WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(84)

“Secure,” Veritt said. “The tent was torn down around them, and two of the guards killed, but the others kept their post and saw to her.”

Antas grunted. “Set a watch on the skies, and have the others scrounge what they may. We will move camp.”

Veritt bowed his obedience, then jerked his head toward Hail Storm. “This one cannot ride,” he reminded Antas. “The horses reject him.”

Antas grunted as they both considered Hail Storm.

“I will be well soon enough,” Hail Storm insisted, trying to stand on his own.

“So you have been saying, yet I see no improvement,” Antas said. “I will deal with this,” he said to Veritt, who bowed his head again, and headed off, calling instructions.

“Bring him,” Antas commanded. Hail Storm found himself moving through the grasses, only now he could see the destruction around him.

They stopped.

Before them was the body of a huge winged animal pierced by a half-dozen lances. Horns on its head, black and curling. The beast still lived, its tail quivering in its death-throes.

“What—” Hail Storm coughed to clear his throat. “What is that?”

“I do not know,” Antas said, standing beside him. “I had hoped you would. I do know that whatever they are, they have wreaked havoc on my plans.”

“They?” Hail Storm frowned. His wounded arm hung heavy at his side, and throbbed with the beat of his heart. He lifted it, holding it up with his other hand.

“They filled the skies,” Antas said. There was pain and wonder in his voice. “I’d gathered my warriors to assault the Council tent and take Essa prisoner.” Antas’s voice hardened. “We saw a line of black on the horizon, and within moments they were overhead, attacking anything that moved. My proud warriors, dead all around me, and the only safety lay in cowardice. Face down on the ground, still and silent.”

The creature before them groaned and rolled, sending warriors scattering. “Get back, you stupid fools,” Antas shouted as the tail lashed out in all directions.

All got clear as the beast gave a final moan and died. The tail fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.

“The only good news,” Antas said, voice oddly calm, “is that so far as we could see, the Council tent was torn down and their losses are equal with mine.”

Hail Storm stayed silent, just looking at the huge beast with its curling horns.

Antas looked around, and Hail Storm followed his gaze. Even with fevered, blurry eyes he could see the ruined tents and the dead warriors still lying where they had fallen.

“So for now, I must rely on allies,” Antas almost seemed to be talking to the skies. “Ietha, Loual, and that hot-head Wyrik. They will have to deal with what has happened. The others, the neutral Warlords, will be watching to see how the winds blow. I really don’t blame them. The herd follows the strongest mare.” He rolled his shoulders. “No. The blame for this rests on Keir and his ilk.” He gestured toward the creature.

“How so?” Hail Storm blinked away the sweat from his eyes, swaying slightly. The two warriors grabbed his arms in support.

Antas turned to him, and his eyes burned with hate. “They came from the north. From Xy.”

“We will be avenged.” Hail Storm straightened, his own hate rising and giving him strength. “I will heal and we will see it done.”

“About that.” Antas nodded to one of the warriors at Hail Storm’s side. “Bring him,” he commanded, and once again Hail Storm was ‘assisted’ toward a fire pit.

“We cannot stay this close to the lake,” Antas told him as he walked alongside. “The creatures are gathered there, and the skies alone know what they will do next. We will fall back, farther south.” Antas stopped by the fire. “Lay him down.” Antas gestured toward the edge.

“What—” Hail Storm struggled against the hands that forced him down, stretching him out in the cleared area and holding him to the ground.

“I have no choice now.” Antas reached toward the fire, pulling an axe from its depths, its head glowing dull red. “I’ve instructed my theas to seek out the winter lodges, and secure the young and life-bearers. I’ve enough warriors left that we can harry them with smaller attacks, seeking supplies, theas, Essa and Wild Winds and any Elders I can get my hands on.” Antas nodded in satisfaction at the weapon in his hand. “This is a setback, nothing more. We will fade into the Plains and build our strength for another season.”

“What are you—” Hail Storm struggled again, but the warriors over him were grim-faced and hard. One of them grabbed his injured arm and pulled it straight out from his body. As the pain flared, Hail Storm bit through his lip in an effort not to scream.

“I’d grant you mercy, warrior-priest,” Antas said, stepping closer, “if I did not need you. Although your value is doubtful. So I will cure you in my own way.”

“No,” Hail Storm snarled. “I will not survive—”

“Need finds a way,” Antas said.

“Do this, and I will kill you,” Hail Storm shrieked, but Antas was unmoved.

“You have to live,” Antas said, shrugging. “Then I will fear.” He brought the axe down in a swift, powerful blow.

Bone shattered and flesh burned.