Maud dipped her head and hauled her body toward the dust storm, now close enough that it was standing over them. Dust clouds swallowed the sun and frightened off the blues of the sky, dousing the clay in cold dark. She shot him a look over her shoulder.

  He gave one hard nod.

  She struggled across the clay as the torrents cut at her ears, and she flattened them against her skull. Faolan’s footsteps treaded faintly behind her. It got harder as the storm encroached and the winds picked up. Dust scratched at her eyes and grabbed at her through her fur.

  It might’ve been ten steps or a hundred when she realized she didn’t hear Faolan’s footsteps. She strained her neck back against the currents and found him collapsed in a heap, dust swirling around him. She snarled off a bark. She should leave him for the moon and save herself, but for whatever reason she crawled to him through the winds.

  She nudged him with her snout. Nothing. Out from dehydration or exhaustion, probably parts of both. She growled and squinted at the dust storm. They were fucked. Saving this arsehole was getting tiring. She grabbed his legs in her jaws and dragged him across the dunes.

  The storm’s eye struck like lightning. Violent winds smacked her from the sides, slashed her pelt, tried to pull Faolan from her jaws. The Far South was ice without the sun. Cold and black. She couldn’t see past her paws through the dust.

  She pushed toward the crags, or at least in the direction she thought they’d been. She mustered all the fire she’d been saving for whenever Naja found her and battled the dust. Her legs burned and trembled. Her jaws were sore from clenching. It would’ve been easier to die, but she didn’t leave the pack to die in the dirt. She needed Faolan, so he wasn’t dying either.

  She dragged one paw over the next until the crags rocky outline was visible through the howling dust. The crunching winds eased as they got closer, and the rocks shielded them.

  The crags provided enough cover to snort her nose clear and inhale while the storm ravaged around them. There was water near, but nothing in sight. Maybe the other side then. She sniffed again. Something pungent hung in the air. Must’ve belonged to something large.

  She pulled Faolan the rest of the way and dropped him against the rocks. His legs bled where she’d held them in her jaws, but better that than dead. Not that there still wasn’t time.

  She collapsed next to him and her eyes flittered shut. Water and Faolan’s survival—those were her next problems.

  When she opened her eyes all signs of the dust storm had passed. Clay was sprawled out on sides, red and barren. An easy breeze carried burs gently over the dunes. Kaza was finally creeping over the horizon, nothing more than black pikes stabbing into the sky.

  Faolan sat against the crags with his arms wrapped around his knees, rags battered down to thin threads, skin and hair smothered in dust. He made a weak smile. “You saved me.”

  Maud growled, winced from her sore throat, and settled for baring her teeth at him, which only made him grin harder. She stood and gave her pelt a rough shake, sprayed dust and dirt into Faolan’s face.

  He hacked bloody phlegm into his arm and wiped it on his knee. “Kaza,” he mustered.

  Resolve and foolery. Those things he had in bounds. She lapped up as much spit as she could and swallowed. If they didn’t find water, they weren’t making it within a league of Kaza. Could’ve just saved time dying in the dust storm. She gave her pelt another shake and sniffed. The moisture was still clinging to the air.

  She jerked her head at Faolan. He groaned up onto his legs, scabbed from her dragging him over the dunes. She waded along the crags, and he treaded after her, leaning against the rocks. No more questions from him, probably focused on staying alive. She flicked her ears. Now that there was silence, she found she didn’t like the taste of it.

  They followed the perimeter of the crags until it bent, and they found themselves on the other side. Faolan panted up to her, chest heaving, legs wavering. She crouched for him, but he waved her off.

  “On my own two,” he wheezed.

  More nobility, but she wasn’t sure she even had the strength to carry him. She crept forward, tongue dangling. She drew in another whiff, and her mouth watered. Desperate relief pressed her legs forward. Faolan stumbled beside her, hunched over in a tired gait.

  She saw the sun’s reflection bobbing on the puddle and drool squeezed out of her mouth and hung from her chops. They lugged their bodies along.

