Warprize

Chapter 6

Keir’s grip on my wrist tightened as he pulled me back to the platform. Ice cold sweat formed down my spine as a vision of the man tied to the whipping post filled my eyes.

I was pulled back to reality when Keir released my wrist and pushed me back down on my stump. “ What would you say, Warprize?” The words ground out between his teeth as he towered over me. Wanting nothing more than to sink into the earth, I dropped my eyes and caught a glimpse of Iften behind Keir, smirking in delight.

“Well?”

I glanced over at Simus, who nodded as if encouraging me to speak. Lifting my chin, as well as my courage, I met Keir’s eyes. “I have two truths.”

“What?” Keir snapped at me, and I got a clear glimpse of his teeth.

“Supplies for the healing tent.” I swallowed hard. “I can do more with medicines, herbs and equipment.”

There was a murmur of reaction to that, but Keir’s eyes continued to bore into mine. “More?” The anger that had flared seemed to smolder beneath the surface. “You would aid any who came to you?”

“Yes.” My wrist throbbed, but I sat still and straight.

One of the men snorted from the back. “Our warriors will become soft as city-dwellers if we let them complain of every ache and pain.”

“Oh, and they fight so much better when they have a rash under their arms, or flux dribbling out of their ass,” I snapped back, letting my temper flare.

The room exploded in laughter.

Simus threw back his head and roared. “Ah,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “This one’ll not let slackers lay idle. She’ll have them empty slop pots!”

More laughter. Keir’s posture didn’t relax, but there was a hint of a smile on that stern face. I carefully kept my eyes on his, not daring to look away. After a moment he returned to his stump and gestured for more kavage. “And your second truth, Warprize?”

I shifted so that I looked directly at him, but he stared ahead, so all I had was his profile. “You need to understand that I am a healer, not a—” I bit my lip, at a loss for the right word. “Not a worker of wonders. I can’t wave my hand and fix Atira’s leg so that she can jump up as if nothing happened.” I drew a breath. “I have set her leg, but bone healing takes time.” I dropped my eyes to the rough planks of the platform. “I can’t heal all illness. Would to the Goddess that I could.”

There was silence in the tent. Keir’s voice was low, but it carried. “You’d try to help any who came to you?”

I looked up, surprised he even had to ask. “Of course.”

Keir looked around the room, and I could see that some of the warriors were nodding their heads, although Iften and a few others were scowling. Keir opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Marcus approached and bowed to Keir. “Warlord, there is a man of the city outside. He says that he has business with you, as you owe him a debt. He will talk to no one but you.”

“Let him approach.”

The tent flaps parted and Remn entered, moving with quiet dignity toward the high seat. I sat up and smiled. His eyes caught mine, and a look of relief flashed over his face for just a moment. He made no sound. Instead, he focused his eyes on Keir and continued to advance. A servant followed him with a small bundle. About five steps from Keir, he stopped, and bowed low.

“Greetings, Warlord. I am Remn, a humble bookseller. I thank you for this audience. I apologize that I do not speak your language. Is there one who can interpret my words?”

Keir nodded. “I speak your language. I am told that you have come to collect a debt from me, bookseller. I owe no debt to you that I am aware of.”

“Noble Warlord, the debt is owed by one of your house.”

Keir raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Remn folded his hands in front of his chest. “Noble Warlord, one of your household came to me seeking a loan. She sought the money for the purchase of herbs and medicines for your men held captive at the time. In return, she pledged a book to me as a surety of the repayment of the debt. The book has not yet been redeemed.”

Keir glanced at me, then back at Remn. “And the name of this person?”

Remn bowed low and left his head down. “Forgive me, Noble Warlord, but by the orders of my King I am forbidden to speak her name.”

Keir frowned. The room stilled somewhat, sensing his displeasure. “It is not wise to offer insult to the warprize.”

Remn raised his head to look Keir in the eye. “Forgive me, Mighty Warlord. It is not I who offers the insult.”

I sat there, stunned.

Keir rose. The room started to rise as well, but he gestured them down. “Be at ease. I will return when I have concluded this business.” He looked at me. “Warprize.”

We moved toward the sleeping area. Remn took the package from his servant and followed.

Once in the privacy of the room, I turned, unsure of my welcome. Keir seated himself on the end of the bed. Remn ignored him, opened his arms and embraced me. Tears filled my eyes as I buried my head in his shoulder. He smelled of old books, dust, and home.

