Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(114)

The spirits howled their delight, and fled to their bodies.

Hail Storm shook his head. “This is almost a mercy on my part.” He leaned in and pressed—

A dead hand took his wrist, and yanked it away from Joden. A female warrior-priestess stood there, her rotting jaw in a grimace of joy. “Vengeance,” was the sound that issued through rotting flesh.

“What?” Hail Storm staggered back, onto the Heart itself. “Mist?” he cried out in recognition, then tried to fend her off with his dagger.

Joden collapsed, free of restraint but drained of strength as the dead used him in a way he didn’t understand. Like an open door, the snows blew through him and out of him and the dead spirits within their bodies shrieked and turned toward Hail Storm, arms reaching with sharp rotting fingers.

“No, no,” Hail Storm snarled, scrambling back. He glared at Joden as Joden raised his head. “They come through you,” he spat. Hail Storm raised his stump high. “Aid me,” he cried out.

With strong sweeps of its wings, a wyvern rose in the air. It hissed as it leaped forward to Hail Storm’s side, its stinger dripping foul poison. It swept its head in front of Hail Storm, knocking aside the dead that threatened him.

“Now,” Hail Storm crowed. “Now I will have you.”

Joden found himself locked in again, unable to move. Hail Storm approached, his dagger out, his eyes gleaming in anticipation.

A hawk cried above them, clear and loud.

“What now?” Hail Storm demanded, turning, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Joden managed to look up, blinking against the glare.

To see Amyu, on an airion, plunging down from out of the sun.

“A-a-Amyu?” Joden gaped at the sight, certain he was dreaming.

The airion struck the wyvern, sharp claws digging into its back. Amyu had a shield in one hand and reins in the other. She sat boldly in the saddle, as calm as she could be, a warrior in every sense of the word. Strong, confident, with a look of grim determination.

Joden’s heart swelled, even as it beat faster in fear for her.

The wyvern heaved, no longer guarding Hail Storm as it lashed out at the weight on its back. The tail arched in, but Amyu blocked it with her shield. It hit with a resounding clang.

The wyverns around the lake stirred, taking notice.

The wyvern whipped its head back, but the airion clung on. After a moment of struggle Amyu barked a command.

The airion sank its beak into the wyvern’s spine and snapped it in half.

The wyvern collapsed.

“No,” Hail Storm roared, but it was too late. The dead warrior-priests were on him, reaching, grasping, pulling. He screamed once, a high-pitched wail of terror.

Joden staggered back, and watched in horror as they tore Hail Storm to pieces. In their midst, the one Hail Storm had called Mist stood triumphant, the stone-handled dagger raised in her fist.

Joden was conscious of Amyu landing close by, and dismounting. But it was the dead that had his attention, the dead souls in dead bodies, who turned to him now.

“My thanks,” he said.

“Our thanks, Seer,” came a great whisper and a wave of gratitude.

“Return now,” he commanded. “The snows await, and beyond, the stars.”

There was a sigh, first of reluctance and then acceptance. The bodies staggered back to the pits, and began to crawl within.

“Joden,” Amyu was tugging his arm.

The last Joden saw was Mist and the dagger disappearing into the dark earth, and the sod replacing itself.

“Joden, come back to me,” Amyu’s voice sounded desperate, and there was another sound of a beak clattering. She was kneeling beside him, the scent of her hair surrounding him as he looked into her worried eyes.

“Beloved,” his heart leaped as he reached up and took her help to stand. “B-b-beloved—”

“No time,” Amyu jerked her chin toward the lake.

Wyverns hopped toward them from the lake, their wings half out with young ones underfoot, their long necks weaving back and forth, staring.

“Stay low,” Amyu hissed as she pulled him away. “Golden, come.” Her airion clacked its beak, casting threatening looks back, but it obeyed, following them on foot.

“You found them,” Joden chanted, his voice filled with awe.

“Focus,” Amyu warned, but she flashed him a smile, her eyes filled with joy.

The wyverns stopped at the dead beast, flapping their wings to perch on top. After long suspicious looks, they started to feed, tearing out hunks of rotten meat. But two of the adults were still focused on them, eyes bright.

“Don’t run,” Amyu panted. She had one hand buried in the airion’s mane, urging him on.

“My horse,” Joden sang, pointing ahead. His horse was calmly grazing where he had left it. But next to it was a glowing circle of white. “What is—?”

“Friends,” Amyu said. “Go, go.”




They emerged to a crowd of over-joyed warriors, welcomed with shouts and back-pounding hugs for Amyu.

“Y-y-you w-w-watched?” Joden asked, too astonished to sing.

There was laughter at that, and explanations that tumbled from so many mouths that he just shook his head in astonishment.

Amyu watched him, and just when it seemed that the people, noise and news threatened to overwhelm him she stepped in. “Enough,” she said. “Send word to Heath, and Snowfall, and tell them Joden is safe. If the Warlord calls senel tomorrow, Joden can tell his tale once, for all to hear. And hear ours in return.” She tilted her head at Joden. “For this night, he is mine.”