He took up his staff, and with one stroke cut the leather thongs that bound the three skulls to it. Then he set the skulls on the silk, facing him.
“Well, old friends,” he said softly. “It would seem that the final days are upon me. The time has come, I think.”
Snowfall approached from behind, bearing a small brazier with a fire of dry grasses and tinder burning in it. She placed it before him, then bowed. “I will wait with the horses.” She bowed again, this time to the skulls on the red silk, and then retreated, leaving him alone on the stone.
Well, not completely alone. He felt the spirts of his friends gathering close.
“You have traveled with me for many seasons.” Wild Winds reached into his travel bag for a small cloth sack. He pulled out the pine cones and sprigs of balsam he’d acquired for this parting. “I thank you for your wisdom and guidance.”
Hands held high, he straightened his back and started to chant. “Birth of fire, death of air.”
Carefully, he added the fragrant cones to the tiny fire, letting the flames catch and strengthen.
“Birth of water, death of earth.”
Wild Winds dipped his fingers into water, letting it trickle into the bowl.
“Birth of earth, death of fire.”
He raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall into the bowl.
“Birth of air, death of water.”
Now he blew on the coals, and the balsam he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise.
“All life perishes,” Wild Winds said softly. “This I know all too well. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall.
“But we are also more than our bodies. This I know. That which is within each of us lives on. Our dead travel with us until the snows.
“I honor you, my friends and mentors, you who offered me your wisdom and guidance, to travel with me. But my path is ended now, and I offer my thanks as I release you to journey on.”
Wild Winds paused, then continued. “Skies above, earth below, hear my words. Let there be truth in what happens here, whatever it may be. Let us be guided by your wisdom and let all who come here act with honor.”
The only response was the popping of one of the cones in the fire.
Enough. He’d done what he could. He needed to finish this now.
He reached for the first skull, feeling the thin bone under his fingers. He ran his thumb over the dent over the brow ridge. “Twisting Winds, my elder, you were the first to offer your head to me. Go free now.”
He set the skull down, took up his blade, and used the handle and a tiny bit of his own magic to crush the bone into shards.
“Summer Sky, I still see your beauty instead of bone.” Wild Winds smiled as he took up the next skull.
“I have no doubt the stars will be brighter for your dancing.” He crushed this skull on top of the other, breaking it into small pieces.
“Stalking Cat, if you were here, I’ve no doubt you’d slaughter Hail Storm and use his guts for tent ties.” Wild Winds chuckled. “I suspect you are cursing me for a fool right this minute.” He settled back on his heels and stared at the last skull in his hands. “You are no doubt right, and I am wrong. You can tell me so when I see you again. But for now, old friend, go free.” The small burst of his magic, a sharp tap with the hilt, and the third skull shattered into the pile.
“It won’t be long, friends, and I will be with you.” Wild Winds gathered up the ends of the silk, and walked off the Heart, down to the shore of the lake. The pebbles shifted underfoot as he moved to the very edge of the water.
He twisted the silk about itself, then threw it as far as he could, putting the last of his magic into its flight. It arced high, then unfurled as it fell, dropping the shards deep into the lake.
Wild Winds returned to the center to retrieve his staff and travel bag. Snowfall had already cleared the bowls away for him. He staggered under the weight of the bag as he lifted it, but he drew a deep breath and walked slowly to where Snowfall waited for him.
He stopped then, breathing hard, unwilling to admit that he’d used up most of his strength with that simple ritual. But Snowfall merely took his bag from him and placed it on his horse.
“Done?” she asked.
“Done,” he confirmed as he mounted.
She mounted as well, and they both turned their horses toward the rise.
“When the time comes,” he said in a casual tone, “I would give you my staff, and offer my head to you to adorn it. If you would have it, that is.” Wild Winds snorted. “Perhaps you do not wish my spirit to travel with you.”