“Dearest Lara.” Remn whispered in my ear as he held me tight. “We feared you dead or worse.” He stepped back with tears in his eyes. “All we knew was that after you disappeared into the camp it erupted into lights and noise and celebration. Anna feared you sacrificed. She has not eaten since you left. I swear that she has actually lost weight in these last few days.” He laughed shakily and wiped his eyes. “I hear tell that the food in the castle has all the taste of straw of late.” He darted a glance out of the corner of his eye at the brooding figure of the Warlord. “Othur came to me and asked if I would try to find out how you were. So here I am.”

I wiped the moisture from my eyes and smiled. “I am well, Remn. Truly.”

Keir, looking stern, interrupted. “What do you mean that you cannot speak her name?”

Remn sighed. “The King has ordered that no one speak of her, or make inquiry as to her health or well being.”

Keir frowned.

I placed a hand on Remn’s shoulder. “Please tell Anna that I am fine and well treated. She mustn’t worry. Tell her to eat or she will get sick.”

Keir snorted at that, as if he understood the jest.

Remn smiled and hugged me again. “I will. And here… here is the book that you pledged. I cannot keep it and would not sell it.” He opened the package and pulled out my old friend. The leather had been cleaned and it smelled of saddle soap.

I laughed, delighted, and without thinking, turned to show the book to Keir. He looked at me oddly. Turning toward a chest, he opened one and pulled out a small pouch. “My thanks, bookseller. Here is the money that was borrowed, and a little for your troubles in collecting it.”

Remn stood straight. “Warlord, that is not necessary. I do this for friendship’s sake.”

Keir gave him a serious look. “Then let me do it in the name of the men who were aided.”

Remn bowed, then straightened. He looked up into Keir’s eyes with a stern expression. “You were given a treasure, Warlord. The King may not see it that way, but my people do. See that it is cherished.”

“Remn.” I admonished him, a blush rising in my face.

Keir merely nodded, as if in agreement. “I must return to my men. Warprize, return to the meal in your own time.”

With that he left the room.

Remn clutched my arm. “Lara, Othur sends you a message. Xymund was the one to clear your room of the last of your things after the ceremony. He was in the room for a long time. And emerged in a towering rage. From the way he talks, it seems that he has somehow convinced himself that you betrayed him to the Warlord. Even when he spoke to the Warlord’s man alone, his rage seems centered on you. Be careful, Lara. He hates you.”

“Remn, I have obeyed Xymund. He has no reason to hate me.” I clutched the book to my chest. “Can you stay?”

Remn shook his head. “I must get back and get word to Anna before the poor woman loses another ounce.” He smiled and hugged me. I held on hard, until at last he slipped from my arms, his face wet with tears. “Be well, my child.” Marcus escorted him out as I wiped my face. I placed the book under my pillow, took a few deep breaths, and returned to the meeting area.

Keir was speaking when I entered. “… so plans must change as well. Provided the peace holds, we will make new division of our forces. I now have no choice but to return to the Heart of the Plains with the warprize. Simus, I would leave you here in my stead.”

“Ah, my suffering in your service knows no boundaries,” Simus replied in mocking tones. I stepped to my seat amidst the chuckles with a pit in my stomach that had not been there before. While my head knew that I was the Warlord’s possession, my heart had denied the possibility of leaving my home. Just talking to Remn made me long for Anna and the kitchen. How could I bear never to see them again?

Keir continued to speak. “I’ve called for a ceremony honoring the dead, both Xyian and of the Plains, to be held at the castle tomorrow night. Discuss among yourselves who should attend. He stood and looked about. ”If there is nothing further…“ From his tone, there had better not be.

“I’s hold your token, Warlord.”

My eyes widened. Gils had somehow managed to get into the tent and now held the token in his hand. His young voice quavered, but he stood tall before the crowd, fresh scrubbed from the look of him. His tunic had no sleeves, and the tattoos on both arms were displayed clearly.

Keir sat back down, his face serious but there was warmth in his voice. “What truth would you voice, warrior? At a senel that you were asked to serve, not join?”

Gils swallowed hard, but did not back down. “I’s Gils. I’s give voice to one truth. I’s wish to a-pren-tice, ” he spoke the word slowly and carefully, “to the warprize and forsake the way of a warrior for the path of healing.” The feathers on the token were moving, and I realized his hands were shaking.

