The Wings of War: Books 1-3: The Wings of War Box Set, Vol. 1

by Bryce O'Connor

  One Iriso was manageable. A hundred, on the other hand…

  “There.”

  Agais, Jarden, and Tolman were debating by the clanmaster’s wagon, looking out over the Garin from their place atop the northern dunes. Agais was pointing to a spot at the near edge of the lake just below them.

  “In the nook of the west shore, beside the palm groves. We can set up by the trees, near the shallows. We’ll have shade, spare wood to burn or sell, and a safe place to collect water and bathe. And, worst come to worst, the trees will provide plenty of cover if the ath—if Raz needs it.”

  Or we need it, he thought humorlessly after the two men had nodded and left to spread the word.

  The Garin was a clear diamond against the scoured face of the desert, but it was a flawed gem. Danger was present as much as comfort, and it paid to be ready. Marsh crocodiles and their smaller caiman cousins were locals of the lake, making washing, fishing, and collecting drinking water safe only in the extreme shallows along the shore. Besides that, where large amounts of living creatures amassed, so too came the predators. Man-flesh might not be the most reliable source of food, but sandcat attacks happened repeatedly over the summer months regardless, though few were ever successful. Even the dune scorpions braved an occasional assault at some of the smaller families, striking and dragging their prey off into the dunes before any widespread alarm could be raised. It was the reason why, once most of the clans arrived, they tended to form little pockets of massed settlements to dot the oasis rather than spread thin around its edge. It was a habit that had proven useful often, and sometimes in unexpected ways.

  Seven years ago, long before Agais and Jarden’s father’s death, the Garin had fallen prey to raiders. Or fallen under attack, at least. The raiders in question had either severely underestimated the number of clansmen they were up against, or had somehow lost a vast part of their force to the summer heat. The result was just under fifty lightly armored marauders charging down the hill in the middle of the night, bearing torches and swinging sabers. The element of surprise had been on their side, granted, but they’d made the mistake of attacking one of the largest mini-settlements around the lake. Likely they’d thought it would yield the largest take in a quick smash-and-grab.

  It was about the only thing they got right.

  Twenty-five families awoke to several burning homes, each caravan with at least four capable men and women among them and some with more than ten. Rather than the easy victory they’d anticipated, the raiders had found themselves surrounded by almost two-hundred very angry nomads, not a few among them skilled with a bow, blade, or staff.

  While thirty clansmen died that night, only half-a-dozen bandits managed to escape up the hill without an arrow in their back or steel between their ribs. The Arros had been in the midst of the conflict, but thankfully all made it out with their lives.

  Sometimes, though, when he’d indulged in too many spirits, Jarden still liked to show off the scar on his left thigh he’d received from a “lucky” saber slash.

  Chuckling at the thought, Agais heaved himself onto the front of the wagon where Grea waited as usual, gray eyes wide with excitement, looking out over the Garin. Grabbing the draft horses’ reins, Agais gave them a snap, and the train began moving again. A quarter of an hour later the carts circled in, forming the practiced ring just at the edge of the shadows cast by the palms.

  The next few hours were spent making camp, a much larger endeavor than the usual nightly fire and stone ring to keep in the horses. One at a time, starting with the Grandmother’s wagon at the back and moving forward, patched canvas tents were pitched, backed up against the carts for support and extra room. The entrances faced inward, leaving the inside ring an open circle just big enough to fit all twenty-four Arros comfortably around an evening bonfire. Afterwards, the men worked together to unload the lengths of crafted wood that made up the more permanent horse pen—stowed away in Tolman’s relatively empty wagon—and set about digging pits in the sand deep enough that the vertical posts would hold firm. Meanwhile, the women and younger children began setting up the camp in more detail, covering the hut floors with large cloth carpets and reed mats, wide enough to ensure that little sand could escape into the living areas, even with the wind. Thin bedrolls—the same ones the families used during the cooler months—were laid out alongside each other, sheltered by the tents and leaving the wagons with much more room to spare.

  The smell of cooking soon drove the men to finish the horse pen. Once Gale, Haron, Sandrider, and the other animals were cleaned, fed, and driven into the wooden confines of the enclosure, everyone returned to their women, sweaty but pleased at the conclusion of the day’s chores. By agreement the large portions of leftover dried meat would be consumed first so as to avoid wasting food. Tomorrow they would fish, keeping to the shallow depths with nets and spears but casting lines into the dark blue of the deeper waters. Carp was good and not hard to dry, so the Arros would easily amass ample rations to last them the summer. Reserves they would gather over the last few weeks, ensuring sufficient food on the way to their trade route’s starting cities.

  All in all the afternoon passed comfortably. When the Sun started to fade behind the high dunes to the west, Agais began to feel some of his trepidations slip away with it. For the first time in days he’d let his mind focus on other things apart from his wife and daughter. It felt good to be able to stop worrying, if only for a few hours. Sadly, though, even as this warm thought caught him, the Grandmother ducked out of her tent and looked around. It didn’t take her long to notice him relaxing in the sand by the cooking fire.

