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Chapter Four

Dearn signaled to the two Raven warriors sitting on the top of the cliff across from Ralnd’s aerie to keep an eye on the skies around them while he and Lucan checked below for the child. After receiving

confirmation from them, he dove silently from the ledge, his wings spread to catch the thermals that flowed through the mountains. Without thought, he banked and headed toward the entrance of the pass.

If the child wasn’t within the aerie then it had to be close by.

He fell into a crisscross search pattern with Lucan. There was no way the infant could be alive. Vultures threw such small babes from the aerie ledges for sport, to hear the wailing cries as they fell to their deaths.

Dearn crossed Lucan’s path for the third time and his eyes surveyed the narrow stretch of bank along the swiftly flowing river. He allowed the grief and pain overwhelming his heart free rein. He could feel the wind drying his face as the tears wet it. For the first time in memory he wept, and the wound that gave birth to those tears he feared would never heal.

He had vowed to rid Brydon of the Vultures. First, he would learn how and where they had managed to hide for the past centuries and why the humans had joined them in this carnage. Then, he would destroy them as quickly and as surely as they should have been destroyed before.

Such evil should not be allowed to exist. The Vulture Clan and the humans who fought with them would die.

As he turned to make another pass, he caught Lucan’s signal to land and nodded quickly in assent. He had seen nothing below to investigate, but he knew the warrior would not be satisfied did he not check out whatever he thought he had seen. With a quick signal to the others, flying in a protective pattern around them, he made one last pass of the valley. He wanted to be certain there was nothing or no one still lurking to attack while they were grounded. His force was small, and until the messengers he’d sent returned with additional warriors, they were vulnerable.

There were no signs of life, nothing to mark that anyone was within the area. With a final sweep, Dearn joined Lucan on the riverbank. As his feet touched land, his hand went to his sword and his eyes moved methodically over the landscape.

Lucan was heading for the end of the small stretch of open bank to investigate whatever he had seen.

Dearn slowly followed him, cataloging the small signs the humans had left on the soft ground.

He heard a sound, one that wasn’t part of the roar of rushing water or the moan of the wind. It was little more than a whimper, a weak, demanding cry from where the open space turned to brush.

Dearn broke into a run even as Lucan moved into the sparse growth. It wasn’t possible. The babe couldn’t have survived, he told himself as hope soared within his heart. Yet, what else could have made that cry?

Lucan was kneeling in the sand as Dearn reached him, his arms wrapped around a small object as he rocked to and fro, sobbing. It was not a broken, mangled corpse the warrior cradled. The babe cried as a motherless, hungry infant would. Her tiny wings were wrapped around her body for warmth, and she searched desperately for mother’s milk against her rescuer’s bare muscular arm.

“She was spared.” Lucan continued to rock the child as his body heaved. “Thank the gods, she was spared.”

The babe whimpered weakly once again, her little rosebud mouth puckering in anger as she protested the arm that lacked the nourishment she needed.

“But how was she spared?” Dearn murmured as he gazed up to the aerie.

The fall was a long one; one that such a small child could not have survived. That meant only one thing.

One of the humans within the murdering party had found some measure of mercy in his heart—it was a fact that Vultures had none. It would not save the human, Dearn thought, but his death would be swifter.

His eyes went to the ground and the small nest that had been prepared within the brush for the child.

There, evidence of the supplies needed to care for an infant lay—a bottle with a soft leather nipple, several soiled rags and a small, dirt-smeared piece of cloth that had been used to cover him.

“Get the child back to the aerie, Lucan,” Dearn ordered softly as he turned and scrutinized the gorge. He looked up, checking the positioning of his men and the protection those positions could afford him should the enemy come upon them. The tracks in the sand indicated there had been many humans, but there were also the tracks of the heelless boots of winged warriors.

“Mera should have food there somewhere,” he heard Lucan mutter as the child whimpered once again.

“Hang on, little one, and Uncle Luc will see what he can find.” Dearn would have smiled at the sound of the big warrior pacifying the babe, his voice softened to comfort as he tucked her carefully within his vest.

“Take off, Lucan.” Dearn turned to him, his order harsh now. “Get that babe to the aerie, I’ll be right behind you.”

The warrior nodded, his body bracing as he flared his wings, the huge feathered shapes moving fiercely now as he ran, picking up the speed needed to launch his body from the ground.

It wasn’t easy. The air currents this low were not as strong as those above, and gaining momentum and speed to take off, though not impossible, took determination. Dearn was right behind him. As the warrior lifted from the ground, Dearn executed the same maneuver and felt the firm draft that flowed along the river take his wings and aid him aloft. He watched the shadows of the cliffs closely, inspecting them for spying eyes and the enemy, who could well be lying in wait. He had an odd feeling in his gut, one that warned him as surely as the harsh moan of the winds had seemed to warn him, that danger was much closer than he could guess.

