3

Chapter Three

Matte watched the patrols flying to and from the Fortress, tracked them and made a mental note of the numbers and the strengths she could see in each. Numbers and strengths far superior to those of the Vulture and human forces massing against them.

The Vulture and Elitist forces had killed many of the warriors. Didn’t their screams, their pleas, echo in her dreams each night to remind her? There had been little she could do aid to any of them, but she and her warriors had done what they could, where they could.

The Clan warriors appeared well-trained, flying in close formation with scouts and sharpshooters swooping down to track the ground as the others patrolled above. They were now flying in such large troops that the Vulture leader, Edgar, raged in fury at the inability of his forces to successfully attack them. Fear was slowly starting to inch its way into the ranks of the killing teams he sent out each night.

The forests teemed with Clan warriors, both in the sky and in the trees below. The aeries at the farthest reaches were deserted now, the land silent except for the animal life. Canyons echoed with silence; vast rivers and lakes whispered of their loneliness in the face of the Clans’ desertion.

Yet in each area Matte had glimpsed signs of those who hid and watched—and were ready and eager to place an arrow into the heart of any Vulture.

Unfortunately, she, though a Bastard Breed, looked enough like a Vulture to be mistaken for one at a distance. The winged warriors would now be killing anything or anyone remotely resembling a Vulture and asking questions later.

King Dearn wasn’t a fool. He was arming his men well with swords, arrows and crossbows and sending out large troops of mixed warriors of each Clan. He was taking no chances. The scouts were patient and disciplined. It was nearly impossible for Matte to catch sight of them, and she knew Edgar and his men had yet to see one. Unfortunately, it might be a while before those scouts could slip back to the Fortress with their reports.

She prayed it would be soon. There wasn’t much time left if they were to defeat Edgar’s forces with the minimum amount of bloodshed. Not to the mention the fact that she could not keep her betrayal a secret for much longer.

“Do you think he suspects?”

Her lieutenant, Stovar, a Bastard Breed Eagle warrior, crouched beside her, the frown on his rough-hewn face one of concern. His folded wings were darker than a normal Eagle’s—his hated Vulture heritage had darkened the russet-and-golden hues, dimming the vibrancy that a full Eagle would display.

Matte could only shake her head. She knew they had left enough messages, enough clues and had warned enough families of the Clans that Dearn should have known well before now what was going on.

The largest troop flew out, and she caught a glimpse of the king’s colors. She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun, tracking the warriors and their numbers, and as she did she saw one flying well protected by the others.

King Dearn, dressed in warrior’s leathers and flying out with a fighting troop of his best warriors. He was magnificent, she thought, studying him intently.

The king was easily discernible among his warriors, his arrogant bearing and superbly conditioned body graceful in the sky. The leathers fit his body snugly, the black vest unencumbered by a tunic beneath it, and his golden-brown hair flew out behind him. He had to be the most amazing specimen of warrior she had ever seen.

“Were we able to get one of our spies within the Fortress?” she asked Stovar as she continued to watch the flight. She had given the order weeks ago to have someone installed in the Fortress who would blend in easily. One who could guard the king’s back against any assassins King Alfred or Edgar would try to send against him.

“She got in, but we’ve not heard from her yet.” His voice was low so the sound carried no further than her ears. “It will be difficult to get information out for a while, I’d say. King Dearn appears to be running a tight army. I haven’t seen anything but warriors out all day.”

“He should know by now.” She sighed. “He should have known before this. I was hoping the Call would go out sooner. Too much blood has been shed already.” Though she didn’t voice the thought, Matte worried desperately for the infant they had left sleeping in the brush at the base of its parents’ cliffside aerie. At present, one of her people was taking care of the babe until a patrol of Clan warriors was sighted. Finding milk to feed it and clothes to keep it dry had not been easy, and Matte knew they would run out of options if that pass wasn’t patrolled soon.

The waste and cruelty of those deaths haunted Matte. Despite her close association with blood, death and the mercilessness of the enemy, it still shook her each time she witnessed the damage a diseased mind could accomplish.

“There will be more.” Her lieutenant shook his head. “The king’s madness is nearly as fierce as the Vultures’. It’s as though Edgar and Alfred are feeding off each other’s insanity. Our people are growing despondent, Matte. They cannot stand by much longer and witness such atrocities without acting.” Matte lowered her head. She had her own orders, the needs of her own people to consider; she had done all she could. Yet, she knew for her warriors it was not nearly enough. Their rage and fury over the senseless bloodshed were driving many of them to recklessness in their attempts to sabotage Edgar’s plans.

