“Kyrie?” murmured Torloo.
He turned to face his friend. A true tracker. The one with experience in leading the hunt. Kyrie mentally added another item to his list. Teamwork was a tool.
With a small shake of his head, Kyrie said, “I am merely organizing my thoughts.”
Reveille dropped into a crouch and set his hands into a position that communicated patient expectation. Torloo also took a passive position. “Where you go, we will follow.”
“What if you lose sight of me?”
Torloo tipped his head to one side. “That would be interesting. Do not let us distract you from the trail at your feet. Even if we lose your trail, we can pick it up again.”
“Or his,” said Reveille in a calm undertone. “If we cannot find you, we will focus on your prey.”
Kyrie accepted that with a nod.
He took a moment to confirm the hand signals he’d learned from Annika. And by mutual assent, they put away their words. Because silence was also a tool.
Taking a deep breath, Kyrie opened himself up to the winds. Wider than he ever had before. The green crystal in his armband tuned itself to his desire, amplifying it. Breezes quickly gathered. Soft warbles lured them into contact. Soft words coaxed them into collusion.
With a parting breath that lifted his hair, his invisible allies whirled away. Almost immediately they flowed back, each bringing little offerings, each hoping to please him.
They told him of barriers within barriers. They carried the scents of spikenard and sweat. They whispered of warriors and wolves, his competition in the race to find Sinder. And one very clever wind—she was a south wind, he knew—brought to his attention a faint chorus of crystals.
Tiny, yet true.
Kyrie listened closely, trilled encouragingly. And their answer was symphonic.
Slowly opening his eyes, he met Torloo’s puzzled gaze and Reveille’s unchanged attention. And smiled. “I need to run.”
“Which way?” murmured Torloo.
Kyrie thought his friend already knew the answer. He pointed confidently in the opposite direction, where Sinder’s course through the trees was setting off whispery chimes.
Torloo offered an approving nod. “How did you know?”
Would they believe him? Few ever did. But he told the truth. “Every tree in this forest has a voice.”
Sinder stood at attention on a rocky outcropping, listening to the sounds of a waking forest, watching for movement amidst the trees. The dawn patrol was still conducting careful sweeps on the opposite slope, far enough away to allow Sinder to focus on Kyrie.
Evading wolves had become a fairly routine challenge, but the prospect of dragon pursuit had him keyed up. He needed to take care, needed to focus.
Something that would have been so much easier if not for Timur and Mikoto having a murmured conversation at the foot of his vantage point. “Do you mind?” he grumbled.
Timur shook his head. “He’s not coming.”
“He is,” argued Sinder. “That’s rather the point of this exercise.”
“Kyrie’s father is a fox. Do you really think he’ll come at you, full charge, yodeling a battle cry?”
“I used to do that,” confessed Mikoto.
Timur chuckled. “Me, too.”
“I suppose you think you were cute?” Sinder could picture it, though. Little battlers could be adorably idiotic. Easy pickings.
“I’ve improved somewhat.” Timur’s grin was probably meant to be modest.
Mikoto, who’d been sketching a map into the dirt with a stick, asked, “Could you catch Sinder?”
“I have caught him.” Timur eyed Sinder speculatively. “I’d like to try again.”
“What do you use for restraints?” Mikoto’s posture was respectful, his expression interested. “If the goal is to catch and keep, how do you confine a dragon?”
With a final scan of the surroundings, Sinder dropped into a crouch beside Mikoto. “Primer time. It’s not as if you need enchanted chains or anything. Rope works if it’s heavy enough. Or better yet, woven cords reinforced by an ambuscade. Way back when, they’d work crystals into the weave.”
“I am not familiar with such equipment.”
“Specialty stuff.” Ever since the Junzi had come to light, Sinder had developed a morbid fascination for the accoutrement of dragon slayers. The fabled Four Storms were one-of-a-kind, but there were records of plenty of more humdrum ways to ensnare dragonkind.
“They’d encase wardstones in rope. Which was crazy. Not only did it cost a fortune to synchronize enough crystals to properly lasso a winged dragon, but the resulting rope would be incredibly heavy.”
“Weighted ropes?” mused Mikoto.
“Impractical in the extreme. Understandably obsolete.” Sinder glanced at Timur, who was quietly studying his own hands. “Even if there were any of these ropes still lying about, they’d be moldering. Historical significance falls by the wayside when a financially-strapped family can unravel them in order to sell off the wardstones.”
Timur lifted his gaze … and smirked.
Sinder’s confidence wavered. “Wielding them would require both physical strength and a ward’s finesse.”
Both of which Timur had in abundance. Dunce and double dunce.
“Surely not,” Sinder muttered, all accusing.
“They’re really more like whips.” Timur was enjoying this way too much. “And there are still a few artisans who carry on the crafting of traditional weapons. Innovating on them, as well.”
Mikoto glanced between them. “You have seen this weapon?”
“Most of the length is about this thick.” Timur held out his thumb. “Leather grip. Weighted tip. And heavy as a bag of rocks.”
Sinder muttered an oath. “You keep one lying around?”
“Hardly.” Timur scratched behind his ear. “Battlers take better care of their weapons.”
Mikoto’s fascination doubled. “You know this weapon.”
“I have the strength and a ward’s aptitude.” Timur lifted muscular arms and described a flowing circle over his head. “Mum started me in on ropework when I was still just a kid. Been focusing on those kinds of weapons ever since—whips, flails, chains, nets. Fend and I started practicing with the real thing this past winter.”
All eyes turned to the feline, who greeted their interest with a curled lip.
Sinder wasn’t used to being uninformed. “Well that’s … certainly something that could have been mentioned sooner.”
“Like you said, they’re specialty weapons. None of the battlers in this allotment were chosen for that kind of training.”
Mikoto sighed. “I would like to try.”
“Any foundation for this type of weapon?” Timur was clearly asking to be polite.
“Yes. My favorite is a chain scythe.”
Timur gave him a hard look and a harder pinch. They were soon grappling on the ground like a couple of children. Finally pinning him, Timur asked, “You ride, yes? Ever done mounted maneuvers?”
“I am proficient. My partner is Merl Alpenglow.”
“We are going to spar. Soon.” Timur let the younger man up and slanted a look at Sinder. “And then we’ll team up against our dragon friend here.”