There were cries of outrage as warriors leaped to their feet. Gils’s eyes widened and his hands clutched the token tighter, making the bells ring. He didn’t turn to see the men behind him. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on Keir.

Keir held up both hands, bringing silence with a gesture. “He holds my token.”

The others sat back down.

“I will speak to your truth.” Keir stood at the edge and looked down at Gils, who nodded. The youngster returned the token to its place, but remained standing next to it.

“What you speak of is not our way, Gils. This truth would change your life forever, especially in the eyes of our people.” Gils opened his mouth, but Keir raised a hand. “I will consider your truth. This is not a decision made lightly, nor should your truth be answered while we are in the field. Continue in your regular duties.”

Gils’s shoulders slumped. Keir studied him for a moment. “What are your secondary duties, Gils?”

Yers spoke up. “Kitchen helper, Warlord.” The man shook his head. “He’s talked of nothing but the healing tent since he started taking meals there.”

“If I remember, kitchen duty is much sought after, if only for the treats one can sneak.” There was general laughter to that comment. Keir continued, “Gils, is it your truth that you would rather empty slop pots than work in the kitchen?”

Gils looked up and nodded. Even I could see the hope in his eyes.

Keir looked up and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it is your truth, lad, strange though it may be. So hear then, as I speak to part of your truth. Your secondary duties are now to the healing tent, as helper.” Gils opened his mouth, but Keir again held up a warning hand. “As to the rest of your truth, I will consider that upon our return home. You are not released from your duties as a warrior.” Keir looked out over the crowd. “I suspect a few months of slop pots may change your mind.” Laughter swelled at that.

Gils beamed. “My thanks, Warlord.” He turned and left the tent, avoiding a glaring Marcus on the way out.

“No.” Keir watched him go. “My thanks for your truth, warrior.” Keir raised his head to look out over the crowd. “If there are no other truths, then the senel is closed.”

The warriors were all talking, some standing and milling about. Keir moved to stand by Simus. The black man looked grim. “Iften is planning something.” He spoke so quietly that I had to strain to hear him.

Keir nodded, looking out over the heads of his men. “I agree. If you feel well enough, I’d like to talk, Simus.”

Simus laughed. “I wouldn’t miss it, Warlord. Let us retreat to my tent for kavage and discourse.” He turned his head. “Joden! Where are you?”

Joden appeared on the platform with the four bearers. “Offering bribes of kavage and meat to these men to heave your fat carcass back to your tent.”

“Fat! I’m not fat.” Simus tried to look offended, but no one was fooled. The young warriors got into position with much groaning and moaning and sarcastic comments from Simus.

“Come and see me tomorrow, little healer!” Simus laughed. “I wish to hear all the details of your newest escapade.” He shook his head with a great smile. “Healed a broken leg. The warrior-priests will curse the skies!” With a grunt, the men lifted his cot and started moving away, staggering under the weight. “ Have a care!” Simus growled, then laughed. “Have a care!” Guards held the main flaps open as they left.

Keir turned and gestured for me to precede him into the sleeping area. His growl came from behind me even before the tent flap fell closed. “You’re not to use the token.”

I turned and faced him, clasping my trembling hands in front of me. “There was a need—”

“There was no need.” Keir growled, his jaw clenched. “This is hard enough to accomplish without you —”

“I cannot heal without—”

“Damn the supplies! This is about the peace.” Keir bellowed.

I blinked.

Keir ran his hand through his hair. “A peace you seem determined to threaten.”

“I!” My back stiffened at that. “I’ve kept my part of this bargain, Warlord. Nor has Xymund violated its terms.”

“The attacks on the horses—”

“There may be a few malcontents, as there are in this camp.” I raised my voice to match his, and glared just as hard. How dare he imply—

“My people hold to their word, Warprize. Explain why your brother offers such insult?”

I dropped my eyes and stepped back a pace. How to explain what I didn’t understand myself? Lowering my voice, I fell back to my strongest argument. “He will not risk his people by violating this peace.”

“His head, you mean.” Keir stalked about, as if needing to pace.

My temper flared back. “His head, then. He has no reason to jeopardize his life or throne.”

“His actions will speak for him.” Keir snapped. “If he’s behind these attacks on the herds, he’ll answer for it.” He turned on his heel to go.

Marcus popped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. “Done with your snapping?”