As he entered the aerie behind Lucan, he heard several men back in the bedroom speaking to Damar, and in their voices he could hear their attempts at comfort. He took a deep breath, looking reluctantly to the children’s shrouded bodies still lying in the middle of the room. Someone had covered them with blankets, tucking the edges carefully under. Atop the one enclosing Dania’s tiny form was the small blood-splattered doll she had once carried with her everywhere she went. A doll he had given her to mark her last birthday.

In the cool depths of the pantry, Lucan had found a small jar of what appeared to be goat’s milk. In another section of the wall he found a bottle and quickly assembled the babe’s meal. Intent on watching the little one eat, Dearn was startled by the abrupt arrival of the warriors he had left to patrol the gorge.

“Take cover, Sire,” Lorent, a Red Hawk warrior hissed imperatively as several of the larger men fought to surround him, pushing him farther into the aerie as others lifted the heavy door to place it securely within the opening.

“Sire, we sighted Vulture warriors. Dozens of them,” a White Lance warrior reported, his face pale.

“There are too many to fight and no time to fly.”

“Get into the aerie, away from the doors.” Dearn moved to the window, easing the shutter open barely enough to see through.

Damar and the warriors who had been in the bedroom with him emerged, their swords drawn.

“Stay back,” he commanded them tersely. “We found Mera’s babe; we cannot afford a fool’s fight for vengeance right now. Stay back, and stay silent, and we may yet come through this undetected.” He looked worriedly at the child, praying it would not begin to fret once again.

“Lucan, take her into Mera’s room,” Damar suggested. “It’s the farthest from the door. If she cries, perhaps she will not be heard. And for the gods’ sake, stay away from those windows Ralnd insisted on putting in there.”

Lucan moved quickly, though Dearn could see his reluctance to go back into that room.

“Get ready. If they come into the aerie we’ll fight. We should be able to hold them off until Semar arrives with extra troops.” He peered through the small opening once again. “There’s no way in Seven Hells we can fight our way past them.”

“Dozens” was a fairly accurate count of the number of warriors now flying through the valley. And, by the blood of Ashrad, he had been right. Vultures.

Their feathers appeared lifeless even beneath the bright sunlight, branding the Seven Hells’ demons for what they were. They landed on the opposite aerie ledges, their laughter and jeering voices causing him to grit his teeth in fury.

“Stay silent.” He motioned his warriors farther away from the entrance. “Let’s see what they do.” They were searching the aeries, and they were being damned careful about it. As the gorge became crowded with large, broad bodies and huge wings, more went into the aeries and searched through them.

“What could they be looking for?” Damar stood beside Dearn, looking through the shutter on that side.

“They could have sighted us in the area—” Dearn’s eyes narrowed as he realized he saw Clan colors in the wings of some of the men patrolling the gorge. “By the gods, what are they?” It was as though someone had taken the colors and diluted them or, in some cases, brightened them.

Mixed in with the Vulture warriors were others who should not have been. A breed that should not exist.

Pale cream wings, dark russet, brown and gold wings. Wings so black they were nearly blue diluted with the dull shades of a Vulture. Bright red, russet, and the gold of the Redhawk Clan mixed with black and dark brown.

“The Bastard Breeds. Seven Hells, those warriors are a mix of Clan and Vulture, Sire. How can they exist?” Damar whispered, horrified, his face white and his eyes dilated with shock.

Dearn shook his head, continuing to watch as the aerie ledges filled. He prayed to the gods they would

ignore this one, but the gods, apparently, were not on his side.

He drew his sword, his hands moving in a silent signal for his warriors to be ready. He watched carefully as a woman, of all things, moved in front of the small window, her back to him.

“Stay silent, King Dearn, and for the gods’ sakes keep your fine feathers within that aerie.” Fury and disgust laced the voice that came softly through the window. “The last damned thing I need is the death of a king on my conscience.”

Shock held Dearn silent; his men glanced at him, uncertain what to do.

“Who are you?” Dearn whispered. “And why do you aid us?”

“There are forty-eight Vulture warriors—pure-breed, bloodthirsty Vulture warriors—along this valley searching for your aristocratic ass.” Anger vibrated in the woman’s voice. “You don’t heed messages and you ignore warnings, but you better heed this one well. Stay silent, stay hidden, and you may yet live to fly yourself and that babe out of this valley.”

Suddenly, a brash, harsh voice called, “Matte, have you found anything?”