  A small trough had been dug into the clay and filled with water. More parts mud than anything, but she stepped up to the mushy clay surrounding it and plunged her snout in. Faolan thrust his head in next to her. They lapped up the grainy water until there was nothing left but red sludge.

  Faolan rolled over onto his back. His head sagged into the wet clay as he gulped in air.

  She slumped onto her side. Now that she’d gotten some water, hunger pangs jabbed at her gut. She pulled herself to her feet and took a deep sniff. Same pungent stench as before, just stronger. It wasn’t Zurun, but she could pick out the individual stenches that formed it.

  She swung her head around. Still nothing around them other than clay. She peered at Faolan, still laying in the divot carved into the clay. She growled.

  He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up one leg at a time. He looked down at the pit he was standing in, then swiveled his head around. “Someone dug.”

  She followed his gaze. A crevice holed into the crags. She sniffed. The stench was coming from the hole. Faolan’s hand drifted toward the hilt of the sword latched onto his back. He pulled it out and the sunlight hit the metal crooked. He slanted an eye toward her.

  She’d have preferred to keep moving, leave the hole alone with whatever was in it. But there was no telling how much further to Kaza, and another hunger pang ached her gut. No spot to be passing on opportunities to find food. And Faolan wouldn’t be deterred, and against her better sense she’d be at his side until this was through.

  She rumbled deep in her chest, and they made cautious steps toward the gaping crack in the rocks. Faolan entered first and tapped the walls with his sword. The clatter echoed down. Either a deep cave or tunnel. Maud waded after him into the darkness.

  Faolan led the way with one hand against the wall, smacking his sword into it with the other. The earth sloped down, and they half walked, half scrambled through the dark until the ground leveled out.

  She’d lost all sense of where she was. She followed the sword’s echo until a speck of white appeared in the distance. The speck grew the further they went, and the tunnel’s red walls became visible from the light. She took a deep sniff. More of the stench, but something else that she recognized too. She sniffed again and her lips curled over her fangs. They’d found the Zurun after all.

  They pushed for the light at the end of the tunnel and stepped out into the foot of a valley. She’d have rather stayed in the dark. They’d found what the stench belonged to. Dozens of humans were clustered together in the far end of the valley. She’d never seen one, but nothing else they could be. Shorter and sturdier than Fanir, they wore rags like Faolan’s, and most were armed. The men had yet to notice her or Faolan, but it wasn’t the men she was concerned about.

  “Looks like you got us to where we needed to be,” Faolan said gazing skyward.

  Standing on the valley’s far cliff, watching over the valley, were legions of the Zurun hordes.

  The Truth about Heroes

  Wind raked at her back, cold and unforgiving as the old ways. A chill breezed through and wafted the oxen’s stench. Siofra wrinkled her nose and pressed her legs into its wiry hair as it negotiated the sheer slope, sending rocks tumbling.

  Before her, the rocky hills stretched into grassy waves that crashed into the skyline. Nothing had changed in the decades since she’d last seen the rolling plains. Long, wild grass tugged and pulled in the winds, stretched out until all you could see was the sky. The occasional bunch of trees poking out were the only things interrupting the grass’s infinitude.

  The Old Gods knew she’d missed it, the vast freedom of the countryside. She gave the Arden’s green-flecked peaks one last glance. They stabbed into the sky, shoved away the clouds and challenged the sun. Brontúr was tucked away somewhere up there, what was left of it anyway. She’d abandoned Ilysílos after the fires to find somewhere safe. Failed. Now, she was abandoning Brontúr after the fires in pursuit of safety’s antithesis. There was a cruel nostalgia about it; the last of her Sworn Shields riding, ready to engage in the old ways.

  The Ninth Shield, Aislin, was just reaching the rolling plains, a dark stain against the green tapestry. Her blonde hair lolled off her shoulders, twin sickles intercrossed over her back.

  The Sixth Shield, Maon, was some twenty feet behind her. It was hard to believe they’d found an ox strong enough for his massive frame. He gripped the beast’s reins in one meaty hand, war hammer hanging in the other.