Keir raised his eyes to the ceiling. “What?”

“You are taking her to a mourning ceremony? Tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Keir cast a glance back at me. “It would not be a bad thing for her to be seen in the city. Rumor has her treated badly.”

Marcus tightened his lips. “What’s she to wear? Trous is fine for camp, but city women wear dresses more often than not. I’ve managed to keep her clothed so far, but she needs other things.”

I pressed my lips together and looked away.

Keir’s voice was thoughtful. “I had not thought of that.”

Marcus snorted. “Seems to be happening a lot of late.”

I looked over at that, to see Keir arch an eyebrow and tilt his head. “So, the clothing of one woman is a task beyond your skills, old man?” He moved past us, to the main flap. “Who’d have thought it?”

“Where are you off to?” Marcus demanded.

“To Simus’s tent.”

“And me?” I demanded.

“As you like.” Was the comment tossed over his shoulder. With that Keir disappeared.

Marcus glared at me.

I glared right back. “This is not my fault. I wasn’t permitted to bring anything with me!”

Marcus nodded. “As it should be. The Warlord has claimed you. You take nothing except from his hands.” He frowned. “I will think on this, Warprize.”

“Lara!”

He sniffed and moved away to finish cleaning.

I stomped out, half a mind to stomp all the way back to the castle and home. How dare he imply that Xymund or I would risk breaking the agreement. Admittedly Xymund was motivated more out of self-interest than anything else, but motivated he was. Still, the hatred in his voice had been so strong. The idea that Xymund would take such a risk made me furious and sick, all at the same time. There’s been other times in the past that he’d taken actions that benefitted himself more than the country. The fact that Warren and Othur cared deeply for the kingdom gave me some measure of comfort. They would stop him, if they knew what he was doing. Xymund had a slyness that I did not trust.

Rafe and Prest were waiting for me when I emerged from the tent, and thoughts of flight went out of my head. But other thoughts whirled about, skittering around like colts on ice. I turned toward the healing tent, guards in tow.

How had Keir’s opinion of me come to be so important so quickly? My fears came up in my throat, and for a moment I could barely breathe. I’d been well treated so far, better than I’d hoped. The demands on me… my face flushed at the thought… had not been uncomfortable. Truth be told, they had been… interesting.

I wondered how many warprizes Keir had. I knew he had taken other cities, there might have been more. Was it one warprize per kingdom? Where were they?

Were they happy?

I frowned at the ground beneath my feet. At least I was being allowed to practice my craft. Whatever the future held, I had that at the very least.

Of course, who knew what would happen when the army returned to its homeland. I took a deep breath and focused on my feet again, watching myself take one step after another. I had been promised. I had fulfilled the promise, and would continue to do so. I was sure that Keir would not harm me physically.

But there are other kinds of pain.

***

The healing tent was in an uproar when I arrived.

There were people everywhere, spilling out of the tent and milling around like bees on honey. The sides of the tent had been rolled up, and people were gathered on all sides. I lengthened my stride, leaving Rafe and Prest behind, and pushed my way through the crowd.

At the center lay Atira, surrounded by admirers. There was a piece of wood laying on her chest, with stones on top in some kind of pattern. Atira was craning her neck to see, as the people who crowded around her cot reached down and moved the stones around. There was lots of talk and laughter, and Atira’s face was flushed.

“Word travels on the wind.” Rafe commented. Prest nodded his agreement.

“What in the name of the Goddess is going on!” I stood there with my hands on my hips.

Everyone turned in consternation, took one look at my face, and took to their heels. The few that remained tried to offer explanations, and there were mentions of a dance and the pattern, and their plan. Atira was trying to hide the board with both hands, and I realized that she was trying desperately not to laugh.

“Out of my tent!” I shooed at them with my hands. “Out! Out!”

Atira lost her fight as hardened warriors fled before me. Rafe was laughing, leaning on Prest, who was roaring as well. “Silly fools,” I grumbled. “This is no way to treat an injured warrior.” I gestured to the sides. “Help me lower the sides.” I grumbled as we worked, and Rafe and Prest were hard pressed to keep their faces straight.

“Warprize, we were planning the pattern.” Atira was wiping her eyes with her hands. “They meant no harm.”

“What is a pattern?” I asked as I moved up next to her.

“For the dance!” She hastily covered the board. “Don’t look, Warprize! It’s bad luck.”