  “Raz has recovered completely,” the old woman told him quietly, coming to sit by Agais while he watched the flames. Now that they’d reached the oasis, they would use the rest of the driftwood stores they’d bought and kept. The kindling, soaked with salts and hardened after drying, burned with a myriad of colors for hours on end. Whisping tongues of blue, green, and red licked the bottom of the wide iron cauldron in which Grea and Delfry were boiling fresh water. Beside them, Surah and Iriso were slicing up narrow strips of dried meat. The other women had taken the children into the palms, searching out whatever edible plants they could find in the fading light.

  Agais sat silent. He’d forgotten about the damn lizard, too, for once, and was hesitant to speak his mind as the Grandmother watched him levelly.

  “Release him,” she insisted. “I will take responsibility for Raz if you are unwilling to do so, but he’s been bedridden for over two weeks and doesn’t understand why. I’ve had to keep him a little under the entire time, just to make sure he doesn’t let himself loose. He’s unconscious now. He’s unconscious every time I leave him.”

  Still Agais didn’t speak. His eyes took in the fire, dark in the light as he contemplated the decision.

  Soon the Garin would be overrun with other families. The Kahnts, the Eamons, the Asani, and five-score more. Because of their placement, the Arros would likely be at the very edge of any settlement that sprouted around them, but other clans would still pen them in. Agais was starting to regret not figuring out some way to get rid of the boy sooner. It would probably be impossible to hide him even if he was kept tied to the bed until the atherian came from the east.

  A cruel thought to say the least.

  “We’ll discuss it over the meal,” he said finally, giving in. “I will tell you I believe Raz can be controlled. I’ve seen it. But a decision such as this is not mine to make alone. Iriso will undoubtedly have something to say. Others, too. Some might be content enough to bear the child’s presence while he is secluded to your hut, but I doubt they’ll all be as open to having him move free amongst them and their children. No matter how tame he might seem.”

  The Grandmother opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to argue that Raz was of no danger so long as he was watched, but Agais held his hand up. Wearily he leaned back on one elbow in the sand.

  “You know as well as I do, Grandmother, that if you
should decide to release the boy on your own, I won’t be able to stop you. You hold the only voice stronger than mine. It is out of respect, therefore, that I ask that you be patient, at least until we have discussed it as a family. By giving the others a say in what is done with the child from here on out, I hope to show them that I trust them wholly, no matter what.”

  The old woman shut her mouth and said nothing. Then she nodded. For the next half hour the two sat quietly, content in their silence, watching the foragers return with decent findings and listening to the women chatting incessantly over the smell of rich meat soup.

  The Grandmother was true to her word, and so before dinner began and under the excited hum of discussion about the coming months of comfort, Agais got to his feet. Conversations ended quickly, all eyes turning to the clanmaster.

  “There is something to be discussed,” Agais began, his gray eyes circling the ring of people, “before we can eat.”

  He hesitated, gaze lingering on the Grandmother, who nodded encouragingly from her spot beside Grea.

  “The lizard-child,”—he saw Iriso roll her eyes—“is no longer ailing. He’s recovered fully from his injuries. It is the Grandmother’s opinion that Raz should be released and allowed some limited movement around the camp.”

  There was a moment’s stunned silence.

  And then Iriso leapt to her feet.

  “Release him?” she demanded shrilly, gaping at Agais. “You want to let that monster run loose around our children? Has the Moon cursed you with insanity, Agais, or are you purposefully acting like a fool? I’m starting to question your abilities as head of this family!”

  The silence that followed was more profound, but kept even shorter by Jarden’s angry voice.

  “It’s you who are the fool, Iriso!” he spat at her, still seated on the ground, but eyes blazing. “Twice already you’ve challenged my brother on this matter, and twice you’ve been proven wrong! Agais has never shown anything but the utmost capability to lead us true, even through hard times. It is your prejudice against a child who has shown no ill will to anyone in the last week that has you floundering! Well I tell you this: I hold faith in my brother, I hold faith in the Grandmother, and I hold faith in Raz’s ability to continue being nothing but a well-behaved boy. He tries to protect those who have cared for him when anything he conceives as a threat approaches. With that I remind you that you, too, have been cared for. You bear the name Arro, but you are not blood. Our father accepted you into this family before his death with no qualms, and I’ve no qualms with you as a sister. BUT ONLY IF YOU STOP QUESTIONING THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT GIVING TOWARD YOU!”

  Jarden’s last statement reverberated, and Agais was silently grateful they’d made camp so far away from the other clusters of tents around the lake. Iriso, for one, looked shocked and on the verge of tears, though whether they were tears of anger or hurt the man couldn’t tell. On the other hand, Jarden’s lecture had done the trick. She grew silent and sat back down heavily, leaning into the cradling arms of her husband. Still, the woman’s retreat did nothing to quell the fire in Jarden’s voice.

  “I stand by the Grandmother,” he said, looking around with a bit more threat in his eyes than Agais might have thought necessary. “She has never led us wrong.”

  “And I,” Tolman said in his deep Percian voice, lifting a hand and nodding.

