WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(79)

“Maybe we have that time now,” Keir said. “Still, have the warriors remain alert.” He glanced around. “Unless there are other matters, this Council is at an end.”

The members rose from their chairs as they started to file from the room. Iian took his time rolling his precious scroll, delaying until the room emptied and the door closed.

Warlord Keir seated himself next to the Warprize. “You wished to speak to us, Amyu.”

“Aye, Warlord.” Amyu stepped away from the comforting wall, and placed her burdens on the table, hoping that no one could see the trembling in her hands. “Warlord, Warprize.” She drew a breath to slow her words. She felt the urge to kneel, but forced her knees to stiffen. Children knelt when asking; warriors stood. “I ask to be released from the service of your tent to pursue another path.”

Warlord Keir studied her, his bright blue eyes piercing her intently. The Warprize leaned forward. “What do you mean, Amyu?”

“They are traditional words,” Keir rumbled. “For a warrior who wishes to take on other responsibilities under a Warlord’s service.”

The Warprize tilted her head, and gave Amyu a puzzled look. “I do not understand.”

“I wish to seek out these creatures.” Amyu glanced at the tapestry. The horse-eagle’s eyes glittered back.

“Airions?” the Warprize asked. “But, Amyu, they are little more than legends. The stuff of story and myths.”

“So were wyverns,” Iian noted quietly, placing his scroll in its case. “But mere days ago.”

“How can we know?” Amyu asked. “Unless someone goes looking for them?” It burst from her now, her ideas. “I would learn with Iian, seek out the eldest Xyians, listen to their tales and glean their truths. And then I would climb, for the mountains hold the answers, I am sure of it.” She forced herself to stop, and breathe. “And show myself worthy to my Tribe and my Warlord.”

“Amyu,” the Warprize said, frowning. “You have nothing to prove.”

“To us,” the Warlord murmured. “But to herself?” He looked at her again, and once again his blue eyes regarded her closely.

And here it was, the moment of all her truths. Child or not in the eyes of the Plains, Amyu had to take this chance. “Yes, Warlord.”

Keir looked at the Warprize. “You are her thea—”

“She is not a child,” the Warprize said, frowning.

Iian spoked up. “It’s worth trying, to seek out the older parishioners and ask for the old tales.”

“The oldest person in Xy that I know of is Kalisa the cheesemaker,” the Warprize said. “It’s not a bad idea to seek out the old stories, but to go into the mountains? They are dangerous enough to Xyians. Especially to one who has only ever lived on the Plains.”

“Find out what you can,” Keir said. “Any knowledge aids us.”

“But no more than that,” the Warprize said, gentling her words with a smile. “And no more talk of release from my service.” She glanced at the tapestry. “There are others with far better skills for searching the mountains. You are of the Plains, Amyu, you do not know the risks.”

Amyu stood, crushed. Denied. Her glance went to the tapestry, but the airion no longer met her eyes.

“But she can help me,” Iian said. “Seek out knowledge?” He glanced at Amyu, clearly trying to soften the blow.

“Yes, of course,” the Warprize said. She put a hand on Amyu’s arm. “Even if we found creatures like that, I don’t like the idea that you may be killed trying to find and ride those things,” she said.

“Oh, I can ride,” Amyu said, trying to hide the defiance in her truth. “I want to fly.”




Simus laughed at himself, as Snowfall’s mouth dropped open; as the horses, gurtles, and children all continued to stare. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, and then tried desperately to suck in air even as he wanted to shout out his stupidity and his joy.

Snowfall’s mouth snapped shut, her lips a thin line, and those blank eyes, those lovely blank eyes he’d longed to see sparkle with joy, with laughter, were filled with anger. “You mock me,” she snarled. But it wasn’t enough to cover the pain in her voice.

“No,” Simus denied. “I do not.” Sudden deep fear coursed through him, like a cold wind. That sobered him, looking into her grey and hostile eyes. He dropped to his knees before her.

“I would speak my truth to you, here, under the open skies for all the elements to witness,” Simus said, trying to slow his breath, trying to put his heart in his words. “I do not understand how it happened, but I do understand this. I love you.”

“We have not even shared—” Snowfall protested, but Simus shook his head and held up his hands to stop her.

“This goes beyond sharing our bodies.” Simus drew a deep breath. “The day is not right without your presence,” he said. “Without drinking your kavage, without hearing your voice. There is no joy in the day if I cannot try to lure out your smile. There is no rest at night if I cannot hear your breathing in my tent.” Simus paused, staring up at her. “I would not lose this. I would not lose you.”

Snowfall’s eyes glistened. Her anger had faded. “Simus,” she breathed, and it seemed to Simus that she breathed out his soul in a single word.