“Very bad luck.” Joden walked into the tent. I smiled to see him. “I heard the noise, and came to see if you needed aid.”

He looked around the tent. “I see that you have routed the enemy without my help.”

“Atira’s needs rest.” I started to check the leather and the straps.

“May I speak with her for a moment?”

Atira’s eyes grew round. I looked over at Joden, but his face was calm and serene. “Of course, Joden. But not for too long. Do you need privacy?”

“No, Warprize.” Joden moved to a seat by Atira’s cot. “Warrior.”

“Singer.” Atira’s tone was respectful and questioning at the same time.

Joden shook his head. “No. I am not a Singer yet. But that is why I have come to see you.”

“Really?” Atira propped herself on her elbows.

Joden nodded. “I am working on a song. I would sing of your injury.”

Prest sucked in a breath. Rafe stood up straight. I could barely hear Atira’s response. “For all the sky to hear?”

Joden nodded. “I need to hear your thoughts and words. Would you think on this, then speak to me of what happened?”

“Yes.” Atira looked solemn. “I will.”

Joden stood. “We will talk tomorrow.” He smiled at the rest of us, and walked out.

Atira fell back onto the cot and let out a gust of breath. I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She smiled up at me, her eyes filled. “Oh yes, Warprize.”

I smiled back. “Well then, do you feel up to bathing?”

She looked delighted. “I can?” She glanced at her leg.

I smiled as I checked the bindings, pleased that the swelling was minor. “It will be awkward, but we can do it. Is there any pain?” She denied it, but I could see tension in her eyes. “Well, with bathing and all, you’ll start to feel it. I’ll give you something for it before we are done.” I stood. “We can rig a blanket curtain—”

She looked at me oddly. “It’s not necessary, Warprize.”

It wasn’t easy. I helped as much as I could, but Atira did most of the work herself. My job was to ensure that the leg stayed as straight as possible.

Atira moved slowly and carefully, and showed no embarrassment in bathing where all could see. It made sense that a woman warrior would have no qualms about that, but I found it unsettling. It took longer, since she was unable to move, and I had the tent walls lowered to keep the heat in. No sense her taking chill on top of it all.

By the time we were done, everything near and around Atira was wet, and the rocks that pulled at the leg needed to be retied, but she was cleaner and thankful for it. It was short work to clean the mess and change the linens of the cot. Once dry bedding was in place, and her weapons restored to her side, Atira lay back and heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’ll get a clean tunic for you.”

“Thanks, Warprize, but no. More comfortable naked.” She sank back and pulled the blanket up.

I fixed an eye on her. “I can give you something for the pain now.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Warprize, I’d prefer not. I’m not in pain as such, just achy.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but saw that this was a matter of pride. So I merely nodded. Looking about, I could see that my other patients were tending to their own needs. I leaned a bit closer to Atira, picking up soap and cloths. “Atira, could I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You might be offended.”

“Offended, Warprize?”

I flushed slightly. “Well, the Warlord uses a token…” My voice trailed off as she frowned.

“No one explained?”

I shook my head.

It was her turn to shake hers. “The Warlord’s token, or anyone’s token is for truths or questions that they may not want to hear.” Atira answered softly. “Those who lead have elaborate tokens and bearers, which bespeak their status.” She shifted slightly to get more comfortable. “We are a warrior people and weapons are always at hand when tempers flare. Without tokens, there’d be little truth telling for fear of killing ourselves off!” She grinned at me. “For one such as I, a token can be a stone, a tool, a shoe even, if that’s what’s at hand.”

“A dagger?” I asked, nodding toward her weapons.

Atira wrinkled her nose. “That’s not done, Warprize. It can be done, but its insulting in its own way. Now, with leaders, warlords and the like, they set the token out where it can be seen. An invitation to use it. With me, you must ask.” She fumbled for one of the pattern stones. “Now, ask for my token.”

“Atira, may I have your token?”

She handed me the stone. “You hold my token, Warprize. What truths would you voice?”

I clutched the stone in my sweaty hand. “I have a question.”

She inclined her head. “I will answer.”

I pointed to the tattoos on her arm. “What do these mean?”

She chuckled. “You need no token to ask that!”

“But how do I know?”

The despair must have been in my voice, for her smile faded as she looked at me. “Healer you may be, but you’re a horse in a strange herd, aren’t you?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. My homesickness lay in my stomach like a rock.

