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Silence fell between them as her words sunk in.
Kesia’s eyes clouded as she studied him. ‘She has ramped up her search for you. Word is she is commissioning the arokí to conjure up a spell cast to seek you out. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, so I came. Later this evening, she plans a meeting of her koven, those who will conjure the hex with her. This is what I came to warn you of.’
Just then, a cry and great clamour came up from the edge of the camp.
Killen and Kesia shared glances as he reduced his hawkstone’s size and dropped the íkan veil, hiding them from outside eyes.
His eyes were drawn to a figure racing from the centre of the kambí.
Kesia and Killen rushed to the commander’s tent from where Kaxim, Kione, and several Kainôs commanders were striding out.
A young warrior ran up to the kälajan.
His face was stricken with horror and streaked with utter terror.
‘What is it?’ Kaxim growled.
The warrior bowed and sunk to one knee. ‘A cluster of Kärds and a squadron of hawks were found on the outskirts of the camp. Murdered. Torn apart, their bodies dismembered,’ the young warrior trembled. ‘There’s evidence of a terrible koya battle. But also, giant footprints and ripped rachís that point to a rukh.’
He brandished an elongated and fronded feather with jet-black, menacing runes dancing over it. It was also covered in the dying remnants of dark, sticky, sickly íkan.
Kaxim stepped forward with a curse, nabbing the offending plumage to study it.
Killen cocked a brow. ‘Can someone tell me what in Devansi hell a rukh is?’
Kaxim came to his rescue. ‘It’s a cross between a raptor and an eagle, but one of enormous size, so big that its quills are twelve paces long and just as thick in proportion. They’re so strong that they will pluck giant Kän?dôrs in their talons. They can carry them high into the air, drop them so they’re smashed to pieces, then swoop down at leisure to disembowel them.’
‘However, they keep to themselves, and most live on a deserted continent far from here. There are very few on Kos. The only one we know of is—.’ Kione paused and swapped glances with Kaxim.
‘It can’t be,’ Kaxim growled.
Kione gave an emphatic nod. ‘If he’s been infused with kízakan, it can be.’
What the fokk are you two talking about?’ Killen snarled.
Kione turned to the Kíríga. ‘Kytan. He’s a rukh. He is also our Kalamus kínduna commander, leading our skirmish support wing, the King’s strengtheners. Which squadron has given their lives?’
The young warrior’s face fell even further. ‘The Kalamus are all dead.’
‘Fokk!’ Kaxim roared. ‘That’s over one hundred souls. Where is the creature now?’ he growled at the young warrior.
‘Gone, flown off to the south when the Klós from a kínduna nearby appeared and chased him off.’
The group exchanged grave looks.
The atmosphere in the tent grew heavy, an ominous stillness settling over them. The news struck them like lightning, shattering the illusion of safety within their fortified camp.
Kaxim’s battle scars stood out, etched across his cold face as he approached the trembling youth. He placed a firm hand on the warrior’s shoulder. ‘Stay calm, lad. We will get to the bottom of this. Return to your kínduna and wait until I decide what happens next.’
The warrior took off.
Kesia took a breath as she turned to her companions. ‘It’s Kalila. Her campaign has begun.’
‘How can you be sure?’ The King’s armourer growled.
Kesia narrowed her eyes. ‘I got word via Kamilla that something was brewing and that Kalila’s koven was meeting. Perhaps this was a first step in her plans to assault the Kainôs camp. To prevent them from protecting you, as she believes they’re hiding the usurper here.’
They all fell into an uncomfortable silence.
