She could see the entire valley below her, and the city walls, and hear the distant alarm bells.
Oh, skies above. The wyvern alarm bells.
Amyu leaned in, suddenly anxious that they not fly any closer to the walls. “Down,” she said, not sure if she’d be understood.
The airion did, it seemed. It clucked with seeming regret, tucked its wings in, and… fell.
Amyu shrieked, and lost her grasp on the mane. The airion’s body was slipping out from under her. Her stomach gave a huge lurch. She’d fall and—
The wings snapped out and the airion slowed. The hesitation was enough for Amyu to regain her seat and her grip. Her heart racing, Amyu remembered the saddles in the cave, with the buckles and harness for the rider.
Sheer instinct gave her power. “Aid me,” she cried out, and the magic responded as if a saddle. Golden light wrapped around her waist securing her to her mount.
The airion creed, pulled in its wings and once again they plunged to earth, down toward the field where the cows were starting to run, mooing their distress. Amyu gulped against the feeling of having no weight, but then the wings spread again, and she grunted as the creature slowed.
Light as a feather, the airion settled down to the earth. Amyu released the golden straps, and dismounted, falling to her knees. The world spun as she laughed and emptied her stomach. She’d found them. Against all odds, she’d found—
“Amyu?” a voice called.
She was on her feet in a moment, her blades out. She stared at the group of people coming toward her. “Cadr?”
“What are these?” one of them asked, pointing.
Amyu turned to see her airion, the golden one, leap for a cow, and bring it down with a bite through its spine. The herd was setting up a ruckus, scattering into the woods as shadows passed over the field. She looked up to see more airions in the sky above her, circling. All different colors, their wings spread, their cries filling the air.
“Airions,” she laughed, sheathing her weapons. She wiped her face, the taste of vomit and success in her mouth. “They’re airions.”
Quick introductions weremade, with quick explanations as they watched the airions devour the dead cow.
“Look at those claws,” the man named Rhys said. Amyu knew he was not of the Plains, but little else.
“Talons,” another corrected him. Sidian. Older, and the bushiest eyebrows to rival Enright’s. He wore the ritual scarring of a full warrior-priest. They all bore some partial tattoos of warrior-priests, except Rhys, Gilla, and Cadr.
The other airions had joined the golden one at tearing at the carcass. Amyu wasn’t going to get close to them while they were feeding. But she and the others looked their fill, and it was glorious. She was still lightheaded, from the discovery and the flight.
She had flown. Amyu’s smile was so wide her face hurt.
“Can anyone ride them?” Lightning Strike asked.
“I don’t know,” Amyu continued to stare as she described her first flight and the drop. They all nodded at the description of the saddle.
“Makes sense,” Cadr said. “What if you were injured in mid-air?”
“We’ve so much to learn,” Amyu said. Then she frowned, something other than flying invading her thoughts. “Where did you come from?” she asked. “Did you meet the Warlord coming from the Plains?”
“Well,” Lightning Strike shrugged. “We didn’t exactly walk.”
Amyu opened her mouth to demand more, but the alarm horns were sounding from the walls again. “They think it’s a threat,” she frowned. “We need to get word to them.”
Sidian shook his head. “You need to go tell them.” He said with a grin. “Might warn them about us, too.”
“I’ll take a horse,” she started but just then the golden airion danced over, its wings half-spread, clacking its beak and tossing its head.
“Oh, lass,” Sidian laughed. “How can you resist making an entrance like that?”
Amyu kept hermount clear of any crossbow shot, flying high over the city, heading to the castle. The air grew colder the higher they went, and it felt like she was losing her breath, but better that than a bolt to the chest.
She circled the highest tower, seeing Enright ringing his alarm bell, until she saw Heath and Atira burst through the trap door, swords at the ready. She warbled then, using the calls of the Plains, calling ‘friend’ and ‘scout reporting’.
