Tall and tired, she stormed into the midst of her fellow Aumrarr, hands on hips, and added crisply, "I believe our time will be much better spent making a meal, devouring it, and talking over Falconfar as it is, not Falconfar as one maimed sister and a mystery man walking with her may or may not make it, in time to come. There is much to discuss, sisters mine."
Juskra nodded a little sullenly, and scratched at the stiff, stained bandage that covered most of her breast. "Well said. So talk. I'll suffer you to do so just as long as we ride over new ground, or speak of what is happening now; I've little stomach for trading words we already know, about places all of us have seen time and again, year in and year out. For instance, it should come as no surprise to any of us that Hammerhand of Ironthorn has come out as clear and strong in his hatred of wizards as Tharlark of Arvale has ever been, nor that Eldalar of Hollowtree cleaves to the same view. I do not care to sit through all of us listing such well-known lore one more yawn-inducing time."
"Fair enough," Dauntra said flatly. "Know, then, that the newest of the Dooms-'N'-has successfully bred and spell-changed the beasts he calls 'greatfangs.'"
"The three-headed dragons?"
"They're not-oh, never mind. Yes, the three-headed dragons."
"And we know this because…?"
"Because he risked one on a daylight raid on the docks of Irkyn, in Rornadar, riding a second overhead to watch what befell. He'd not have risked them both had he not possessed others. Moreover, the two seen by the Irkynaar were younger and smaller than the lone greatfangs seen over Sardray a month back."
"He's breeding them," Lorlarra agreed.
"Yes," Juskra echoed. "I judge his thinking much as you do; he'd never risk both if they were all he had. My new lore is nothing like as dramatic as that, yet will be the more lasting."
Ambrelle's eyes twinkled. "Well, with a teasing like that, we're certainly listening. Say on."
"When we were all but younglings," the badly scarred Aumrarr began, rising from where she'd been sitting with hands clasped around knees to pace restlessly, wings stirring, "there were no priests in Falconfar, no churches. Holy places, yes; altars, aye. We murmured a few words to fading gods more or less for luck, and most Falconaar counted themselves lucky there were no sacrificial pyres anymore, no priests scourging and damning and striking unbelievers down dead. For kindness and sick-tending and rescues unlooked-for, Falconaar had us."
"I know where your words are leading," Dauntra murmured. "Say on."
"First came the Forestmother, worshipped in the Raurklor holds, who warded off wolves and worse, and guided home those lost in deep woods. And who could speak out against aid like that? Or fear a few young lasses who went barefoot, and nurtured mosses growing on their own skin?"
Juskra turned slowly to meet the gazes of each of her three sisters, and added softly, "So they are here to stay, and growing stronger. They talk now of Holy Moots, and 'Calling Up the Mother,' and having a say in who rules a Great Forest hold and who does not. Which is more than enough to rightfully alarm Falconaar. The way-traders who travel far with their wagons are already wary and muttering, warning each other of holds to be avoided if one travels alone. This much, sisters, you know already, or should."
She turned her head slowly to survey the faces of her fellow Aumrarr again, and added fiercely, "Hearken now to my news, out of southern Scarlorn. A new god is rising, darker by far than the Forestmother. 'Gluth,' they call it, the Black Beast, a gigantic padding thing of claws and fangs that stalks the wild places, and hunts humans left alone. Hunts those its worshippers bid it to, they believe, staking sacrifices out to die and going on hunts of their own to bare and wound and leave helpless victims of their choosing, for the 'Holy Jaws and Claws' to find… This is evil, sisters, and rising, and many want to believe in it."
Juskra stalked across the riven room, folding and unfolding her wings in her rising agitation. "I tremble for the day-and it will come soon-when one of the Dooms sees that the way to exalt himself over his rivals, and us all, is by using his spells to shape such a beast and use it to command all who worship Gluth. And where men hate and fear wizards, those same men will cower before a god."
"Shit," Lorlarra whispered, white to the lips. "Juskra, you certainly know how to make this particular Aumrarr wish she'd died at Highcrag. If you're right-and I'm sure you are-this is a shadow over all Falconfar, and we will live out the rest of our lives in its gloom. Not that it sounds like our lives will be all that long."
"They won't be, the moment some priest of the Black Beast or the Forestmother decides Aumrarr are an evil to be hunted down to earn divine approval," Ambrelle said softly, running her hands absently through her purple-black tresses. "Oh, sister, can this be true?"
"Can and is," Juskra said darkly. "Deny it or refuse to see it, and you endanger us all. I begin to think the best service we can do Falconfar is to fly swift and hidden to every last Falconaar ruler and elder we can find, and warn them against the worship of these two deities, speaking as if the Dooms are already controlling them, but doing so in places where they are too busy to rule or conquer directly. We need the rulers to be scared enough to act, but not too scared to act."
Dauntra nodded. "That will work. I like it not, and it will be both difficult and dangerous the moment the Dooms learn what we're doing, but it is our best road ahead. Sister, I thank you for this warning." She rose, strode slowly across the room to what was left of a wall, thrust her hand gently against it in slow anger, and then turned, eyes flashing.
"So we must together do the tongue-march across Falconfar, here and now, and decide where to go and what to do. Ambrelle, conjure the map."
Ambrelle looked to Juskra. "Promise you'll not storm out if we chew over holds and rulers?"
Juskra drew back her lips to show her teeth in a mirthless smile. "You have my word. Make the map."
Ambrelle drew forth a pendant from its hiding place in her bodice, clasped her hands together around it, closed her eyes, and whispered, "Show me."
The shattered and tumbled stones before her began to glow an eerie emerald hue, a glow that rose in threads from them, drifting like smoke. In a few silent moments it had formed a horizontal disc in the air, a circle as thin as parchment and as far across as a wagon… a circle of blue and dun brown and dark green, that spun and flowed and then quite suddenly became sharp-featured. There were seas in three places, one of them vast enough to fill a third of the disc. A great spine of mountains arose that almost split the disc into two halves, trailing off into that large sea in a string of isles like the barbs of a dragon's tail. The rest was brown land or great ragged stretches of green forest.
The other Aumrarr all leaned forward as Ambrelle opened her eyes, sighed, and put the pendant back in its warm haven.
"Begin where we go most seldom," Dauntra suggested, "east of the Spires."
Juskra nodded, extending a long, sleek pointing arm to indicate a huge stretch of land that filled the southeastern arc of the disc. "Sarmandar of the Manykings. Large, rich, deep-historied, and not worth a moment of our time. We could spend our lives-long lives, mind-just going from one self-proclaimed king to the next. So long as they make war on each other-and that is all they do, sisters! — words of ours are wasted on their unhearing ears. Let fabled Sarmandar go its own way and find its own doom; let us keep to the north of the Wyrmsea."
Her pointing finger moved north, across a narrow sea that bounded Sarmandar to the coast of the huge landmass that covered most of the disc.
"On that north coast are the Spellshunned Lands," Lorlarra murmured, bending forward in her tattered black war-harness. "Perfumes and silks, and old, old magics gone wild and wrong. They'll not welcome the Dooms in black-towered Inrysk and proud Marraudro."