ground.
“You either are, or you aren’t, outcast. There is no guessing.”
Gavin didn’t respond, watching a massive white aevian crouched on a crag. The aevian looked down over the eyrie with an imperious gaze. It rebuffed any of its fellows who approached, chasing them off with a few muted shrieks and ruffled feathers.
“What’s with that one?” Gavin said, gesturing with his chin toward the aevian. “Is he sick or something?”
Farah looked where Gavin had gestured and then sighed.
“That’s the prior Warlord’s aevian. It’s rare for an aevian to outlive its rider, but it does happen from time to time.” Farah’s voice held great pity in it. “I wish that one hadn’t.”
Gavin frowned, turning to look at her directly. Farah made a sour face. “He is understandably moody, but he’s also the master of the eyrie. The aevians are leery of him and unsure what to do. It doesn’t help that they’re going through some tough rationing right now with food.”
Gavin hadn’t thought about the aevians facing the same shortages in food the Rahuli were. “The Roterralar didn’t have nearly the size goat herd it would need to support this many aevians when I got here,” Gavin said.
“They ate the genesauri before,” Farah said it as if the answer should have been obvious.
Gavin shook his head. One more problem to add to the growing pile.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you changed the topic. You’re a relampago. Since I’m the only other one now, I think I’ll end up being the one to train you.”
Gavin arched an eyebrow at her.
She grinned. Gavin found the look ominous.
“There are more important things to worry about for now,” Gavin said, looking away. “Thank you for letting me take a look around. I’ll probably be back a few more times.”
Farah shrugged. “That’s fine. Don’t wait too long though.”
Gavin frowned.
“On the training,” Farah clarified. “Once used for the first time, your powers will get harder and harder to control the longer you wait to begin training.”
“Just give me some time to get my feet under me.”
Farah shrugged and walked back to the carcasses near the door. As he left, Gavin found himself looking back over his shoulder at her. He certainly would be back soon.
Gavin only made it down the first side passage when shouts echoed down from the hallway above. Gavin’s pulse quickened and he broke into a run. Echoes made the direction of the shouts hard to discern, but the sounds grew louder the further down the passage Gavin got. The voices were angry, shouting curses like arrows.
Gavin rounded a corner and the scene resolved before him. Two groups of men formed two halves of a ring around an additional pair in the center of the group. The center pair circled one another on light feet, swords out. One of the men—Gavin thought he was one of the Heltorin by the distinct tattoo on the man’s cheek—had a long cut on one arm, which dripped blood onto the sandy floor. His opponent, a short man with both a sword and a dagger, Gavin did not recognize.
“What’s going on?” Gavin demanded, shouting to be heard over the jibes and jeers lobbied by both sides.
One of the onlookers glanced at Gavin and then snorted. “This isn’t any of your business, outcast. Keep on walking.”
The Heltorin man parried a blow from the dagger-wielder, then stepped away, taking up a defensive posture. Dagger-wielder grinned and followed the man.
Gavin pushed forward, intending to step between the two men, but two of the watchers grabbed him by the arms before he could get by them. Gavin struggled, but their grips were firm. If there’d only been one of them, Gavin could have—but there were two and he didn’t want to start a second fight while trying to stop a first.
Dagger-wielder batted aside a parry with his sword and struck the Heltorin man a glancing block across the chest with a quick follow-through strike with the dagger. The Heltorin man
“You either are, or you aren’t, outcast. There is no guessing.”
Gavin didn’t respond, watching a massive white aevian crouched on a crag. The aevian looked down over the eyrie with an imperious gaze. It rebuffed any of its fellows who approached, chasing them off with a few muted shrieks and ruffled feathers.
“What’s with that one?” Gavin said, gesturing with his chin toward the aevian. “Is he sick or something?”
Farah looked where Gavin had gestured and then sighed.
“That’s the prior Warlord’s aevian. It’s rare for an aevian to outlive its rider, but it does happen from time to time.” Farah’s voice held great pity in it. “I wish that one hadn’t.”
Gavin frowned, turning to look at her directly. Farah made a sour face. “He is understandably moody, but he’s also the master of the eyrie. The aevians are leery of him and unsure what to do. It doesn’t help that they’re going through some tough rationing right now with food.”
Gavin hadn’t thought about the aevians facing the same shortages in food the Rahuli were. “The Roterralar didn’t have nearly the size goat herd it would need to support this many aevians when I got here,” Gavin said.
“They ate the genesauri before,” Farah said it as if the answer should have been obvious.
Gavin shook his head. One more problem to add to the growing pile.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you changed the topic. You’re a relampago. Since I’m the only other one now, I think I’ll end up being the one to train you.”
Gavin arched an eyebrow at her.
She grinned. Gavin found the look ominous.
“There are more important things to worry about for now,” Gavin said, looking away. “Thank you for letting me take a look around. I’ll probably be back a few more times.”
Farah shrugged. “That’s fine. Don’t wait too long though.”
Gavin frowned.
“On the training,” Farah clarified. “Once used for the first time, your powers will get harder and harder to control the longer you wait to begin training.”
“Just give me some time to get my feet under me.”
Farah shrugged and walked back to the carcasses near the door. As he left, Gavin found himself looking back over his shoulder at her. He certainly would be back soon.
Gavin only made it down the first side passage when shouts echoed down from the hallway above. Gavin’s pulse quickened and he broke into a run. Echoes made the direction of the shouts hard to discern, but the sounds grew louder the further down the passage Gavin got. The voices were angry, shouting curses like arrows.
Gavin rounded a corner and the scene resolved before him. Two groups of men formed two halves of a ring around an additional pair in the center of the group. The center pair circled one another on light feet, swords out. One of the men—Gavin thought he was one of the Heltorin by the distinct tattoo on the man’s cheek—had a long cut on one arm, which dripped blood onto the sandy floor. His opponent, a short man with both a sword and a dagger, Gavin did not recognize.
“What’s going on?” Gavin demanded, shouting to be heard over the jibes and jeers lobbied by both sides.
One of the onlookers glanced at Gavin and then snorted. “This isn’t any of your business, outcast. Keep on walking.”
The Heltorin man parried a blow from the dagger-wielder, then stepped away, taking up a defensive posture. Dagger-wielder grinned and followed the man.
Gavin pushed forward, intending to step between the two men, but two of the watchers grabbed him by the arms before he could get by them. Gavin struggled, but their grips were firm. If there’d only been one of them, Gavin could have—but there were two and he didn’t want to start a second fight while trying to stop a first.
Dagger-wielder batted aside a parry with his sword and struck the Heltorin man a glancing block across the chest with a quick follow-through strike with the dagger. The Heltorin man
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