“How so?” Hail Storm blinked away the sweat from his eyes, swaying slightly. The two warriors grabbed his arms in support.
Antas turned to him, and his eyes burned with hate. “They came from the north. From Xy.”
“We will be avenged.” Hail Storm straightened, his own hate rising and giving him strength. “I will heal and we will see it done.”
“About that.” Antas nodded to one of the warriors at Hail Storm’s side. “Bring him,” he commanded, and once again Hail Storm was ‘assisted’ toward a fire pit.
“We cannot stay this close to the lake,” Antas told him as he walked alongside. “The creatures are gathered there, and the skies alone know what they will do next. We will fall back, farther south.” Antas stopped by the fire. “Lay him down.” Antas gestured toward the edge.
“What—” Hail Storm struggled against the hands that forced him down, stretching him out in the cleared area and holding him to the ground.
“I have no choice now.” Antas reached toward the fire, pulling an axe from its depths, its head glowing dull red. “I’ve instructed my theas to seek out the winter lodges, and secure the young and life-bearers. I’ve enough warriors left that we can harry them with smaller attacks, seeking supplies, theas, Essa and Wild Winds and any Elders I can get my hands on.” Antas nodded in satisfaction at the weapon in his hand. “This is a setback, nothing more. We will fade into the Plains and build our strength for another season.”
“What are you—” Hail Storm struggled again, but the warriors over him were grim-faced and hard. One of them grabbed his injured arm and pulled it straight out from his body. As the pain flared, Hail Storm bit through his lip in an effort not to scream.
“I’d grant you mercy, warrior-priest,” Antas said, stepping closer, “if I did not need you. Although your value is doubtful. So I will cure you in my own way.”
“No,” Hail Storm snarled. “I will not survive—”
“Need finds a way,” Antas said.
“Do this, and I will kill you,” Hail Storm shrieked, but Antas was unmoved.
“You have to live,” Antas said, shrugging. “Then I will fear.” He brought the axe down in a swift, powerful blow.
Bone shattered and flesh burned.
Everything stopped, even his breath. It was as if it was happening a distance away, to another. Hail Storm watched as the warrior lifted his severed arm, and tossed it into the fire.
The arm lay there, reddened by the coals, charred at the end. His fingers...its fingers moved. Hail Storm reached with his power, and watched as the singed fingers formed a fist.
But then everything crashed down on him. The sounds of the warriors, the sizzle of scorched flesh. His lungs demanded air.
Hail Storm gasped, and then screamed until his breath was gone and the pained darkness claimed him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Simus crawled to the edge of the rise, keeping to the taller grasses. This was where he’d first encountered Wild Winds and Snowfall; it would give them a good view of the Heart and the lakeshore nearby. Elois was next to him, keeping her head as low as she could.
Simus just stared at the destruction. The Council tent was flat, covering the stone Heart, a pile of shredded leather and splintered poles. Bodies, too, of warriors that had fallen trying to defend themselves. “Skies above,” he swore.
All along the shoreline, as far as one could see, a writhing mass of wyverns flew, flapping their wings and snarling and hissing at one another.
Nothing else moved. Nothing dared.
“They had no warning, I’m sure,” Elois choked, but kept on. “The warning horns mingled with the ceremonial ones and the chanting. They didn’t have a chance.”
“Smart move on your part, knocking down my own tent,” Simus said.
“We waited, Tsor and I.” Elois’s voice hitched. She paused, then continued. “We waited for you. Else we’d have been down there with them.”
“Has there been any sign of survivors?” Simus nodded toward the devastation.
“Not so far,” Elois said. She sighed. “At one point, something moved within. The beasts attacked the tent and then tore into it like it was a living thing. I don’t know if any are still alive underneath. Two rescue attempts failed,” she added, nodding toward where a cluster of warriors lay dead.
“Tsor took some of the younger warriors, to stalk the beasts,” Elois continued quickly. “Not to attack, but to watch and learn. He told them to stalk as if hunting prey, but to make no attacks.”
Simus grunted, still considering the mound that was the collapsed Council tent. It was—it had been—the largest of the tents on the Plains, covering the circular stone with tiered seating for the Elders. It lay in shambles now, but it was possible that under its weight, someone survived. Perhaps...was Joden under that mess?