Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(5)

The City of Water’s Fall, the largest in Xy, stretched out below her. Beyond that the fields and forests went on and on in the valley sprawled below. Some of her fellow Plains warriors swore that they could see the Plains themselves from here, but the Warprize denied the truth of that.

The wind seized her brown hair, whipping it around her head. Amyu caught the long strands in her hands, and bound them up in a quick knot.

“What’s got you so het up?” came a familiar voice.

Amyu looked over to find the old Xyian guard named Enright sitting in his usual position, on a bench facing the low wall, working on repairing a bit of armor. His crossbow sat beside him, cocked and ready, and an alarm bell sat on his other side.

“Runnin’ up those steps in full armor,” Enright snorted. “This some test of the Firelanders?”

She’d found him here when she’d first sought out the highest point of the castle. He was a white haired older man, with pale skin and big, bushy eyebrows. He’d been placed on watch duty after the initial wyvern attack during Atira and Heath’s bonding ceremony. Watchers had been placed all around the castle and the city walls, keeping an eye on the skies for the return of the monsters.

Enright had welcomed her with a nod, and hadn’t said much that first day. “I knew how your people feel about the crippled and maimed,” he’d explained later. “Didn’t think it was proper to start talking.”

He’d been right. She’d been shocked to the core to see his leg of wood, strapped on tight over his trous. On the Plains, such a warrior would have gone to the snows without a thought. But he… at first, it had left her speechless.

And when she’d found the words to say that to him, he’d fixed her with a glare. “What, you think my worth was in my toes?”

She’d learned then that Heath, the new Seneschal of the Castle of Water’s Fall, had made use of older, experienced warriors for guard duty against the monsters that had attacked the castle. Even those wounded in battle. “Nothing wrong with their eyes, ears, or wits,” Heath had explained to the Warlord and Warprize, refusing to remove the guards even after the monsters disappeared from the skies.

Still, it had taken Amyu, and all the other Plains warriors, awhile to get used to the idea. It still bothered her as she settled on the bench next to the Xyian warrior. Those of the Plains went to the snows when they were hurt past healing. When they were no longer of use to the Tribe.

Or like her, when they failed to reach adulthood.

“The stairs are no effort,” she said as she settled on the bench. “It’s leather armor, not like the metal you wear.” She took a minute to adjust her sword and dagger.

“Well, come on,” Enright said. “Tell us your worries, then,”

Amyu opened her mouth then stopped. “Us?” she asked.

Enright gestured behind him.

Amyu turned on the bench to look back.

The tower was built into the mountain, and its top was a half-circle, with the low wall running all around. Large baskets stood at intervals along the walls, with bees hovering around them. And over all, the mountain towered above, its craggy walls stark and unforgiving.

Beyond the trapdoor, Prest of the Wolf stood, pressed against the stone, in almost the exact middle of the half-circle, his normally brown skin was sickly pale, with sweat beading on his forehead.

“Prest?” Amyu asked.

“Amyu,” Prest said, his eyes firmly on the stone beneath his feet.

Amyu exchanged a glance with Enright, who simply shrugged.

“Prest, what’s wrong?” Amyu stood, and approached the big warrior. Prest was a big man, one of the Warprize’s personal guards. A handsome one at that, with his dark skin, bright smile and short black hair. She’d heard that he’d had long braids until he’d been soaked in ehat musk during a hunt with the Warlord Keir.

“Fear,” Prest said, not looking up.

Amyu paused, puzzled, then worked it out. “You’re afraid? Of this?” she gestured with a wide sweep of her arm.

“He thinks he can overcome his fear of heights,” Enright spoke up.

Prest closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Fear holds you still when you need to move, and moves you when you need to be still.”

“Fear makes you silent when you need to be loud, and loud when you need silence.” Amyu recited the next part of the teaching chant. “Fear closes your throat, makes it hard to breathe. Fear weakens your hand and blinds your eyes.”

Prest opened his eyes, glaring out at the vista as he finished the chant. “Fear is a danger. Know your fear. Face your fear.”

“It’s a fear,” Enright called over. “It’s not like fighting, something you can train yourself to. Stand there for days, it ain’t gonna help.”

“Yes, I can,” Prest said through gritted teeth. “All it takes is practice.”

“Which you have been at for days,” Enright snorted, and patted the bench. “Come, lass, leave him to it and tell me what makes you stomp up all those stairs. We could hear you a mile off.”

Leaving Prest to it, Amyu straddled the bench, taking care to adjust her own weapons as she sat. “It’s just that the Warlord and the Warprize… I mean…” Amyu stuttered to a stop.”

“I knew the lass when she was a young girl, defying her father to become a healer.” Enright didn’t even look up from his work. “She is a true Daughter of the Blood and a damn good Queen, but that don’t mean she is perfect. Go ahead.”