“You honor me.” Snowfall twisted in the saddle to look at him, and he could see that her eyes were glistening. “But I prefer your head on your shoulders, and not on any staff of mine.”
“As do I,” Wild Winds responded. “But that is not what is, as well you know.” He looked around. “Where do you suppose Simus of the Hawk is camped?”
“I wonder if there is any fresh meat to be had,” Snowfall answered. “I’m hungry.”
“It is to be hoped that you will obey me better after my death,” Wild Winds observed.
Snowfall raised an eyebrow, then urged her horse into a trot toward camp.
BETHRAL kept them moving until just after sunset. The skies were clear, and there would be no moon.
She dismounted first, and went to El’s horse. “How is he?”
“Still sleeping,” El assured her.
“There’s very little glow,” Ouse added.
“Good.” Bethral put her hand on Ezren’s knee, looking at his sleeping face. She’d have preferred to have him with her on Bessie, but if they’d been attacked, she would have been restricted.
Lander appeared, and the four of them got Ezren down without waking him.
There was little talk as the others dismounted. Everyone was too weary for anything other than setting up tents and watches. Soon enough, Bethral was tucked into their tent with Ezren by her side.
He’d roused during the ride, worried about all of them, but once he’d been reassured, he’d fallen asleep. He felt cold to her; his hands were clammy. Bethral stripped off her gambeson, then stripped Ezren as well.
She covered both of them in blankets, and snuggled with him, pulling him close, trying to warm him with her body heat. She tucked his cold hands under her arms to warm, and put her warm feet against his. The heat between them grew, and eventually, slowly, Ezren’s body warmed.
She dozed fitfully, conscious of every noise outside and of Ezren’s breathing. So she awoke the moment his breathing changed.
“Bethral?” he asked, his voice husky.
She kissed him softly.
It took him a moment, then he drew a sharp breath. “The attack. Gilla?”
“Everyone is fine,” Bethral assured him.
“Thank the Lord and the Lady,” Ezren said, then went silent for a moment. “I used it, or more to the point, it used me, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” Bethral said. “There were six of them. If they were returning from a rite, that’s the normal number that travel together.”
“We killed them all?” Ezren asked.
“As far as I know, yes,” Bethral said. “But I didn’t trust that someone didn’t escape to take word. So we kept moving.” she paused. “And I am assuming that they can sense the magic from a distance.”
There was a pause in the darkness as he thought. “I agree. So they know where we are.”
“Sleep,” Bethral said. “We will be up and moving at dawn.”
“More will die before we reach the mountains, Bethral.”
“With any luck, it will only be their blood spilled.”
She heard him about to protest, and covered his mouth with her fingers. “They have a choice, Ezren.”
With a sigh, he nodded. He pulled her closer, and tucked her head under his chin. “Here I am, naked with my lady and too damned tired to do anything about it.”
“We liv
e.” Bethral choked, her throat closing on the words. “That is all I can ask of this night.”
“Sleep, then,” Ezren said. He reached out and stroked her eyes closed.
Bethral kissed his fingers, closed her eyes, and listened to him breathe as she drifted off to sleep.
“WE found their bodies rolled in cloaks and left with their tack and saddles.” Frost’s image wavered in the scrying bowl. “It was one of the groups traveling up from the south.” There was a pause, then she continued. “One of them is burnt to a crisp.”
“Magic?” Mist leaned forward and asked.
“Obviously,” Thunder Clouds said.
Hail Storm grunted, but didn’t smile as Mist leaned back, clearly offended.
Frost continued. “Their tracks head in a straight line, due east, Elders. I can give chase, if that is what you wish.”
“How many are you?” Hail Storm asked.
“Myself and four others,” Frost replied.
“Dawn Breaking is close to your location, as is Sharp Sword,” Hail Storm said. “Best if you link up before confronting them. That will give you enough.”
Frost considered. “Yes. Even better if we can catch them between us.” She smiled, her teeth gleaming. “We will secure the Sacrifice and bring him to you, Hail Storm.”