  “I too,” young Prida said shyly from beside the dark-skinned man, smiling up at him. Though she was barely of age to have a say, the girl’s vote triggered the other women to nod or shake their heads, murmuring yays or nays, and the rest of the men soon followed. By the end, Agais was relieved to find that his vote would have little effect on the decision. Grea, the Grandmother, Kosen and Delfry, and Ovan all voted for Raz’s release. Eara and Zadi, the sisters, were split, Eara, the older, voting yes as Zadi shook her head. Not surprisingly, the other younger mothers, Trina and Hannas, voted against Raz’s release, as did Ishmal, shrugging apologetically and glancing nervously at Sasham, his youngest. Achtel, always a clever man, knew a positive vote would do little to change the outcome, so he cast nay, supporting the wife he still held to his chest. Iriso remained silent, but Agais was kind enough to place her voice where her heart was.

  “With my choice that makes a count of ten to six eligible voices in favor of releasing Raz,” he said aloud, double-checking his math so as to avoid sparking any angry voices. “However, as that’s not the majority I would like, let me offer a compromise. The boy will be released, but he will be limited to the Grandmother’s tent and wagon for the time being, along with some time outside after dark. That should give him room to spread his wings and for all of us to develop our opinion of him further.”

  His eyes found Iriso. The woman was looking up at him in surprise.

  “Does that satisfy all of you?” Agais asked pointedly, not looking away.

  As one the clan nodded, even the scorned woman, and Agais sighed inwardly as the matter finally closed. Dinner got underway at once, and when he’d sat down Agais leaned close to the Grandmother.

  “I want him sedated when we untie him, just enough so that it doesn’t cause a commotion. And Jarden, Tolman, and I are to be with you.”

  The Grandmother nodded, intent on her bowl of soup.

  “And Grea?” she asked quietly.

  Agais glanced around the woman to his wife. She was happily playing with Foeli and Barna, the twin brother and sister, tickling them and smiling when they rolled and giggled. He felt a pang of fear seeing the deep pleasure she took in the children, but battled it back.

  “No. I’ll discuss it with her, but while I trust that Raz will behave, I side with Iriso in the fact that we can’t be absolutely sure. I’m unwilling to endanger my wife and child after the… discussion you and I had recently.”

  The Grandmother shrugged in an understanding fashion.

  “A fair concern,” she said, finishing her meal and getting to her feet. “Come to my tent after you’ve convinced Grea.”

  Agais nodded, watching her walk away.

  I thought I asked you to wait for us,” Agais groaned, rubbing his temples in frustration. Seated on the stool she’d carried down from her wagon, the Grandmother smiled mischievously.

  “I’ve already held one promise to you today,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You should only expect so much patience from an old crone like me.”

  Agais snorted, watching Jarden and Tolman playing with Raz, cross-legged on the reed mats. The boy was heavily sedated—at least the Grandmother had fulfilled that part of the bargain—and his attempts to grab the copper ring from the two grown men’s outstretched hands were weak. When they let him get it, however, he laughed, emitting the series of hiccups and caws that were his unique manifestation of childish merriment.

  As a creature, the babe was a magnificent beast. Despite his slurred motions he stood strong, far come from the beaten and ragged thing they’d found abandoned to the sands. His leathery wings almost glowed blue in the oil-fed lamplight of the tent whenever he stretched them, contrasting the black-green tinge of his skin. The paired joints outside his shoulders allowed Raz to fold the wings tight and low against his back, almost completely hiding them from view. Nothing but faint scars remained from the three sword wounds, and the side of his head, just below his webbed ears, was only a little bare where new scales were still growing to replace the broken ones. His wrists, on the other hand, were marked with twin rings of pale, smooth skin. Agais had seen older atherian slaves with the same markings.

  He doubted those scales would ever grow back.

  “Get him something to cover the scars,” he said. “I won’t have people thinking we’re keeping slaves on the off chance they find out he’s here. And has he eaten today? There’s leftover soup that’s going to go to waste if it doesn’t get finished.”

  The Grandmother smirked at Agais’ concern, but said nothing. Instead she climbed into her wagon through the open entrance as Tolman left to fetch food for the
boy. She returned a minute later with a handful of slim silver bands and a carved oak bracelet.

  “Put these on him.” She handed them to Jarden, on the floor still playing with Raz. Letting the boy toy with the copper ring with one hand, the man slipped the silver jewelry over his left wrist with little effort.

  “These aren’t going to stay on easy,” he told the Grandmother, switching hands and pushing the wooden armlet onto the child’s other wrist. “They’re too loose.”

  “He’ll grow into them,” the old woman responded dismissively. Agais gave her a sharp look. It was fortunate Tolman chose that moment to return, steaming bowl in hand.

  While Raz ate—sticking his reptilian snout into the soup and lapping it up noisily, spilling much of it on the floor—the adults sat and talked. All of them were in agreement that the boy wasn’t making any moves to harm anyone, though Jarden fairly pointed out that the sedatives could be affecting him. They’d have to pass through the night and see how he was in the morning, and Agais gave the Grandmother permission to stop drugging him, granted Raz remained behaved.