Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(40)

A mounted warrior came over a rise, clearly intent on intercepting him. Hail Storm watched as the rider grew closer.

He watched as the horse abruptly reared, and refused to move closer.

The warrior dismounted, leaving the horse standing in the grass, and approached the rest of the way on foot.

“The Warlord Antas requires your presence in his tent,” the warrior said abruptly with no greeting, no respect. “The Warlord Ietha has arrived, and he would have you there when he summons his Warprize.”

Hail Storm stared at the warrior, who insolently stared back.

Rage built in Hail Storm’s breast at the insult, but lashing out would serve no purpose. Killing this fool would be noticed. So he simply nodded. “I will come.”

The warrior turned on his heel, and strode back to his horse, mounted and rode away without another word.

Hail Storm stood, and focused his anger.

So be it. He would cooperate with Antas, and control his Xyian pet. He’d take the abuse they gave him. He’d be the Eldest Elder Warrior-priest that Antas needed him to be. Gather a new Council, even.

But he’d also gather his power in the meantime. And who was to say where that may lead?

After all, there was no reason a horse had to be alive to be ridden. And much death lay at the Heart of the Plains.

He glanced at the sun, headed down to the horizon. He resumed his slow steady pace. It would take time to return to camp.

Antas would just have to be patient.

As would he.

Sudden rushed footfalls from behind had Hail Storm turning on his heel, his sword in his hand.

One of the young warriors from the teaching session ran up, and threw himself to his knees before Hail Storm. “Eldest Elder,” he said breathlessly. “I am Jahal of the Boar. I would learn of the power from you.” He bowed his head, his blond hair falling around his face.

Hail Storm looked around, but saw no one following. “Excellent,” he said, sheathing his sword. “Your theas?”

“I snuck away, Master,” Jahal explained ever so earnestly. “They are fearful,” he raised his head and looked at Hail Storm through his bangs. There were the scraggly beginnings of a beard and mustache on his face. “I do not fear. I wish to know.”

Hail Storm allowed himself a small, pleased smile. He would have to keep the lad hidden and isolated but that could be done. He reached out, and placed his hand on top of Jahal’s head.

“Welcome, warrior-priest-in-training.”




Cadr was disappointed to discover that magic was rather like work.

Oh, it was interesting, that was to be sure. In the morning, Lightning Strike and the others had taken over a tent, setting up for the ritual. There were discussions about compass points, and how best to proceed. There been no problem with him watching, he’d even helped set out the bowls of the elements and the larger bowl of water in the very center of the tent.

But after that, Lightning Strike had sat on a gurtle pad in the center, with four other warrior-priests-in-training around him. They closed their eyes and sat in silence.

“Disappointed?” came a soft voice, and Cadr turned to find Sidian at his shoulder.

Cadr shrugged, then nodded. “I guess I was expecting… more.”

Sidian nodded. “Well, they are reaching out to Snowfall, and they are trying to do it without attracting unwanted attention. Think of it as whispering over the grasses. It may be some time, even days, before they succeed. So until then, we stand watch to protect them. And prepare.”

Cadr nodded.

Gilla had taken her warcats hunting. Others gathered fuel and water. Cadr’s still-healing wounds meant he wasn’t much for the heavier work. Instead, he tended a fire, with kavage and a kettle of soup, and bowls of flatbread near to the ceremony. He also offered to sharpen weapons for any that needed.

Sidian had the others watching for intruders and wyverns, seeing to horses, and packing gear and preparing. Lightning Strike and he had agreed that they would need to break camp and move once they had spoken to Snowfall.

Hours later, Gilla returned with a horse laden with two dressed deer.

“They are still at it?” She asked as she brought the meat to the fire.

Cadr nodded. “They take turns,” he said. “Whatever they do, it takes a lot of out them. They stagger out, exhausted, eat and drink, and then return.”

“It does,” came a new voice and Cadr looked to see Rhys approaching the fire. “It takes a tremendous amount of energy.”

“You can do that?” Gilla asked, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Not that, exactly,” Rhys grinned. “That is wild magic, and it’s not something I can use. But I draw my power in different ways, and my skills are more—”

“Sidian!” came a call from the tent.

Sidian came at a run, and Cadr, Gill, and Rhys followed. In fact, everyone in earshot came, forcing them to roll up the tent sides.

Cadr peered around Sidian, and then gasped.

Snowfall stood over the bowl, or at least, the image of Snowfall, formed from water. She was frowning at Lightning Strike.

No. Cadr realized his mistake almost immediately. She wasn’t frowning at Lightning Strike, she was frowning with him.

“Let me try,” came her voice, like rippling water over stones. “Simus, stand here.”

And then the image folded and expanded. Simus of the Hawk took shape, a big man, taller than Snowfall. His arm was wrapped around Snowfall’s waist.