“No,” Hail Storm said, enjoying the mild shock that went around the tent.
“No?” Frost asked, her confusion clear.
Hail Storm leaned forward. “He is too dangerous to confront. Besides, the Sacrifice must be willing, Frost.” Hail Storm leaned back, and gave her a slow smile. “So attack, yes, but let your goal be to secure one of the others by any means possible. Bring us one of his companions, and he will follow you as night follows day.”
The other elders in the tent were nodding, murmuring their agreement.
“Ah.” Frost nodded. “Easily done, Hail Storm.”
“Then see to it,” Hail Storm ordered. “We will head for the Heart. I have business to attend to there. Send word only if you fail.”
“We’ll not fail,” Frost assured him.
The casting broke, and the young ones who had held it sagged beside the brazier. Hail Storm rose, looking about. “We must start to send everyone to the Heart.”
Mist rose as well. “You’ve no tent, Hail Storm, so no reason to linger. Take an escort and go. We will follow as soon as we are able.”
Hail Storm gave her a deep nod. “My thanks, Elder. But all need to witness the events at the Heart. I will continue to watch the scrying spell and see to the restoration of the earth. I should be one of the last to leave.”
He opened the tent flap and stepped out, giving her no chance to dispute him. The morning was crisp, the air sweet, and he took a deep breath as he strode off without a backword look. Now was not the time to rush. He needed one and all to witness his challenge and defeat of Wild Winds, needed witnesses to the Sacrifice.
And if the Sacrifice did not come? Well, there were many ways the old words could be translated. If he announced a new way to power, based on the willing sacrifice? Many willing sacrifices? There would be those that could be convinced that a few lives were worth the sacrifice. He’d be careful, of course. Go slow. But eventually . . .
Hail Storm nodded to himself with satisfaction. It was always good to have plans and alternatives. Who knew which way the winds would blow?
And when the time came, he’d take Wild Winds’s tent for his own.
TWENTY-SEVEN
EZREN knew full well that the magic was draining him; every breath was an effort. The farther they rode to the east, the stronger the urging demanded he turn back.
He fought it and rode with grim determination, bent on not slowing them down. Bethral was watching him, he knew. He caught her worried gaze once again, and gave her a hard smile. She nodded with resignation and turned to survey the lands, on guard for further trouble.
Lord of Light, he loved her.
Lander brought his horse close, and held out what looked like a small ball of twisted grass. “Crittney,” he offered.
Bethral was taking some from Ouse, so Ezren did the same. He bit down, and a sweet, almost spicy taste filled his mouth and nostrils. It was clear and crisp, and seemed to ease his head. Lander grinned. “These taste very good,” he said in passable Elven.
“Yes. Thank you,” Ezren replied with a smile. They’d managed a few language lessons as they rode, and Lander learned quickly. Even faster than Ezren, probably thanks to his memory. “Excuse me, but can you tell me where the necessary is?”
Lander laughed as he moved his horse back in position. Bethral had them riding in an oval with Ezren at the center. She was pushing them on, but had said they’d stop before sunset to sleep.
Cosana had looked back at the sound of Lander’s laughter. She gave Ezren a flirty wink before she turned to face forward. As grim as their situation was, she’d probably offer another threesome this night. Ezren hoped Bethral’s sense of humor held up under the strain. He wasn’t sure that she found it quite so—
Five warrior-priests rose out of the grasses ahead of them, bows pulled taut.
“Arrows!” Bethral cried, and everyone raised their shields. Ezren hunched down, bringing his own shield up and urging his horse to a gallop. The others did as well.
Arrows whistled through the air. Ezren was relieved that no one had been hit, until he realized what they were doing.
They were shooting at the horses.
Tenna’s horse went down. With a cry, Tenna left the saddle, falling, rolling, and coming to her feet, sword in hand. She screamed a battle cry and ran toward the closest archer.