  The Eleventh and Fourth Shields, Coleen and Aodhan, attached at the hip since their birth, rode side by side, not far in front of Siofra, laughing together and shoving each other. There was no shortage of indecent rumors about lascivious merits between the twins, but their efficacy in the old ways was undeniable. So, such rumors were denied.

  Rocks tumbled past her as Celdar spurred his ox to catch her. Her First Shield hardly looked the part. His face wore the scars sure, and his nose was bent from being cracked countless times over, but liver spots were coloring in under thinning hair. Closer observation revealed the reins trembling in his hands, and the sweat beading down his face as he battled his tremors. “Vonungr?” he asked as they reached the bottom of the slope, and the ground leveled out.

  She trained her gaze on some trees off the way, bending in the winds. “What is it?”

  “May I ask you something?”

  She ground her teeth. We’ve barely left Brontúr, and already the games begin. “You may.”

  “Is our objective not to locate Faolan?”

  She pulled her hair back and spat. The wind carried mucus the over the plains until she lost sight of it.

  Never one to let a question go unanswered, he cleared his throat and started again. “I only wonder why you’ve taken us to the Rolling Plains. I was of the belief his trail led Southwest.”

  Why do you insist on this? Is this how the Old Gods wish to test my patience? Answering questions from the vilest creature in the Sharp Places, that by all means he already knows every answer to? This rodent was the man Niall loved more than her, more than their children. She shoved each word through her teeth. “He’ll come to us.”

  “You know where he’s going, then?”

  She grunted.

  “If I may, where are you anticipating him heading?”

  “We’ll wait in Ilysílos.”

  Celdar made a wistful sigh. “You believe him headed for the capital?”

  Siofra glanced at him sideways. “Do you still play shogir?”

  He made a wistful sigh. “Aye, I played with Vanya when time permitted.” What have you had but time these twenty years? Time enough for conniving clearly.

  Vanya. Just another victim in the end. Siofra blew out through her nostrils and slid her glower toward Celdar. I will claim the debt for you, friend. She tightened her grip around the reins until her knuckles paled. “When one’s Dragons have fallen, what’s the strongest play?”

  Celdar set his face in a hard frown. For a moment he looked like the First Shield of a time past, until he found an answer and his face wilted back into its normal strain. As much a reminder as anything that in the end everything falls. “Most would trade resources for men and press with the men, minimizing the exposure of their shields.”

  “And you?”

  He smiled thinly. “I would press my shields and hoard resources. Strength lies in its resources.”

  “And so, we will wait for my son in Ilysílos.”

  “I’m sure you’ve made a fine analogy, Vonungr,” he grizzled over a savage burst of wind. “But it escapes me.”

  She arched back to her full posture. “You pressed your last shield. You had him steal Kronr, and you’re sending him to the Dwenir forges. He’ll go to Ilysílos to cross the Red Strait.”

  He sighed again, looking his age and then some. Made her wonder how the years had weathered her. “I wish you thought more highly of me, Vonungr.”

  “I do not.”

  He took a deep breath. “Why haven’t you cut me down, Vonungr? It certainly hasn’t been for a lack of faculty.”

  Because your rot is deep, and I won’t be done of you until I know everyone infected, and I’ve cut it from this world. “You are the First Shield, my left arm, my sworn protector, and my most trusted advisor.”

  Aislin and Maon halted in the front of the company and dismounted. Coleen and Aodhan spurred their oxen to catch up. Siofra leaned forward and did the same. Celdar kept pace. The animals hoofed clumsily over the rolling plains. It was hard to gauge the distance traveled when every yard looked like the last, but it was a quick ride.

  Siofra drew the ox to a halt, swung one leg over her and hopped down, and winced on the impact. It’d been easier on the joints the last time she’d done it. She stretched out her knee, bent it, swung her leg side to side. Still hurt. Celdar dismounted and the epileptic’s grace boiled her blood. “Why’ve we stopped?” she lashed.

  “The oxen won’t make it much further without rest, Vonungr,” Aislin said, patting her reeking beast on its side.

