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Killen sucked in an inhale and breathed out slowly, exhaustion seeping through his whole being. ‘This mantle is almost too heavy for me to carry. Kamilla, cousin, any ideas how I will fokkin’ undo this clusterfokk and make it all make sense?’
‘I have no idea, Killen. But you’re not alone. I’m right here with you, as is that entire camp of trained and skilled warriors and thousands of eyries of Katánians who’ve been awaiting your coming for months. Best, you were chosen by the Hawkstone. If anything, trust its guidance and take each day as it comes, cousin.’
‘Seems I have no choice,’ he growled.
The pair paused their conversation for a long beat.
‘Where is Sana’a?’ Kamilla ventured, her voice hushed with concern.
Killen chose silence. It grew between them like a yawning chasm.
‘I see,’ Kamilla said with a sigh. ‘One more matter: Kalila has less than one wing. Did you have anything to do with that?’
Killen surged to his feet and turned to face his kin. ‘It’s the only fokkin’ win I’m proud of in recent days. Make of that what you will.’
Chapter 34
The storm danced on the edges of the desolation, a mighty khaboob that obscured all view of Mount Karth and Kos itself.
Somehow, though, it didn’t penetrate the vast kíwanja, the air space overhead the Desolation where the Kainôs Sab?r Hawk army was assembling.
Killen lifted his eyes and inclined his ear.
In head-to-toe ceremonial Katánian robes, he stood at the top of the staircase leading from the grand kälajan.
His eyes locked on the kambí and the thousands of warriors waiting for him to rouse them into zeal for justice and peace.
By first leading them into the inevitable and bloody war to come.
Days earlier, Killen’s use of his shockwave and his appearance as the full Kíríga above the skies of Katáne had caused ripples throughout the entire society.
News of the sky battle with Kalila and her hordes spread, unveiling his true identity to all Katánians and confirming his presence to all Kä’avi, young and old, rich and poor.
When word reached the Kainôs kambí, a thunderous cheer rose into the firmament, shaking the planet to its core.
When it came to the Kä’avi, news of the Kíríga unveiling had spread like wildfire.
Most locals of Kos had danced in glee at the emergence of the new Kong. But like the army commanders, some were on edge, fearing the unknown because they’d never seen a King like Killen with his blazing hawkstone.
Some even worried that Killen was not to be believed and that he had ulterior motives for revealing himself at this moment.
Killen knew better than anyone that trust was scarce in these troubled times. He had to earn it one step at a time.
But first, it was time to meet the entire army.
Killen hovered on the edge of the kíwanja and glanced at the plumes in his grey, black, and gold piped wings, which shone in the early morning light.
On his chest was a chrome and gilded breastplate, and on his crown, a matching gilded helmet with sweeping silver and aureate krest worn bound at the top.
In his hand was a polished koya, sharpened, shimmering with its own glow.
Kaxim stood to his right. As the King’s Armourer, he wore a scarlet plume and cuirass, and Kione to his left was in deep sable and sapphire colours.
All three men wore long, flowing capes of lustrous plumage, which concealed razor-like edges sharp enough to slice a man in two.
They also acted as impromptu shields able to block sword and mace blows in the case of an ambush.
Killen inclined his ear, for he’d caught a haunting melody in the distance.
