Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(61)

Joden lifted his head. They were coming out of the trees and the ruins of Water’s Fall stood before them.

Ruins.

Joden sucked in a breath.

The great city was shattered, destroyed. The walls had fallen, mere rubble before them. The proud gates were gone, only angry black scorch marks in their place. The buildings were collapsed within, their roofs sagging or gone completely. There were no signs of life, other than the wyverns wheeling above in the sky, circling and circling— “Let’s run for a bit,” Rafe called and urged his horse to a gallop.

Joden frowned, but said nothing. Did they not see what he saw? A glance told him that they didn’t, or at least that they thought nothing of it. He looked back at Amyu, but she returned his look with one of concern, not shock.

Joden turned to stare again, only to find the city walls whole and well, with guards walking the walls, scanning the clear skies above.

His horse kept up with the others of its own will. Joden was too stunned to do more than keep his seat. What had he seen? He had seen it. It had been as real as his own breath. But now it was gone.

Rafe led them at a gallop, but he didn’t hold them to that pace long. He raised a hand, slowing as they hit the main road to the gates. These fields were usually under plow, with various crops. Lara had explained it to him and Simus one night. But now both sides of the road were lined with tents of the Plains, an army that spread out as far as the eye could see. Joden craned around, searching. Yes, there was Keir’s command tent, and the dance grounds where he had displayed his Warprize to his men…

But that was in the past, and Keir’s army had returned to the Plains and disbanded. There were no tents— And like that, they were gone.

Joden’s heart start to thump in his chest. He sucked in air, suddenly aware that he’d stopped breathing.

The winds. Had they taken his wits?

Tall plants, crops of some kind, danced in the breeze on both sides of the road. The tents, the army, gone as if the winds had taken them.

Joden sucked in another breath, and another, trying to focus on his horse beneath him, the sun and the sky, and— Amyu coughed.

He glanced to his right. She had urged her horse up, slipping in beside him, worry on her face. As if she sensed his pain. Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow in a silent question.

He nodded, and gave her a weak smile.

She frowned, but nodded back, and let her horse slow to resume her place.

What was happening to him? The past as clear as the present? Was that the future he was seeing? Joden’s gut roiled and he rubbed a hand over his face. Were his voice and sanity both gone?

“Heyla,” Rafe called out, waving toward the walls of the city.

Joden straightened in the saddle, and faced forward. It wasn’t far now, the gates were growing closer. The guards on the walls had spotted them; Joden could see them moving about, preparing to allow them in. The tilled fields ended, as Lara had explained. There were only the mounds to pass, the mounds left by the mass burials of the dead, bodies of Xyian and Plains warriors both.

Only, the dead were waiting for him.

They lined the road, quiet and solemn, garbed as they had been in life, with armor and weapons at their side.

Joden’s horse slowed, and stopped.

The dead ignored Rafe as he passed, and the other warriors. But they turned to Joden, looking at him, all their attention focused on him.

Joden sat and stared. So many dead, so many lives cut short. Yet in death, they stood side by side, waiting.

Watching.

There were no words, but Joden knew. They wondered if their sacrifice was worth the price. Wondered what they had given their lives for.

They looked to Joden for answers.

“Joden?” Amyu’s voice cut through his daze.

He caught the scent of her hair, and it brought him back to the world. She’d brought her horse close to his, so close their legs touched. The others were ahead of them, quizzical looks on their faces.

“Joden?” Amyu repeated. “Are you well?”

“The dead,” he kept his voice low. “All around us.”

Her eyes went wide, and she glanced around, shifting in her saddle. So did Joden.

The dead were still there, still waiting.

“Let me have your reins,” Amyu said softly.

He nodded, but couldn’t seem to make his hands work. He felt her warm fingers on his as she slid the reins from his hands. He clutched at his saddle with a tight, desperate grip.

Amyu urged her horse forward, and nodded to Rafe. Rafe took the lead again, but this time at a slow walk. The other warriors took up positions around them, and their little procession headed toward the gates.

Joden felt his horse start to walk with the rest, heard the guards call out, heard the great gates start to swing wide to admit them. But he only had eyes for the dead, silent and watching.

The dead, lining the roadside.

The dead, who knelt, their heads bowed, as he passed. Row after row of endless, silent witnesses.

“Our dead travel with us, ride along beside us,” Joden recited the ancient words in his head, words he’d heard from his theas. “Unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing,” he choked as he continued the litany. “Until the longest night, when we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars.”

Yet these dead were still here.

Joden kept his eyes open, and met the gaze of every warrior, every man and woman. It was the least he could do, maybe all he could do.