WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(83)

Hanstau stood as he spoke, adjusting the strap of his satchel, sweat gleaming on his pale pink head. He spoke in rushed Xyian, breathing hard. “My grandfather would tell us scary stories by the fire late at night. He’d talk of tales told by his grandfather, of monsters that once lived in the mountains, huge flying lizards. ‘Vicious and cruel, with sharp claws and a poison that pierced men’s hearts.’ Wyverns, he named them.” Hanstau drew in a deep breath to calm his panting.

Simus translated what he had said.

“I caught some of that. But ‘grandfather’?” Seo asked. “I do not know that word.”

“Father’s father,” Simus replied and turned back to the healer. “I saw none of these when I was in Xy.”

“They’d not been seen in my grandfather’s lifetime either.” Hanstau’s eyes were a bit wide. “Only in my grandfather’s grandfather’s time. Honestly, I thought them only stories. Myths.”

“Not so,” Simus growled.

“They came from the north,” Snowfall said quietly.

Simus looked toward Xy, and spared a moment of fear for his friends. But then he remembered stone tents. Relief and envy flooded through him. “Seo, spare two warriors, and have them examine the body. We need to know all that we can.”

“Tell them to beware the tail,” Hanstau said. “If memory serves, that is where the sting is.”

Seo nodded, an odd look on his face. Simus knew he had not yet adjusted to the Xyian way of forgetting things told them.

“Take the children and life-bearers into one of the winter lodges,” Simus started, but Seo interrupted.

“There will be no stores, no food—” Seo argued, but Simus cut him off

“Regardless,” Simus said. “Look.”

In the distance, another black mass approached.

“Skies,” Seo breathed.

“Everyone down,” Simus bellowed, and they all flattened into the grass.

“Hold the horses, if we can,” Simus commanded, and Snowfall nodded.

The wyverns passed overhead as Simus stood close and tried to soothe his trembling horse. Once again, a few creatures swooped in to take gurtles, but most flew past.

When the sky was clear, Simus rose to his feet.

“We will shelter,” Seo said. “And you, Warlord?”

“I will take Snowfall and return to the Heart,” Simus said.

“Take Hanstau,” Seo said grimly. “You will have a need.”

Simus considered, then nodded. “He can ride double with Snowfall.”

“But,” Hanstau started, but Simus cut him off.

“I don’t trust your riding skills if we are attacked,” Simus growled as he mounted his horse.

“Warlord.” Hanstau’s tone was dry as Snowfall went to aid him mount. “I have all the skill necessary to fall off a horse and hide in the grass.”

Snowfall’s eyes crinkled in the corner, but her face remained blank, unreadable to most. Simus’s heart swelled, but there was no time for such things now. He turned his horse’s head to go.

Seo reached out, his hand on Simus’s boot. “Warlord, find Haya. She was to attend the tent raising. She was at the Heart.” Seo’s worry was clear.

Simus gave him a sharp nod, and turned his horse toward the Heart.




Awareness flooded into Hail Storm, through his fevered dreams. He’d heard—

“Here, Warlord,” came a voice. “We’ve found him.”

Hail Storm was hot, suffocating, the leather of the collapsed tent covering his face, sticking to his sweat, his own stink all around him. He opened his dry mouth to gasp as the debris was ripped away. Sunlight flooded his eyes, blinding him.

“Alive?” came a distant bellow, one he recognized. Antas of the Boar.

“If you want to call it that,” said another above him.

Hail Storm blinked at the muck in his eyes, trying to understand what was happening. He lifted a hand to rub the crust away, bringing his swollen arm into sight, oozing pus and pulsing red. The pain hit then, and he grit his teeth as it washed over him.

Hands reached down, grabbing his arms, legs, and shoulders, and lifted him. His vision blackened as the agony raced through him.

“Bring him.” Antas stood between him and the sun, his blond hair and beard glowing in the light.

Hands supported him, and half-marched, half-carried him forward.

“Antas.” Veritt came up to walk beside. Hail Storm fought to focus on his words. “There’s more dead than I care to say. I will have a count later. The tents are all torn down and destroyed, but our supplies and gear are in decent shape.” Veritt took a breath. “We lost children to those creatures.”

Antas stopped dead in his tracks and swore. He stood for a long moment, contemplating the skies. Hail Storm used the precious moments to find his feet and push the trembling from his limbs.

“I’d think the elements had cursed us,” Antas said finally. “Except the same death and destruction seems to have fallen on the Heart. Perhaps we are all cursed.” Hail Storm caught Antas’s glance in his direction. “Still,” Antas continued. “No plan survives the enemy.”

“Truth,” Veritt replied.

Antas dropped his voice. “The other prisoner?”