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.
“Amyu,” Prest said, his eyes firmly on the stone beneath his feet.
Amyu exchanged a glance with Enright, who simply shrugged.
“Prest, what’s wrong?” Amyu stood, and approached the big warrior. Prest was a big man, one of the Warprize’s personal guards. A handsome one at that, with his dark skin, bright smile and short black hair. She’d heard that he’d had long braids until he’d been soaked in ehat musk during a hunt with the Warlord Keir.
“Fear,” Prest said, not looking up.
Amyu paused, puzzled, then worked it out. “You’re afraid? Of this?” she gestured with a wide sweep of her arm.
“He thinks he can overcome his fear of heights,” Enright spoke up.
Prest closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Fear holds you still when you need to move, and moves you when you need to be still.”
“Fear makes you silent when you need to be loud, and loud when you need silence.” Amyu recited the next part of the teaching chant. “Fear closes your throat, makes it hard to breathe. Fear weakens your hand and blinds your eyes.”
Prest opened his eyes, glaring out at the vista as he finished the chant. “Fear is a danger. Know your fear. Face your fear.”
“It’s a fear,” Enright called over. “It’s not like fighting, something you can train yourself to. Stand there for days, it ain’t gonna help.”
“Yes, I can,” Prest said through gritted teeth. “All it takes is practice.”
“Which you have been at for days,” Enright snorted, and patted the bench. “Come, lass, leave him to it and tell me what makes you stomp up all those stairs. We could hear you a mile off.”
Leaving Prest to it, Amyu straddled the bench, taking care to adjust her own weapons as she sat. “It’s just that the Warlord and the Warprize… I mean…” Amyu stuttered to a stop.”
“I knew the lass when she was a young girl, defying her father to become a healer.” Enright didn’t even look up from his work. “She is a true Daughter of the Blood and a damn good Queen, but that don’t mean she is perfect. Go ahead.”
Amyu crossed her arms over her chest. “They won’t listen,” she burst out. “The Warlord is fixated on those weapons called ballista and I know, I know,” she added for emphasis. “Airions are out there, they have to be. If wyverns exist, why not airions?”
“Airions?” Prest’s voice wobbled, but his interest was clear.
“Horse-eagles,” Enright said. “You’ve seen them on the tapestries hanging in the castle.”
“Winged horses?” There was a distinct quaver to Prest’s voice.
“Winged horses,” Amyu confirmed. “With fierce beaks and sharp claws.” She pressed her lips together in frustration, and couldn’t sit still another moment. She jumped off the bench to pace. “There are pictures in the oldest scrolls the Archbishop has that show airions and wyverns fighting in mid-air. And there are warriors mounted on those Airions.”
Prest had a pained expression. “Could you sit back down?”
Amyu gave him an exasperated look, but settled back onto the bench. “No one will talk to me, including that old lady cheesemaker, who’s told stories of them in the past.” She looked out over the distance, and sighed. “How can Xyians forget when they write down their words? We of the Plains do not forget.”
“How do you know that?” Prest asked.
“Eh?” Amyu looked at him, shocked. “We of the Plains remember.”
“But if we didn’t, how would we know we forgot?” Prest pointed out.
Enright snorted. “Don’t know nothing about that, but I can tell you that things get forgotten. You’re speaking of ancient days,” he said. “Folks got enough on their hands with the day to day, much less thinking on the past.”
“There are airions,” Amyu said. “There have to be.”
“If there were,” Enright looked at her with his bushy eyebrows raised. “Why didn’t they appear with the wyverns?”
“I don’t know,” Amyu said. She looked at the sheer wall of the mountain towering above them. “And there’s no way to go up to find them.”
“Eh?” Enright snorted. “Well, not up there, lass. The mountain above us and to the city walls is sheer and treacherous to keep any from trying to attack from above. But the mountains beyond the walls to either side are covered with goat tracks and filled with caves.”
“They are?” Amyu stood and went to the low wall to look further out.
“Aye, for any fool-hardy enough to climb them,” Enright said. “Those trails are wild and narrow. One foot wrong and you could find your death fast enough.”
“Why would any seek those paths?” Amyu asked.
“Mountain goats,” Enright said. “Their pelts are prized. There’s also a mountain rabbit that lives up there with fur as soft as anything. They’re a bugger to catch, though.”
“And caves?” Amyu said.
“Aye, but there you have to have a care as well. Bears and collapsing rocks and ice can be a problem,” Enright gave her a wide grin. “I used to climb on the rocks with my friends when I was a lad. We’d—”
Horns blew in the distance.
Enright levered himself up from the bench as Amyu stood, and they both went to the wall to look out.
“Wyverns?” Prest called.
“Nah,” Enright said. “Messenger, by the look.”
Amyu shaded her eyes. “With guards, it looks like. Maybe from the border.”
“Word from Liam or Simus then,” Prest said. “About time. The Warlord is out of his mind with worry.” He dropped to his knees, and started crawling toward the trap door. “Best we get back to our duties.”
Amyu gave Enright a shrug, and stepped forward to open the door as Prest slithered over.
“That’s an improvement, that is,” Enright said. “Last time he was on his belly.”
Prest muttered under his breath as he crawled head first through the opening.
Amyu followed behind, shutting the door as she moved down the steps. Prest sat at the bottom, breathing hard, color returning to his skin. “You did not feel the tower move under your feet?” he asked. “As if it shifted in the wind?”
“No,” Amyu said.
“Do not mock me,” he growled.
“I would not, warrior.” Amyu said, moving a few more steps down. “We should find the Warlord.”
“Yes,” Prest stood and took the lead, heading down quickly.
Amyu saved her smile for his back.
“Simus has betrayed you, Warlord,” Yers said.
Amyu watched him from behind the Warprize’s throne. Yers’s hands were shaking, his eyes not really focused as he held the Warlord’s token.
“Give me your truths, Warrior,” The Warlord’s voice was a deep rumble.
“It started out so well,” Yers spoke of a confrontation with a warrior-priest, of Simus’s reaction and Joden’s intervention. “That night, the pillar of light… did Eloix tell you of it?” Yers asked.
Amyu sucked in a breath. Yers didn’t know, couldn’t know, that Eloix died bringing her message to Keir.
The Warprize glanced at the Warlord, but the Warlord nodded. “She brought us word,” he said firmly.
Yers nodded. “I started to worry when Snowfall appeared. She’s a warrior-priestess, who had been Wild Winds’s apprentice.” Yers shook his head, and rubbed his nose. “Simus took her oath, and allowed her to contest for Token-Bearer.”
Keir took a breath. “A warrior-priestess?”
“Yes,” Yers said. “Well, she only had partial tattoos. But still… Simus allowed it. I couldn’t understand it. He seemed to come under her influence more and more.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Then Joden disappeared.”