“We will do what we must, Stovar,” she whispered. “We cannot back down now. We’ve gone too far.

Dearn has his people in the Fortress; all that is left is to meet with him. I will do that as quickly as I can.

Edgar will be forced to release my warriors to my command now. As soon as the danger to them is over, we can move ahead with our own plans.”

She felt a frisson of fear at the thought of finally meeting with the Winged Clans’ king and putting her proposition to him. Rumors were that Dearn was the most savage and fierce of all the warriors. He would not be an easy man to bargain with.

“As long as you do.” Stovar nodded his dark brown head slowly. “You better get back.” He nudged her softly as the king’s troop disappeared into the mountain. “They’ll be looking for you soon. I’ll stay and see if Lenora is able to get anything out.”

She nodded, aware of the risks of staying too long and allowing any suspicion to arise against her.

“Don’t stay too long,” she warned him. “I may need you later. I’ll send one of the others back to take your place.”

He nodded again, his face turned away from her now as he watched the Fortress. She couldn’t blame him for longing to sit and stare at it for as long as he could. It was as magnificent as they had always heard it was. Soon, she prayed to the gods, it would welcome her and her people as it had refused to before.

* * * * *

Ralnd’s aerie appeared deserted. It was the first thing Dearn noticed as the group he commanded neared the mountain home of his cousin late that afternoon.

The rough wood door stood open like a gaping mouth; the entrance to the cave was dark and forbidding as the winged warriors approached in silence. Dearn’s gut clenched with dread.

His greatest fear since finding the murdered Clan members two nights before was that his cousin and family had fallen victim to the assassins as well. He worried when they had not shown up the night of the birthday celebration; it was one of the reasons he went out that night himself in search of the missing.

Now, staring at the silent cliff that housed the aerie, Dearn could feel the horror of what he would find crawling up his spine like an evil touch.

The aerie was the same as the five others they had checked since leaving the Fortress. Such silence among the mountain homes of the Clans was ominous on such a warm summer day. The children should have been outside. The wooden shutters should have been thrown wide to catch the cooling breeze that flowed through the mountain passes and admit light to the interior of the caves.

Ralnd’s shutters, too, were closed. There was no sign of life and no sounds of children calling from within the dark interior. It sent a shudder of unease skating down his spine.

Dearn gave the signal for his warriors to land on the wide ledge of the aerie. He saw the looks that passed among them and felt the same apprehension he could see on their faces. Nothing looked different about this deserted aerie, but the feel of it was more forbidding than those they had stopped at earlier.

Six of the fourteen landed on the ledge, standing still and silent as their narrowed eyes scanned the cliff faces around them. Dearn signaled the others to patrol the area. There were twelve aeries in this valley, three of the families inhabiting them already reported missing. Ralnd’s family made the fourth.

The unnatural silence was the first thing Dearn noticed as he landed beside his men. Even the breeze did not stir. It was so quiet and still they could hear the echo of the river rushing through the canyon more than a mile below.

“Look. Heelmarks.” One of the warriors surveying the ledge pointed out the indention along the dirt at the side of the door. The heel of a boot had pressed into the firm soil. It was a mark identical to others they had found on other ledges.

Only humans placed heels on their boots. The winged warriors wore flat-soled leather coverings on their feet. The evidence suggesting human involvement in the disappearances and deaths of the Clan members was mounting up.

Again, trepidation skated along Dearn’s spine. Humans did not seek out the Winged Clans. Except for a certain few in the Southern Range, the humans’ prejudices and fears kept them in their own valleys, far below the mountains.

Why would humans be attacking the Clans? From history, they should remember how ineffectual they were against the Winged Clan warriors. But the reports he had received from the families escaping from this valley told the story.

The families said they had been attacked by humans accompanied by winged warriors. Alone, humans knew they hadn’t a chance against the Clans, but there had been that one time in the past when their weaknesses hadn’t mattered. That one time when they allied themselves with the Vultures.

“Damar, you and Palon check the valley,” Dearn ordered the warrior who had come searching for his sister Mera. Damar started to protest, but Dearn reinforced the order with a look he knew they were all wary of. Damar thinned his lips and did as he was bidden.

Spreading his white wings, he launched from the ledge and began to search as Dearn moved closer to the open doorway, reluctant to step inside.

“Ralnd?” He called out his cousin’s name, fighting the apprehension he could feel gathering in his body.

“Ralnd? Mera?”

