5

Chapter Five

Dearn’s reinforcements arrived as the light of Ashrad was setting over the mountain and the three moons of his children were rising in the western sky. Semar had made certain there would be protection enough for the babe and his king. There were nearly a hundred warriors in flight about the gorge.

They brought the baskets to carry Ralnd and his family home, each borne by six warriors using long, thick straps of leather. They were awkward, but they would ensure that Ralnd, Mera and their babes were afforded the ceremony of death that would ease their way into Ashrad’s gardens.

Sadly, Dearn believed the ceremonial fires would be burning high soon; the smoke and ash of his people as they ascended to Paradise would fill the skies for days to come.

The sounds of grief-stricken weeping could be heard from the Fortress when they arrived after midnight.

Ceremonial fires burned within the courtyard casting a mournful glow on the Clans awaiting them. Dearn could see the tear-drenched faces of the women, the rage and anger of the warriors and the silent and shock-filled faces of the children who stood silently by their parents.

As he landed silently, he watched as Mera and Ralnd’s family members rushed to the broken bodies.

The weeping, grieving mothers tore at his heart. Damar went to his mother and Ralnd’s. Within seconds, the two women were standing before him. The child in his arms whimpered.

“Sire? The child?” Ralnd’s mother Marnet questioned Dearn, for it was his decision which family would now care for the babe. Such instances of both parents no longer living were rare within the Clans. Dearn could remember no time when a child had been so orphaned.

Would she go to the Eagle Clan, her father’s people? Or should he give the babe to the White Lances, Mera’s Clan?

“The child carries the wings of the Eagle Clan,” he whispered as he parted the material that once was a warrior’s shirt before serving as a blanket to cover the naked infant. “She should go to the Eagle Clan.

All orphans shall be given to the Clan whose colors their wings bear, unless decided otherwise by the family members.”

With these words, Dearn decided the fate of any child who might survive its parents’ deaths. He was aware that the unofficial custom of placing children with their father’s Clans would now become law.

“Forgive me, Saran,” he told Mera’s mother as he handed the child to Marnet. “A child should grow up with those who share its Clan colors.”

Marnet raised her hand and touched Dearn’s cheek. Her brown eyes swam with tears, her sun-roughened face drawn with lines of pain as she accepted the fragile weight of the child.

“The child will still know his mother’s Clan,” Marnet said, knowing that none of the Clans ever prevented a child from knowing its full heritage. “You have ruled well in this, Dearn.” Dearn lowered his head, gazing one last time at the babe he had once dreamed would be his as well as Mera’s. A youth’s dreams, he had long ago realized.

He nodded once, then turned and left the child to the women who must now share one grandchild, where before there had been four.

As he turned he saw Tamora, her violet eyes filled with tears as she watched him. He moved to her quickly, knowing she would have the information he had asked for before he left.

“How many have made it to the Fortress?” He motioned her to follow as he made his way to the palace.

“Less than two-thirds of all the Clans.” She nearly ran to catch up with him and laid her hand on his arm.

He stared down at her impatiently, wondering why she would stop him. “Dearn, the entire Falcon Clan is missing, and we have less than half of the Owl Clan.”

“The entire Clan?” Dearn ran his hand tiredly over his face. The Falcons were some of their fiercest fighters.

“None of them have arrived. The troops we sent out to search for them report their aeries in chaos, just like the others. But no bodies have been found.”

Dearn’s knees weakened at this news, and he had to force himself to stay upright. As much as he wanted to, now was not the time to collapse.

Just as before, entire Clans were being decimated. Last time, the Dove and Wren Clans had been the fatalities; both Clans decimated to the point that now there were no survivors of those bloodlines left.

“We have less than two-thirds of our fighting force here then?” He closed his eyes briefly at her nod.

“Dearn, it gets worse,” she went on. “Several of the troops we sent out were attacked as well. They swear their attackers were Vultures.”

He clenched his fists, his sense of purpose hardening at this further confirmation. That he knew well it was the Vultures didn’t make this news easier to take.

“How many were lost?” He stared into the assembled mass of Clan members, suppressing a howl of

rage.

“We’ve lost twelve warriors.” Her voice was low, concerned. “The Vulture troops are large, and those who survived report that they are very well-trained.”

“Those Seven Hells-cursed bloodwarts are more than just well-trained,” General Brendar cursed as he came up behind her. He looked bloody, weary. His wings were frayed along the outer edges; his warrior’s leathers carried bloody streaks from having met the Vultures in battle.

“How many, Brendar?” Dearn asked as he led the general away from the crowd.

“It was too damned dark to tell.” Brendar cursed raggedly. “They lay low, waiting. They caught us just outside the Falcon range and were on us before we knew they were there.” Dearn gritted his teeth, fighting the well of impotence filling him.

“How many of your men were lost, Brendar?” he asked, knowing the loss of even one more warrior greatly handicapped them and fearing Tamora might not know the final count.

“Only twelve, but ‘twas twelve too many.” Brendar’s expression and voice were grief-filled. “It was damned near a massacre, Sire.”

A massacre. Dearn swallowed tightly.

“Their bodies?” he asked, fearing the information.

