Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(90)

Hanstau nodded. “To Xy.”

“To Xy,” she confirmed, and put her horse’s head in that direction. “But don’t think this means there is anything less between us.” She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “I claim you, my city-dweller.”

Hanstau tried to stammer something intelligible out, but no real words came. He settled for blushing.

Reness laughed, and urged her horse to a gallop, leading his by the reins.




Simus was just settling down to his nooning when Snowfall gasped, dropped her kavage and turned north. He was on his feet in an instant, and the warriors around them took defensive stances.

No sounds, no outcry arose around them. Snowfall was focused on a distant point, off to the north.

Simus took a step closer to his bonded, and waited.

“A flare of power,” Snowfall said. “Far to the north. Would that be Xy?”

“Xy.” Simus sheathed his sword, and the other warriors relaxed around them.

“Lightning Strike?” Simus asked as he bent to get her mug.

Snowfall shook her head. “Too far north for it to be them,” she said absently, squinting off into the distance as if she could see if she just looked hard enough. “But who else could use power like that?”

“You told me that all Plains warriors are tested at the Rite of Ascension,” Simus filled her mug and pressed it into Snowfall’s hands.

“Yes,” Now those grey eyes were focused on him, intent and lovely. Simus took a moment to enjoy their beauty even as he answered the unasked question.

“Have I told you of Amyu?”




Cadr first knew of it when Lightning Strike jerked in his saddle. He pulled his horse to a stop as the others slid from their saddles, taking out their bowls and shields.

Gilla rode up, whistling for the warcats, who bounded out of the grass to sprawl at the horses’ feet.

“Got it,” Night Clouds cried.

Cadr pressed in, everyone trying to look in the bowl at the same time. He caught a glimpse of a woman’s back. She was kneeling in a cave, before ritual bowls. She cast a quick look behind her, but it was enough.

“Amyu,” Cadr said, grabbing Lightning Strike’s shoulder. “That’s Amyu. That’s Xy.”

They watched as Amyu stood, taking up a strange sword that sparkled blue.

“But where is she?” Sidian asked. “Can you see more?”

Night Clouds nodded, frowning, staring at the bowl.

“Give us room,” Lightning Strike said, and others moved back. Cadr stayed glued to his side. Sidian and Rhys both leaned in closer.

The scene in the bowl shifted to reveal the cave and the mountain side.

“What is—?” Lightning Strike exclaimed.

Sidian started to explain mountains, and caves. Cadr ignored them, kneeling at Night Clouds’ side. “See that,” he pointed, careful not to touch the bowl. “It’s a path.”

Night Clouds nodded, and the scene blurred as it rushed down the mountainside. The trees finally opened up, to show a wide grassy area, filled with large animals.

“What are those?” Lightning Strike asked.

“Cows,” Rhys said. “They’re like large gurtles. I can portal there.” he added.

Cadr looked up at Lightening Strike. “Do we go?”

“We go.”




Amyu held her position, blinking against the fading glare, waiting for her breath to return. An odd tickle burned between her shoulder blades. She glanced behind herself, but there was no one there.

She turned back, and looked down.

The sword was whole.

“Heyla,” She cried, her voice ringing on the stone walls. But even as the sound faded, she stared at her hands. There was no change, no glow, all seemed as it was, all but the sword.

Giddy with joy, she reached for the sword hilt, almost afraid it would shatter again as she lifted it.

The blade was heavier than she expected, but it was straight and true and so blue within its depths it seemed to glow. She rose to her feet, forgetting everything else in her excitement. With a deep breath, she faced the back wall of the tunnel.

She held the sword up and stretched out her other hand with the Ring of Xy displayed. “Let the protectors of Xy arise to my call!” she proclaimed, and waited, breathless.

Nothing happened.





Chapter Thirty-One


Amyu stood there, dumbfounded. Sword in one hand, the ring on the other, feeling the fool.

She cleared her throat, and called again. “Let the protectors of Xy arise to my call!”

Nothing.

She blinked. Then she cursed. She cursed the mountain, cursed the sword, the ring, the city-dwellers, the entire idea that she could find the airions.

Then she stood in the silence. She consciously slowed her breathing, letting her anger fade, and considered.

The ritual had worked, the sword was whole again. She could wield magic, that she had proven. She took a breath, letting that confidence flow back into her.

But Kalisa had talked of her bloodlines, like the bloodlines of a Tribe. Even the Warprize was of the Blood of Xy. Maybe one had to be of the Tribe of Xy to summon airions.

Her shoulders sagged. She let the blade fall, catching it with the open palm of her ringed hand. At least she had this much that she could take back—