He entered the darkened aerie. He could feel the rest of the troop at his back, watching the mountain, their wings fluttering in the moaning breeze that suddenly whipped past them, a moan Dearn felt rising in his soul, fighting for release as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

His blood seemed to congeal in shock as his mind fought to deny the sight before his eyes. He gasped, his hand going to the hilt of his sword and clenching it convulsively.

Years of discipline and training prevented the cry of horror from escaping his throat. At that moment, Dearn knew the restless spirits of his cousin’s family sounded their fury in the cry of the whipping winds moving through the cliffs outside their mountain home. He could feel the blood draining from his face, feel his limbs weaken in sickness and despair as he surveyed the carnage. He wanted to fall to his knees and howl in despair, but knew his strength might be all that kept his troop together now. A strength that was a fraction of what he needed to face the anguish spawned by the heart-wrenching evidence of brutality that lay before his eyes.

Dearn waved his men back, unwilling for them to enter the nightmare he was experiencing. Knowing

that, should they enter, the precious time he needed to come to terms with this would be lost.

With leaden steps and a silent scream, he moved farther into the blood-caked room. He called out no names this time, uttered not a sound, for he knew there were no ears to hear his call. He wanted to run, to fly from this place and forget he had seen such horrors or that such cruelties could exist. There was no escaping the reality of it, though. There was now, only facing the agony of their deaths and finding those who had committed the atrocities.

Dearn fought his tears as, with each small step, he felt another part of his soul shatter.

The living area was destroyed. The furniture lay in pieces; the dining table was missing two legs and lay on its side. The large cast-iron cooking pot rested against the wall on the opposite end of the room from the large fireplace carved out of the wall. Precious ceramic images of the gods lay shattered—the largest, that of Ashrad, ground into dust, the print of a boot heel clearly defined within it.

Ralnd’s children were in the middle of the room. Dearn’s wings shuddered; his body trembled as a storm of emotion shook him from within. He prayed for strength, for he did not know if he could bear the sight that lay before him.

There was so much blood. It was splattered on the walls and had poured across the floor in streams of death. He knelt beside the shattered bodies, his hands shaking, his breath shuddering at the sight of the small, brutalized babies.

He blinked, fighting to clear the haze of tears from his eyes. Surely, what he was seeing was not possible. Such savagery could not exist.

Yet, it did. The proof lay in the broken, bloodied bodies of his cousin’s children.

“By the gods!” Gregor, the youngest of the troop cried out his horror as he entered the room.

Dearn couldn’t move. He could only shake his head as he heard the rest of the warriors cry out. He wanted to turn and somehow help them come to terms with such evil, but how could he? He couldn’t come to terms with it himself.

He was aware of them slowly filling the room and the heavy silence descending around him, and he could do nothing to ease the shock and fear he knew filled them. All he could do was stare into the lifeless eyes of his godchildren. The children he had once dreamed might be his. The children he had sworn to protect.

He reached out, his fingers barely brushing Dania’s pale, cold face. It was bloodied and bruised, the skin torn and abraded and showing signs of the heavy fist that had smashed it. She was just a babe, barely able to use her wings when last he had seen her; and now here she lay in the dried gore of her own body.

Her golden eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly, her sightless gaze a testament to the brutality of her death.

Beside her lay her severed wings, small, delicate, just large enough to support her small body in the air.

He touched one golden feather gently and again fought the tears welling from his soul. There, just within the point where they had been cut from her body, the small white disc was missing.

Aaroen and Gable lay beside her, their wings at their feet, those discs gone as well. The stone floor was stained black with their blood, the hideous metallic scent overwhelming where the sticky liquid seeped

into the crevices beneath their small bodies.

So tiny, Dearn thought, unable to take his eyes from them despite the panic he could feel mounting in the men behind him. By the heart of Ashrad, what do I do now?

His heart raged as his men gathered around him, their low prayers and desperate curses as they gazed upon the destruction striking at his soul. Dear merciful Ashrad, what do I do?

Dearn could hear no answer to his broken plea, only the keening moan of the winds outside the aerie.

“Search the aerie.” He had to fight to clear the lump of rage from his throat before speaking. Tears tightened his chest as the fury tightened his fists. “Find Ralnd and Mera.” Ralnd and Mera’s bodies would be close by; they would not have left their young alone, especially at night. Only after darkness had fallen could anyone or anything have slipped in and invaded their home to cause such destruction. They would be here.

He fought to prepare himself, instinct warning him what he would soon face. Merciful Sorin, show me the way , he prayed to the god of strength.

Gregor stumbled from one of the bedrooms. The young man’s face was white, his body trembling in shock as he sagged against the doorframe and barely controlled his retching. Dearn shot to his feet and moved quickly to the doorway, pushing past Gregor only to stagger back in mind-numbing shock.

