Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(91)

The blade hit her palm, and the back of the ring.

The entire cave rang with the sound. Like the wardrums of a Warlord, it shook Amyu’s body to the bone.

Amyu lifted the sword, and turned her hand, to see the blue stone of the ring glowing.

Giddy joy passed over her as the vibrations faded from the cave.

“There have been no changes in the rallying cry,” Kendrick started to thumb through the book, looking for something. “But there have been variations in the gestures over time.”

Variations. Changes.

She faced the wall again, grinning like the fool she wasn’t. She held the sword before her, point up. “Let the protectors of Xy arise to my call.” She cried out, and then struck the sword with the stone of the ring.

The tunnel rang, trembling with a subtle roaring sound. The wall before her turned blue, glowing with the sword and the ring, and then it faded. As the rumbling passed, Amyu could see light at the end of the tunnel, white and clear.

Something moved, blocking the light. Something big, something charging her way—

Amyu threw herself to the side as she heard claws scrabble on stone. She pressed herself tight to the wall, hardly daring to breathe.

The creature stopped at the ledge, turning its head to look at her. The horse body was there, the head more horse than eagle, but with a sharp hooked beak. No grass eater, this. All four legs ended in talons. Golden colored, with black eyes that seemed to take her all in with one glance. The warmth of its body swept over her, along with the familiar smell of horse. The hair was the same on its body, but the mane, the tail were made of bright gold feathers, and the wings—

To her utter delight, it half-spread its wings, screeching like a hawk as it shook itself out. Feathers and horse hairs went flying. Amyu laughed, and sheathed the sword. “You are a beauty,” she crooned as she rose, hoping against hope, stretching out her hand to touch the withers.

The airion extended its neck, huffing at her hair, taking in her scent. It reared, trilled an odd sound, turned back to the open space and folded its wings in. As if waiting.

Amyu held her breath. It couldn’t want her to mount.

The airion turned its head and stared at her.

She took a step, then another, and without daring to think it through she buried her hand deep in its mane. An impulse of sheer joyous madness made her mount. Her legs were in front of the wings, and she settled back, as if born to—

With a deep cry, the airion surged up, and out, its wings snapping open as they left the cave.

Amyu cried out, in joy and terror, her stomach somewhere behind her. The air rushed passed, the ground spiraled below.

She was flying!

She gripped the mane tighter with both hands, and tucked her feet in, as if it were a horse she could guide. The wind streamed her hair behind her and stung her eyes. She blinked against the tears, still laughing. Triumph trembled through every muscle in her body.

With powerful down strokes, the airion rose over the tree tops, creeing its joy. It climbed, spiraling up, riding the air as easily as a horse rode the earth.

More trills from behind, and the sound of wings, and more airions filled the skies around them, dancing in the air.

Amyu laughed, amazed and delighted.

She was flying!

She could see the entire valley below her, and the city walls, and hear the distant alarm bells.

Oh, skies above. The wyvern alarm bells.

Amyu leaned in, suddenly anxious that they not fly any closer to the walls. “Down,” she said, not sure if she’d be understood.

The airion did, it seemed. It clucked with seeming regret, tucked its wings in, and… fell.

Amyu shrieked, and lost her grasp on the mane. The airion’s body was slipping out from under her. Her stomach gave a huge lurch. She’d fall and—

The wings snapped out and the airion slowed. The hesitation was enough for Amyu to regain her seat and her grip. Her heart racing, Amyu remembered the saddles in the cave, with the buckles and harness for the rider.

Sheer instinct gave her power. “Aid me,” she cried out, and the magic responded as if a saddle. Golden light wrapped around her waist securing her to her mount.

The airion creed, pulled in its wings and once again they plunged to earth, down toward the field where the cows were starting to run, mooing their distress. Amyu gulped against the feeling of having no weight, but then the wings spread again, and she grunted as the creature slowed.

Light as a feather, the airion settled down to the earth. Amyu released the golden straps, and dismounted, falling to her knees. The world spun as she laughed and emptied her stomach. She’d found them. Against all odds, she’d found—

“Amyu?” a voice called.

She was on her feet in a moment, her blades out. She stared at the group of people coming toward her. “Cadr?”

“What are these?” one of them asked, pointing.

Amyu turned to see her airion, the golden one, leap for a cow, and bring it down with a bite through its spine. The herd was setting up a ruckus, scattering into the woods as shadows passed over the field. She looked up to see more airions in the sky above her, circling. All different colors, their wings spread, their cries filling the air.

“Airions,” she laughed, sheathing her weapons. She wiped her face, the taste of vomit and success in her mouth. “They’re airions.”




Quick introductions were made, with quick explanations as they watched the airions devour the dead cow.