Penryn chewed at her lip, recognising a few of the faces, and many that she did not. She was surprised to see so many of the old approached as well, not merely the young with full strength at their behest even if their skills were poor and few.
And behind them, clad in whatever clothing and colours made up each clan, were the people.
The ones that bore the respect of their sages, who trusted their call above all others.
With weapons of their own, with serious faces, some paling as they took in the foe, wingless as had been promised, but very much real.
And so many.
The horde moved as one, suddenly pushing forward.
A steady walk versus an attack by air.
The first arrow was loosed, falling short of its mark, the sage batting it away with a sword that glittered in the morning light.
A whistle, short and sharp as it rent the air between them.
And a blade suddenly appeared in the throat of the one who had taken aim, his body crumpling.
The horde barely made room to walk around it, the body consumed by the press forward.
Penryn’s stomach roiled at the thought, of being trampled by one’s own people.
And she could not pretend their purpose was not well ingrained.
Whatever it truly proved to be.
She waited with bated breath for the call from the horde to rush forward, to attempt to overwhelm those in the air by sheer force of numbers.
“Hold!” she heard called from somewhere down below as they grew nearer her tower. The order was repeated again and again by those on beasts who constantly circled and herded, ensuring that none grew frightened enough to abandon their posts and run instead. “Hold!”
They began to pass, and she could see that yes, in the middle of the ranks were the most vulnerable, the old, the weak, the small and the women round with child.
Tears of disbelief prickled at her eyes.
What were they thinking? To bring their young into battle?
Why not just the warriors? Those keen to fight, to slaughter if that was their aim?
Something clawed at her, the wrongness of it, the deep breath before the plunge.
This was not right.
“Hold!” she heard again, and she could not imagine what they were waiting for.
Their children were with them.
They travelled as a whole. An entire people, together.
A horde.
But not necessarily an army.
Not all of them.
Her mouth opened. And the words came forth.
For better or worse.
No matter how foolish they might prove to be.
“What is your purpose here?” she shouted down.
Because she understood their words.
And she knew few others would.
She did not know if her tutors were present in the host of sages and the people they had brought with them. The few that had dedicated themselves to the teaching of the land-dwellers’ tongue. Her guides and the only ones she could practice with before being sent off, entrusted with all the fluency they could give her.
The horde hesitated, the warriors still standing firm against those they could see, and even those they could not.
“Name it!” she called again. “While there is time yet to do so!”
They did not shoot at her. Not yet. And the angle of their position beneath her tower suggested they would not be able to do so, but she held no great confidence in it. There was risk, but there would be benefit also, if only...
“Truce,” came not one voice, but many. As one, even if they did not know to whom they spoke. “Truce,” they shouted again.
And still, the sages kept their movement forward.
If they knew, or understood, they did not seem to care, and before she could react, could dare a scrabble forward, suddenly there was movement beside her, a dark figure that startled her with so silent an entry that she had to place a hand over her mouth to stifle her screech of alarm.
Her husband, his eyes dark and furious.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and evenly measured, not revealing the depths of his displeasure with her. But his expression did.
“They wish to talk with us,” she answered. “That is what they are saying.”
“They have attacked already,” he reminded her, trying to force a gentleness into his voice. She winced, hating that he felt the need to placate. “Twice now they have attempted to shoot us down. Once they even succeeded.” He took a breath, shaking his head and she could well imagine the thoughts racing through his head. The fear. The terror as they plunged into the inky blackness of a roiling sea. “Are you so quick to forget?”
She released an unsteady breath, wishing her heart would calm, that she could speak clearly without the wavering tendril of hesitation that would undermine the parts of her that were certain. “Of course not,” she assured him. “But I know what they are calling for down there, and I cannot pretend I do not hear it.”
She was pleading with him, and she knew it. For him to understand, to believe that she was not quite so foolish as to put her blind trust in a people she did not know. “Maybe they were taught to fear our kind. Taught that secrecy was the only thing keeping them safe, so any trespass, any unfortunate soul that stumbled into their path had to be stopped.” She shrugged, wishing she knew that to be true, knew that their reasons could be so neatly explained.
There was a change to his expression, a suggestion that even if he did not like her explanation, it was at least not quite as reprehensible as what he had likely conjured in his own imaginings.
“You cannot know that.”
“No,” she readily agreed. “I cannot. Not without talking with them.” She clutched at his arm, willing him to hear her. “But that is precisely what they are asking us to do.”
She saw his indecision. Could even understand it. They had been chased with unrelenting speed for days. They had felled Grim over