His stomach heaved, his heart felt as though it had exploded within his chest; but he knew it was his ragged cry that had finally been torn from his body.

“Ahhh, gods!” he cried out as he gripped the back of the chair that sat just inside the doorway and fought for breath. His heart tightened in agony as he viewed the scene before him.

Ralnd was bound in another chair in the corner of the bedroom, a dagger lodged in his heart. His face was twisted in lines of rage and horror, his eyes still glazed with the disbelief that must have been there when he died. The disbelief that such horror could have been committed against his family.

It was the sight of Mera’s body, however, that dug a trench of sorrow through Dearn’s soul. Small, delicate Mera, with her laughing eyes and glorious blond hair, had been so severely abused and beaten that her beautiful face was barely recognizable.

“Mera…” Dearn could barely speak. He could barely breathe, so great was his need to sink to the floor in despair. Ah, gods, he cried out silently, not Mera.

But it was Mera, or at least as much as the twice-cursed demons of the Seven Hells had left of her. He shook his head, seeing the uncountable wounds that would have bled slowly, draining the life from her.

There were marks of teeth on her breasts, on her thighs. Bruises in the shape of fingers marred her pale skin, and her thighs were smeared with the dried evidence of the rapes she had suffered.

Her eyes were open, staring in resignation and in pain, staring at him, beseeching him. He could hear death and anguish beating a hollow, ragged pulse within his soul.

“King Dearn.” Gregor stood behind him now. “What are we to do? That’s Damar’s sister, he will be here—”

A howl of rage rent the air. A second later, Dearn moved to block the entrance, to keep the brother from seeing the pathetic remains of the sister he had adored above all others.

He was a second too late. Damar burst in, his momentum carrying him past Dearn’s attempt to hold him back. He came to an abrupt stop. Not another sound came from the man, but his full white wings began to shudder and tremble with the excessive emotion traveling through his body.

The White Lance warrior swayed as though in the grip of a fierce, destructive wind. Dearn watched as his fists clenched to halt their betraying tremor, but nothing could still the restless rush of wings at his back.

“Gods have mercy. Sweet, precious Aleda have mercy.” The cry echoed through the room as Damar looked from the bed where his sister lay to the chair where her husband sat. He shook his head and blinked, as if trying to convince himself that what he was seeing could not be.

“Merrie?” He whispered his sister’s name with brittle hope and moved farther into the room. Broken whimpers of disbelief issued from his throat. His face sagged in lines of despair, his shoulders trembling with the sobs bottled up inside him. Dearn wished he could find some way to comfort the man, but he knew no words would ease the pain such a sight would bring to a loving brother.

Damar stopped at the bed, picking up one of the blood-splattered blankets that had fallen to the floor.

His hands shook so badly he could barely hold the material; and still those soft, eerie whimpers of agony escaped from his throat. Gently, he raised the thick cloth, spreading it slowly over his sister’s broken body. Tears ran in slow, heartbroken rivulets down his face as he focused on the battered face before him.

“Ah, gods, Merrie.” Damar cried out her name, sinking to his knees beside the bed, his hands clenched in the quilt that now covered her. His head fell to the bed mere inches from hers, and as the white-blond hair of the brother mingled with the bloodstained blonde of the sister, his shoulders began to heave with his sobs.

Dearn lowered his head, wishing above all things that he could block out the sight of death and the cries of one of his strongest warriors.

“Who would do this?” Damar’s tearful whisper seemed to echo around him. “Who could do this?” Dearn could only shake his head, steeling himself as his father had taught him so many years ago. Steel defends and strengthens, his father had told him. Enclose your heart in times of need with the steel of your determination and your strength. In doing this, all things will be bearable. Dearn wondered now if he had somehow foreseen the dark days coming.

“We’ll find out, Damar,” he promised, his voice hardening.

Oh, yes, they would find the ones responsible for this, and they would suffer. The guilty party would suffer as only the Clans could make them suffer for their crimes.

“I need to take her home.” Damar reached out and gently closed the wide, terrified, dead eyes.

“We will take her home, Damar. Gregor, you and Semar return to the Fortress. Have Havar send another unit out to help bring Ralnd and his family home. I’ll await them here.” Dearn turned to the young

warrior, who now stood outside the door. Gregor could only shake his head, his gaze still on the floor.

“Sire, you should return with us,” he whispered, his voice trembling, unable to look up at the carnage before him. “It’s not safe here.”

