There was so much death in the land, so much corruption. Where prey had been taken, where the very grasses of the Plains shriveled and died, all that was power for his taking. It was as if a cloth had been torn away from his unseeing eyes. With no access to the elemental power, other sources made themselves known.
What if he could imbue the horse’s carcass with enough energy that it didn’t need the physical body? What if he didn’t need to constantly focus to make it move on its own? Hail Storm considered that thought with the greatest of joy. There was enough power that he could build up as he went, and then he could find a place where deaths had been frequent and—
The Heart.
Hail Storm lost his focus and the horse stopped moving.
The Heart. The dead warrior-priests. He remembered their bodies scattered everywhere. There was a source of power, most likely fresh and undiminished, just waiting to be tapped. To be used. To be used against Antas of the Boar, against Keir of the Cat, against any that would block his demand for power.
The young warrior-priests would return there, sure as the sun would set. The armies would gather for the Fall Council. The Council would be reborn, and beneath its tent he would
claim mastery of the Plains and its people. He could raise up a new generation of warrior-priests, and their powers would not be mocked, would not be dismissed. They would be feared and obeyed and he would be their Eldest Elder.
In the meantime, he must learn and grow. Practice his new arts. Be certain of his strength and skills.
He turned his mount toward the Heart.
Everything would be decided there.
Cadr felt reliefwhen Lightning Strike called an early halt. Gilla’s warcats had flushed out and killed three deer. More than enough for their needs.
Cadr slid from the saddle with a grateful sigh. He was healing and there was less pain, but every once in a while, a twinge caught him off guard.
They’d stopped by a gully with a pond and flowing stream, protected by thick alders.
“Our regular watches,” Lightning Strike said. “We can dig a pit for the meat, and dry some for the journey.”
“I’ll set wards,” Rhys said quietly, and he and Sidian walked off together.
“I’ll gut,” Cadr offered. A messy job, but with the pond close he’d be able to wash himself after. A few of the others moved to help, and it didn’t take long before the carcasses were cut up. Cadr hauled the offal out a distance from the camp. The cats followed him, making odd chirrips and mews, eager for their reward.
The pit was finished, and the fire started. It would have to be tended all night once the meat was racked for drying. Cadr went to the pond, stripped and plunged into the icy water, using the sand to scrub himself. It felt good to get clean.
The sun was lowering when he returned to the fire, his armor and gear in his hands. The warmth felt good as it dried his skin.
Rhys was seated there, and kept averting his eyes from Cadr’s nakedness, just like a city-dweller would. Cadr chuckled, but Gilla gave him a shove, so he donned his leather trous.
They all set to work cutting the leaner bits of meat into strips for the drying rack. Lightning Strike and others set up tents.
Cadr sighed with satisfaction. He’d take a night watch, eager to make up for his lack while he’d been recovering.
Night Clouds and Moon Waters approached the fire, their arms filled with ogden roots for roasting.
“Oh, these will taste good,” Gilla said, starting to clean the roots.
“There’s more,” Moon Waters settled next to her, pulling her dagger. “Plenty for all and enough left in the ground to grow.”
“Night Clouds,” Rhys piped up. “I have an idea I want to try. Would you show me how you scry?”
“Sure,” Night Clouds wiped his hands on his trous. “I’ve a scrying bowl in my pack.” He trotted off, returning in a moment with a bowl filled with water. He knelt beside Rhys, and placed the bowl on as level a space as he could find. “What shall I scry?” he asked.
“The Heart,” Lightning Strike came up behind them, soaking wet from bathing, his gear in his hands. He shrugged at their looks. “Easiest to focus on. That’s what we all learned at first.”
Cadr went over and stood shoulder to shoulder with Rhys, just as curious as anyone. They both leaned over the bowl, looking down.
“The Heart,” Night Clouds whispered. He was staring at the bowl, talking under his breath. The water was still and dark within. For long moments, nothing happened, and then Cadr squinted. There was an image, a vision.
Suddenly he was looking at the Heart, as if standing on the rim. The circular grey stone arched around either side, and there in the center lay the body of a dead wyvern, covering half the stone. Ravens pecked at its eyes and back.