Chell and El pulled their horses around, charging the archers. Ezren would have done the same, but Bethral grabbed his horse’s bridle and kept them running forward.
No, they couldn’t leave—
The whistling gave him some warning. The arrow caught his horse in the chest, and the animal staggered. Ezren tried to kick free of the saddle, but—
He saw the sky, and then the grass, and then nothing.
EZREN was down.
Fear washed over Bethral, but she clamped down on it and then thrust it away. Lander and Ouse pulled their horses to a stop, then maneuvered over the downed Storyteller, weapons and swords ready. Good enough.
Bessie’s hooves tore up the grasses as she spun around at Bethral’s command. Without hesitation, the big roan mare plunged into the midst of the fight.
The warrior-priests had dropped their bows and pulled swords. Tenna was on the ground, battering away at her opponent as she screamed insults. The others were doing well, but Cosana was fighting two, and they were trying to flank her. Bethral growled, and gave Bessie her target.
The warrior-priest’s eyes went wide as Bessie charged him. He managed to dodge the big horse, but that only made it easier for Bethral to swing her heavy mace down on his head.
He crumpled to the ground. Bessie turned, trampling him.
Bethral used the moment to pick her next target in the confusion, but a cry drew her attention.
“Warlord!” Lander was pointing to the south. Three warrior-priests on horseback, coming fast.
Bethral sent Bessie toward them, guiding her with her knees. Fear was gone, replaced with exhilaration, and a grim determination.
GILLA parried the sword blow with her own blade, then bashed the warrior-priest in the face with her shield. He staggered back, nose dripping blood, then came at her again.
Her horse shifted and sidled, trying to knock the man to the ground. The warrior-priest ducked, and Gilla shifted in the saddle to keep him in sight, holding her shield high. But the warrior-priest rose on the other side, dagger in hand, and plunged it into the horse’s neck.
Horrified, Gilla felt the animal shy and stagger. She swung her leg over and jumped free as it fell. She brought up her sword and shield, frantically looking for her opponent.
He came at her from the side, lunging with his sword raised. She brought her sh
ield up, ready for the blow. But the man jerked to a stop.
El was behind him, on horseback, his sword buried in the warrior-priest’s back. El’s face was a mix of joy and horror as the body slid off his blade. She sympathized as she caught his gaze, and gave him a quick smile.
The point of a lance pierced his chest. El’s face went slack as he slid limp off his horse, dead.
Gilla screamed, running toward the spot where he’d fallen. El’s horse ran off, and there stood the warrior-priest that had killed him. She charged him, bringing her sword up, not thinking, only feeling. The warrior-priest watched her come, an odd look of satisfaction on his face.
A cloak blocked her vision, falling over her face. Gilla stumbled, then something hit her head. Pain and darkness claimed her before she could fall.
BETHRAL met her enemy head-on, charging for the one in the center. The other horse moved at the last minute, swerving to avoid the larger horse. Bessie continued on, ramming into its shoulder, sending it staggering to the side.
Bethral swung her mace, slamming it onto the shield, hearing the wood crack. From the way the warrior-priest flinched, the arm was probably broken. Good enough. Bethral brought the mace back in a wide arc, catching the woman on the chin. She fell from her saddle, and Bessie trampled her as they turned to face the other one.
This one wasn’t stupid. He had his shield up, eyeing her with care, waiting for her charge. Behind him, Bethral spotted a few warrior-priests mounting up with their wounded and galloping off. She refocused on her opponent, snarled, and shifted her knees.
Bessie reared and lunged forward, her hooves flailing at the other horse. It shied away, forcing the warrior-priest to catch himself with one hand to the saddle.
Bessie dropped back on all four hooves, and Bethral swung, bringing the mace down on his sword arm with a satisfying crunch.
EZREN staggered to his feet, his head pounding with pain.
All around him raged sounds of the combat. He lifted his gaze and saw all his friends fighting the warrior-priests. Bethral was in the thick of it, her armor awash with light as she swung her mace.
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