WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(88)

“There’s so many, Warlord,” Tsor said. “They fill the shoreline as far south as we ranged. But only on the shoreline. They seem drawn to the water’s edge.” He took a long drink. “They are mock-fighting, and seem to have an area that they defend against all comers. An area that they return to if they are roused. Also, they are piling up their kills.”

“Kills?” Simus asked.

“A few have a small heap of dead gurtles close by,” Tsor said. “Ouse there has an idea.”

Ouse sat up, facing Simus, waiting for permission to speak.

“Give me your truths, warrior,” Simus nodded.

Ouse swelled with youthful pride. “Warlord, they remind me of young stags at mating season. Testing themselves against each other.”

“Mating?” Simus narrowed his eyes in thought. “Can you sex them? Are there females?”

They all shook their heads. “Not that I’ve seen,” Tsor said. “Not that any of us have seen. No teats, so we think they might be egg layers.” He hesitated, and then continued. “I think they may be more like night-flyers than hawks. But that is as good as asking the wind. I’ve no proof.”

“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.