  “We shouldn’t take them so far from the Arden,” Maon said in his gravelly voice. “They belong in the mountains.”

  She nodded. The oxen’s flanks heaved, and their tongues dangled out of their mouths. Horses would serve better now anyway, and they shouldn’t have been too far away from the nearest stable. “Aislin, scout for a place to make camp. Somewhere less . . . open. Maon, after the oxen bring us to camp you may lead them back to the Arden. Once the oxen are returned you will meet us in Ilysílos.”

  Aislin bowed and took off immediately, melting into the grassy expanse. Maon gave a subtle nod. “Yes, Vonungr.” He stroked his ox between the horns, whispering gently to it.

  Celdar, Coleen and Aodhan waited passively for her next orders. A far cry from what the Sworn Shields used to be. Niall in the Old Chair, his Shields lined behind him. “We’ve nothing to do but wait for Aislin to return. Aodhan, start on a fire. Eat, rest.” She sat down with her feet laid out, leaning back on her arms.

  They rummaged through their saddle bags and laid the oxen down. Aodhan pulled out dried hay and laid it out. Siofra traced a finger over the scar on her hand while Aodhan struck a flint stone over the hay with his short steel until it sparked and caught flame. Celdar came away with dried meat and distributed portions into the bowls.

  Maon offered Coleen his wineskin, but Aodhan swatted it away, and Coleen sneered knives at him. As cruel as their parents. “We’re good on your poison, idiot.” Aodhan hissed. Since when?

  “Vonungr?” Maon ignored him and loafed over to grab his wine.

  “Yes?” Siofra crossed her legs in the grass, flames warming the side of her face.

  “May I be so forward as to make a request?”

  She bit into the meat. “If it’s a brief one,” she churned, mouth half full.

  “I was a Sworn Shield only briefly before the Fall. I regret that I knew him mostly on reputation. I was wondering if you could tell a tale of Niall Vonungr.”

  An eerie silence. Aodhan stopped rubbing Coleen’s arm, everyone waiting on her response.

  Siofra laughed aloud, as the clouds swirled above them. Smiled even. Of all the requests you could have made. “Which would you prefer to hear? The burning of the Red Strait?”

  “Is it true during Kilton’s Rebellion he spared a wounded human he found while scouting?” he asked.

  She shared a knowing glance with Celdar and exhaled. Of course it wasn’t true. Hardly any of the tales were. Niall wasn’t compassionate enough for such things. “It is,” Siofra said. “Is that the tale you’d like to hear?”

  Maon nodded.

  The world needed heroes, but all it had were men, women, demons and mongrels. You can only build those things up so far before power taints them. In death, though, you can make pillars of people. “It was in the early stages of the rebellion. Faolan Vonungr and Celdar Nolanr, First of the Sworn Shields met the men on the Red Strait . . .

  The night air was crisp by the time Aislin returned. The oxen snorted in their sleep where Maon had tied them down. Aisling bent to a knee; half of his face lit by the fire’s dying embers. “Vonungr.”

  Siofra rose to her feet, grimacing as she knees clicked. She motioned him up with a finger. “What’d you find?”

  Aislin stood. “There’s a stable with horses roughly a league-and-a-half west, and a house next to it, or what used to be one. The entire property was torched.”

  Siofra’s mouth twisted and she cracked her neck from side to side. “Torched and yet horses were left behind? How many?”

  “Four.”

  “No sign of humans?”

  Aislin shook her head.

  Siofra pinched her eyebrows together. Raiders would’ve taken the horses. Worms would’ve eaten them. Someone is still there. A lazy trap? “How long will it take by ox?”

  “We’ll reach by dawn,” Aislin said.

  Siofra ordered Aislin to survey the stable and called Coleen and Aodhan to their feet. She barked at them to bring up the rear and cover the party by bow. She’d keep Celdar close to her as she examined the home. She didn’t trust him anywhere she couldn’t see him.

  Maon untethered their oxen and they made short work of getting travel ready. Siofra hauled herself into her saddle and nodded at each of them. “Ring your blades swift and true.”