“There’s nothing here, Edgar. You’re chasing shadows again.” There was an edge of weariness to the woman’s voice now. “Have your men hurry and finish this so I can find my bed.”

“Dammit, they were seen heading here.” The voice moved off, calling out orders for the warriors to hurry.

“What are you?” Dearn asked as the Vulture moved way. “Why do you carry the colors of the Eagle Clan?”

“And why do you ask so damned many questions?” the woman snapped, her back still turned to him.

“Keep quiet, for the gods’ sake. There are Vultures all around here.” All around the gorge, in fact, but Dearn noticed that the warriors with Matte all had the multicolored wings that so confused him. He did as she ordered, though the fact that she ordered him rankled. The woman was above her station, he thought. Was she not careful, the day would come when such orders might well give her more trouble than she could handle.

* * * * *

Matte leaned indolently against the side of the aerie yawning. She fought to appear bored, tired and weary of the hunting. If she showed but a breath of any sign of distress she knew Edgar would quickly become suspicious.

So far, she had managed to keep him off guard and unaware of her activities, but the fools within this aerie were testing both her patience and her ability.

“This is insanity, Matte.” Stovar stood beside her, propped against the doorframe. “If one of Edgar’s warriors lands on this ledge we’re doomed.”

“They’re too lazy to check an aerie they believe we’re checking already.” Her voice was soft, a tight smile curving her lips as she fought to keep her act up. “We’ll fly through this one, my friend. As long as

those inside stay well-hidden.”

She prayed they did. By the blood of Ashrad, she didn’t need this. Only luck had placed her once again in Edgar’s company as they flew for their camps. And only fool’s luck had caused that Vulture scout to catch sight of the Clan patrol flying toward the gorge.

For a few more minutes she watched as Edgar’s men searched in vain for the Clan troops, forcing herself to appear as though she were dozing as she did so. Thankfully, those within the aerie stayed silent.

“Damn you, Matte, wake your men up and let’s go.” Edgar hovered before the ledge, his black eyes glittering furiously. “Leave one of your men to watch the gorge and we’ll head back to camp.” Matte straightened, signaling one of the younger warriors to do as Edgar bid.

“I’m right behind you, Edgar,” she assured him mockingly. “Just lead the way.” He flew off and Matte breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to the warrior she had bidden to stay.

“Stay behind us, Beldar,” she ordered the scout, her voice low. “I don’t want Edgar to know we’ve disobeyed him, yet neither do you want the fury of those Clan warriors inside on your head.” Beldar nodded, and then Matte paused once again.

“It was nice meeting you, King Dearn.” She smiled, imagining his fury as he listened to her voice. “I pray our next meeting will not be under such circumstances.”

“Pray instead that I do not get my hands around your neck,” he growled from behind the shutters. “For if I manage to do so, I will forget you are a woman and choke the life from you.” Definitely fury,Matte thought, and not a small amount of wounded male pride. Perhaps he, too, objected to her brand of respect, just as Edgar did. She was thankful that her own king was not nearly so surly, nor so intent on demanding more than the respect due him.

“I will keep that in mind, Your Highness. The gratitude you have displayed for my day’s work warms my heart.” She grinned.

She stepped away from the aerie, gave her men their order to fly and was gone as quickly as she had arrived.

* * * * *

Within the aerie, Dearn exchanged glances with his men. Their expressions all contained an edge of confusion and bemusement.

“It would appear we may have found the babe’s savior,” he remarked, glancing through the crack of the shutter once again. “Do as she says. Stay within and keep away from the door. Our forces should be here soon, and we’ll then leave.”

“Sire, what were those warriors?” Lucan shook his head “I have never seen such colors before.”

“Neither have I, Damar. But one question has been answered in this. The Vultures have definitely

returned.”

But what, he wondered, would he do about the ones who appeared to be working with, and yet against the Vultures? If his suspicions were true, the Clans were about to face yet another specter of the past.

The Bastard Breeds would be the descendants of those children whose Clan mothers had been raped by the Vultures centuries before. The children denied by King Merson and sentenced to death beside their fathers, a death neither the Vultures nor the children had suffered, just as he had suspected.

As Dearn watched them fly into the distance, his eyes held by the departing figure of the woman who commanded warriors, wore a sword and whose voice held the arrogant resonance of one used to command, he wondered at the strange turn events were beginning to take. He had expected no ally within the Vulture camp. Dearn knew he should be pleased, but he found himself confused instead. If the woman meant to betray her Vulture brothers, why then had she and her warriors not sought sanctuary in the Fortress rather than playing spy within the Vulture camp? More questions, and yet still so few answers.

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