“Survives.” Essa seemed less than pleased. “And is named Warlord, to stifle your further questions.” He looked at Quartis. “Have you tested him?”
“Yes,” Quartis said. “He is qualified in the teaching chants, and in his fighting abilities.”
“And collecting dung,” Joden added dryly.
“Good,” Essa ignored him. “We must leave. Now.”
“But the carcass,” Para gestured toward the hulk, really only half done.
“I will give you an hour to gather what you wish, after that we ride,” Essa said. “We will aid you. The more we know about the monsters, the better off we are. Beware the sting in its tail. The poison is dangerous.”
His escort dismounted, and made offers to help as Para and Thron shared out kavage and gurt. Essa dismounted as well, and Joden confronted him. “Why do we ride? What is so urgent?”
“There are those that wait for us,” Essa said sharply. “More to the point, they wait for you, Joden of the Hawk.”
Chapter Two
Amyu ran up the stairs of the highest tower of the Castle of Water’s Fall and burst through the trapdoor at the top into sunlight and clean clear air. She strode to the low wall that surrounded the top of the tower, and with a puff of breath, tried to send her frustrations out into the wind.
The City of Water’s Fall, the largest in Xy, stretched out below her. Beyond that the fields and forests went on and on in the valley sprawled below. Some of her fellow Plains warriors swore that they could see the Plains themselves from here, but the Warprize denied the truth of that.
The wind seized her brown hair, whipping it around her head. Amyu caught the long strands in her hands, and bound them up in a quick knot.
“What’s got you so het up?” came a familiar voice.
Amyu looked over to find the old Xyian guard named Enright sitting in his usual position, on a bench facing the low wall, working on repairing a bit of armor. His crossbow sat beside him, cocked and ready, and an alarm bell sat on his other side.
“Runnin’ up those steps in full armor,” Enright snorted. “This some test of the Firelanders?”
She’d found him here when she’d first sought out the highest point of the castle. He was a white haired older man, with pale skin and big, bushy eyebrows. He’d been placed on watch duty after the initial wyvern attack during Atira and Heath’s bonding ceremony. Watchers had been placed all around the castle and the city walls, keeping an eye on the skies for the return of the monsters.
Enright had welcomed her with a nod, and hadn’t said much that first day. “I knew how your people feel about the crippled and maimed,” he’d explained later. “Didn’t think it was proper to start talking.”
He’d been right. She’d been shocked to the core to see his leg of wood, strapped on tight over his trous. On the Plains, such a warrior would have gone to the snows without a thought. But he… at first, it had left her speechless.
And when she’d found the words to say that to him, he’d fixed her with a glare. “What, you think my worth was in my toes?”
She’d learned then that Heath, the new Seneschal of the Castle of Water’s Fall, had made use of older, experienced warriors for guard duty against the monsters that had attacked the castle. Even those wounded in battle. “Nothing wrong with their eyes, ears, or wits,” Heath had explained to the Warlord and Warprize, refusing to remove the guards even after the monsters disappeared from the skies.
Still, it had taken Amyu, and all the other Plains warriors, awhile to get used to the idea. It still bothered her as she settled on the bench next to the Xyian warrior. Those of the Plains went to the snows when they were hurt past healing. When they were no longer of use to the Tribe.
Or like her, when they failed to reach adulthood.
“The stairs are no effort,” she said as she settled on the bench. “It’s leather armor, not like the metal you wear.” She took a minute to adjust her sword and dagger.
“Well, come on,” Enright said. “Tell us your worries, then,”
Amyu opened her mouth then stopped. “Us?” she asked.
Enright gestured behind him.
Amyu turned on the bench to look back.
The tower was built into the mountain, and its top was a half-circle, with the low wall running all around. Large baskets stood at intervals along the walls, with bees hovering around them. And over all, the mountain towered above, its craggy walls stark and unforgiving.
Beyond the trapdoor, Prest of the Wolf stood, pressed against the stone, in almost the exact middle of the half-circle, his normally brown skin was sickly pale, with sweat beading on his forehead.
“Prest?” Amyu asked.
