting to itch. “I will. My thanks, Elois.”
He forced his legs to move. Once past the first few steps it got easier. The path had been cut through the bushes that lined the stream, leading to a small bank of stones.
His skin prickled, anticipating the cold water, a welcome relief. He stripped, listening to the noises of his army around him, and then waded into the water. He washed off the sweat and grime, using handfuls of sand. He sat and lay back, letting the cold water wash over him.
Where had these creatures come from? He’d never seen anything like them, nor did he know of any animal with poison such as this, that would eat away at a warrior’s flesh. He shuddered, and not from the water.
At least they knew that the wyverns could be killed. Not easily, but what is easy on the Plains, eh? He could almost hear the words in Marcus’s dry tones, proclaiming the obvious.
Which led his thoughts to Xy. What if these things had come from there? What did that mean for Lara and Keir and the other warriors left behind. For certain, they had stone walls and stone buildings, but Simus knew full well that one couldn’t cower within forever. Would Keir be able to travel to the Plains? Had everything they had strived for been destroyed?
The cold water was taking his breath, and making his teeth chatter. He waded back to the bank and dried off with his tunic.
Gathering up his armor and weapons, he trudged to where his tent should be. Simus sighed. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to be the one watching the wyverns, or aiding in the healing. But Hanstau had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome back at Hanstau’s tent until after sunrise. Well after sunrise. And his team had things well under control.
He shouldn’t have yelled at her.
Simus stopped, and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the knots. Wishing he could take back words he’d yelled in his fury. He hadn’t seen Snowfall since they’d thundered up to Hanstau’s camp, willing hands reaching for a half-conscious Wild Winds. She had gone with him. Simus had stormed off to see to his warriors, dead and alive. His anger had worn off as he’d worked.
He closed his eyes, and admitted to himself that it hadn’t been anger. It had been fear. His fear that she’d be hurt, injured, killed, or worse. What if she’d needed mercy at his hand from the deadly sting? Even now the image rose in his mind and made his stomach churn.
He opened his eyes, and continued walking, filled with regret, running over what he might have said. Should have said.
His small, one-man tent was where Elois said it would be.
Snowfall was standing next to it.
His breath caught at the sight.
Her grey eyes were steady, and cool, but she showed her uncertainty when she lifted her chin before she spoke. “I thought we might combine our tents,” she said.
“Yes,” Simus said, suddenly tongue-tied.
Elois appeared then, with a pitcher of kavage, gurt, and dried meat. “We can see to the tents,” she said to Snowfall. “Go and wash.”
Snowfall nodded, and stepped past Simus to head down the path. He caught a whiff of her scent as she brushed against him, and watched as the curls of her black hair gleamed in the light.
“A hand, Warlord?” Elois was kneeling beside his tent, a slight smile on her face.
“Of course,” Simus said, setting his armor and weapons to one side.
A matter of moments, and the tents were combined. Small enough to
sit in, but not so high as to draw attention.
Elois stood, brushing off her knees. “I’ll bed down now,” she said. “Hanstau is insisting that everyone sleep. Tsor is posting watches for both land and sky.” She gave him a side glance. “Try to get some rest, Warlord.”
She disappeared just as Snowfall emerged from the bushes, carrying her armor and weapons. Simus watched as she approached, naked, water glistening on her shoulder tattoos.
“Kavage?” he managed to say with a mouth dry with desire.
“No,” Snowfall said. “You.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Simus resisted the urge to reach for her. He just held open the tent, and let her slide in first, handing her their sleeping pallets and climbing in behind. They worked together to pile up the gurtle pads, and spread out the bedding. It was a bit awkward physically, and they bumped elbows more than once moving around each other. But having her close, working together—that was comfortable, and easy, and arousing all at the same time.
And when her elbow ended up in his eye for the third time, Simus felt his heart ease, and even sing a bit at the look of amusement in her eyes. Such a small thing. Such a great comfort.
They left the tent flap open, for light and air. Simus might have preferred to sleep under the open skies, but the idea of a tent over his head this night was a good one.
He let Snowfall have the pick of which side, and once she had her weapons arranged to her satisfaction, he set out his armor, sword and dagger within easy reach. Snowfall gathered up the kavage and food bowls, and urged him to take a mug. All in a silence that he felt no need to fill.
She drank as well, studying him over the rim of her mug.
“Gurt?” she asked as they both finished the kavage.
“Later,” he said.
She set aside the bowls, and when she turned backed, he reached out and cradled her cheek in his hand, stroking it with his thumb. Her skin was warm and silky against his skin.
She closed her eyes, and tilted her head into his hand.