“Their wings were taken before a troop could return for them,” Brendar informed him. “We returned with their bodies just before you flew in.”

“Did you see anything odd about the warriors you fought?” he asked imperatively. “Were the colors of their wings unusual in any way?”

“Seven Hells, no.” Brendar shook his head furiously. “They were bloody Vultures, Sire, and nothing more. Trust me, I know—I was there.”

Dearn took a deep breath, wondering if any of his other troops had encountered the breed of warrior he and his men had seen.

“We, too, met with Vultures in one of the far valleys,” he told Brendar as he stared around the courtyard, listening to the wails and sorrow of his people. “Ralnd and his family are dead. Only the youngest child survived.”

“Ralnd? Mera?” Brendar shook his head in disbelief.

“Mera was raped and left to bleed out. Her children were beaten to death and their wings cut from their bodies.” Dearn fought to keep his rage contained. “But there is more. The Vultures are not alone. They have brought with them the Bastard Breeds that were meant to die alongside them centuries ago. Bastard Breeds who are, for some reason, aiding us.”

Brendar blinked. His wearied face seemed to become more lined, his violet-and-hazel eyes darkened in pain. He would have spoken, but at that moment several others interrupted them.

“Sire?” One of his captains rushed to him, leading a short, nervous-looking human behind him. “We’ve received several reports from the human cities. King Alfred has declared war on the Clans. He’s blaming us for the death of his daughter, Princess Allora.” Dearn stared at the captain in disbelief.

“Allora?” He shook his head in confusion, his attention diverted momentarily from the human. “How does he come to charge us with this?”

“He accuses a troop from the Eagle Clan of stealing her from the castle yards. It’s said that she then fell, and King Alfred claims she died on impact when she hit the ground. I found this man in the Southern Village. The humans there are still loyal to the Clans and sent for us when the king’s men brought the news to their village.”

“S-s-s-sire?” the man stuttered as he bobbed his head nervously. “I am Tomas, I want no war—”

“Stop trembling,” Dearn told him harshly. “Tell me how such lies have been perpetrated against my people.”

“The body of the princess, broken and bloodied, was found outside the Royal City right after she was taken four months ago. There was little left of her to declare her identity except her long golden hair and her royal clothing and jewelry.”

“Did any person there see her taken?” Dearn knew that no Eagle or other Clan troop would do such a thing.

“We saw only the body, Sire,” Tomas answered weakly. “King Alfred declared war after he said you would not punish those responsible.”

Another lie. No human had come to him with these charges.

“You betray your king by coming here,” he told Tomas.

The human swallowed tightly.

“There are those of us who believe Alfred killed his daughter,” he whispered. “It was he who brought the Vultures in just before that. He is mad, Sire. Many of us wonder at the truth about Queen Demetria’s death years ago. It was never explained, and it’s well known Alfred has blamed the Clans for decades for every bit of ill fortune he has known.”

Dearn could make no sense of this news. Other than in Cayam, where the Clans’ trade overtures were ignored, the two races had dealt well with each other. He could not understand this abrupt change.

“This is no reason to declare war. You make no sense to me, human.” Dearn snagged the man with an accusing glare and felt satisfaction when he flinched. “The Clans never venture to the lower valleys, and this is well known. How could Alfred accuse us?”

He watched weary cynicism come over Tomas’ face.

“The same way he accuses an innocent man of theft and puts him to death, and yet releases one who

murders.” Tomas shook his head in bitter sadness. “He is mad, Sire, and that madness may destroy us all.”

“Where did he find the Vultures?” Dearn fought to hold back his anger. There were too many questions, not enough answers. Surely the human king was not so mad as to declare a war based on such lies.

Tomas shook his head. “They arrived just before the Princess’ death, by one of the king’s ships. He sent for them, and it was his plan to use them against the Clans even before Allora died. A small group of us have tried to get to the Southern Village with a warning, but Alfred has the passes carefully watched. The four that were sent out before me have not returned nor did they make it to the village.”

“And how did you accomplish it?” Dearn asked him suspiciously.

“I do not know.” Tomas wrung the cap he held in his hands in fear. “I know I was seen several times, but the group patrolling never stopped me. I don’t know why, Sire, I’m only thankful they didn’t. Those bastards are merciless, and the killing has only started.”

“What of those warriors who carry the mix of Vulture and Clan colors?” Dearn ignored the captain’s and the general’s looks of shock as he questioned the man. “Who are they?”

“The Bastard Breeds?” The man looked at Dearn as though he should know the answer to this. “They are those whose ancestors were exiled along with the Vultures. The children, Sire, of your Clan women and the Vulture warriors who raped them. The Vultures claim they have returned for vengeance as well, and they are strong, Sire. I would say stronger than the Vultures who command them.” And, so far, they were wreaking their vengeance against the Clans with a high rate of success. Dearn had no choice now but to prepare his people for a war they had nearly lost in the past and might very well lose now. But how, he asked himself, was he to prepare his people for the descendants of those children so cruelly and so savagely turned away? The ones now appearing to be allied with the Vultures, and yet the same ones who had saved his own troop and the fragile life of Mera’s youngest babe?