Dearn shook his head. He could not leave this place, not until the bodies were prepared and could leave as well. He could not leave the cousin who had been his closest friend, nor the woman who had held as much of his heart as any woman could.

“It’s as safe as it can be until the ones responsible are caught,” Dearn assured him bleakly. “Go now, Gregor, and watch your backs. I can’t afford to lose any more of my warriors.” Gregor nodded and then turned and rushed from the room, calling out to his cousin Semar as he did so.

Dearn prayed they would make it safely to the Fortress, and wished now that he had included more men within each troop sent out to investigate the aeries.

“Vultures.” The word passed Damar’s lips and echoed within Dearn’s soul. “I remember the stories.

Many of our Spiritmen said they would return, and that they would try to destroy the Clans once again.

Now, they’ve returned.” Accusing blue eyes, so like his sister’s, turned to Dearn as though seeking affirmation.

“We have no proof of that yet, Damar,” Dearn warned him quietly. “Until we do, there is no cause to panic the Clans even further.”

“We need no further proof.” Damar’s usually placid eyes now glittered brightly within his pale face.

“You suspect the same. I know you, Dearn, I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

“At this moment, my suspicions do not matter.” Dearn turned and walked to the door. “Until we know, we will be silent about this, and that’s an order, Damar.”

“And the humans are fighting with them.” Damar ignored Dearn’s command to silence. “Just as before, Dearn, they are attempting to destroy the Clans.”

“Whoever or whatever is doing this will be brought to justice, Damar, to the justice of the Clans. Until we know for certain who is behind this, we must tread carefully. Panicking our people will not serve justice.” Dearn spoke quietly, firmly, refusing to turn back to the horror he was attempting to escape.

“Dearn, will you hide your head and your heart from the truth?” Damar’s accusing question followed him to the doorway. “Even now? Even after seeing Mera? You loved her as well as Ralnd did, Dearn, will you not admit the evil that has taken her from us?” Dearn paused, feeling the rage and grief his warrior felt. Feeling it as deeply, as fiercely as a broken heart could. He took a shuddering breath and fought to retain control, to hold back the grief spreading through his body.

“I hide from nothing, Damar,” he whispered, hearing the huskiness of the unshed tears that clogged his throat. “But, by the gods, I swear to you now if I could hide from this horror, then it is something I would surely do.”

Dearn exited the bedroom, leaving Mera’s brother to watch over her alone. He could no longer bear the sight of what had been done to her. The blanket Damar had placed on her could not cover his memory.

Nor could it comfort the aching wound in his heart.

As he walked quickly through the living area, Dearn’s life seemed to flash before his eyes. His younger life, the time when he and Ralnd had flown through these passes as boys, whooping and yelling and making a nuisance of themselves. He remembered the time they had snuck into the White Lance range and watched as Mera and her sister Lark bathed in a mountain stream. Both had been besotted with her, but it had been Ralnd Mera loved. She had no desire to be queen of her Clans; she had wanted only to be Ralnd’s mate.

Dearn had stood aside, but he had done so jealously and with no small amount of anger at the time. In the years that followed, he had been able to put aside those youthful, turbulent emotions. However, he had never put aside his feelings for Mera.

He stopped on the wide ledge and surveyed the valley below. This had been Mera’s dream. This aerie and her life with Ralnd had been all she had dreamed of after first meeting the Eagle warrior. Dearn had stood with Ralnd during the mating ceremony and had sworn to see to the care of his family should he ever meet an unfortunate end. Now, Ralnd and Mera were gone, as was the family Dearn had sworn to care for.

“King Dearn.” Lucan, the son of the Red Hawk Clan Chief, approached him quietly, his hazel eyes worried, his voice low so the others inside would not hear him.

“Yes, Lucan?” Dearn answered him as he listened to the winds cry through the valley.

“A child is missing.”

Dearn frowned in confusion as he fought to understand what the warrior was telling him. All the children were accounted for; he knew that by the broken bodies inside.

“What do you mean, a child is missing?”

“Mera and Ralnd’s new babe is missing.”

“The child was to go to Mera’s mother three moons ago,” Dearn told him tightly. “She was not here with the others?”

“No, Sire.” Lucan shook his head. “I was there when a message came to Lady Saran. Mera was going to bring the babe to her during your celebration. She did not send her to her mother, and neither is she within the aerie.”

At that moment, the winds howled mournfully, screaming through the valley with the force of a desperate spirit; and Dearn knew that somehow Mera’s spirit was trying to reach them, to lead them to the child still missing. He clenched his fists in fury; he didn’t want to see another broken child lying before him.

Already he had seen too much death, and feared there was much more awaiting him.