“It’s best, if you are not certain, to use the token.” She spoke carefully, as if to a child. “But as warprize, any who would lift a weapon to you would answer to the Warlord. You need not be concerned.” She looked down, and picked at a nit on the blanket. “Truth is, if the Warlord knew that I had grabbed you that day, I’d like be dead at his hand.”

“He found out.” Atira went white, her eyes wide. I shook my head. “He saw the bruises. I refused to tell him who had done it.”

Atira’s color slowly leached back into her face. “You refused?”

“You didn’t mean any harm, and I lost my temper.” I flushed, embarrassed.

“It appears that I owe you for both life and limb, War-prize.”

“No, Atira, please. No debts between us.”

She tilted her head. “So, at this point I reply ‘I will answer to your truth’. Then you return my token. Or, if you fear my anger, you may hold the token, until I answer.”

I handed her the stone, and her smile grew wider. “As to your question. This tattoo?” She pointed to her right arm. “It bespeaks my tribes back four generations.” There were two columns of four lines each, black ink against her tanned skin. None of the designs repeated. “So you can see what tribes mix within my blood. Each tribe has its own pattern. The right column is the women, the left are the men.”

I nodded, not completely sure I understood.

“Now this,” displaying her left arm, “this is my required births.” This was a row of five lines, each line a separate design. “I took the tribe design of the man for each child.” She had a look of satisfaction on her face.

My buttocks hit the ground with a thump. “Five children?”

Atira looked up, puzzled by my reaction. “Aye, Warprize. Before any can enter military service, they must first bear or breed five children for the theas.”

“Of course.” I answered faintly. There was a roaring in my ears. Keir had similar tattoos. Five children? Different mothers?

Atira reached for my hand, concern in her eyes. “Warprize?”

“Do you raise your children?”

“Skies blessing, no!” Atira laughed. “What would I know of tending babes? Theas do that, in the safety of the Plains. Three months of milk is more than enough for me.”

“Were you… did you… marry the fathers?” I had to use the Xyian word.

Atira frowned. “Marry?” I explained as best I could, and she chortled, shaking her head. “No, Warprize. Bonding is for later, if I meet the right person. Those matings were for the tribes, to flourish the tribes. You understand?”

Dazed, I think I nodded my head.

Atira settled back, satisfied. “Now I say ‘I thank you for your truth’, and the ritual is complete.” She yawned.

Concern for my patient cut through my confusion. “Sleep, Atira.”

She nodded, and I moved away to check the others, my hands steady, but my thoughts tumbled. Sure enough, each one had similar tattoos on their arms. I worked about the tent as my patients dozed, thinking hard about not thinking about Keir’s five children. Or the five women that had borne him five children. Or the fact that I might be required to bear five children.

Thankfully Gils interrupted my musings, showing up with dinner for my patients. There was another man with him, who walked up to me with a wry grin. “Greetings, Warprize.”

“You’re Yers. From the senel.”

“Aye. Gils is one of my group.” He shook his head. “Knocked me off my horse, making his request that way.” He lowered his voice as Gils moved about with the food. “Solved a problem, to be honest. Gils gives his best, mind, but he’s not a natural fighter.”

“He’s so young.”

Yers nodded. “Younger than most. Triplets twice, if you can believe.”

I blinked. “Triplets.” Sure enough, a quick glance showed me the six tattoos on his left arm.

Yers raised his voice. “He’ll do well enough for you, Warprize, but I’ll not let him slack his duties. Here, now,” he called to Gils. “Done?”

Gils nodded.

“Then we’re off.” Yers gave me a wink. “You’ll have him again in the morning.”

I wasn’t hungry, so I made sure that everyone had what they needed and returned to my small table, more to think then to accomplish anything. The differences between us seemed so vast. I almost laughed out loud to think of the Archbishop’s reaction. Five children, with no blessing of the Goddess. But then I stopped. Did that mean they were free to lay with each other at any time? If so, what need was there for a warprize?

A cough interrupted me. I turned to find a stocky woman standing there, skin brown and weathered, her short hair a pale white. “Warprize. The Warlord has directed me to find out what your supply needs are. I am Sal, supply master.”

I stood. “Sal, I am glad to see you. I had hoped to have a list ready, but…”

Sal snorted, then sat. “What good would that do? Tell me what you need.”

“Well, if you know what the former healer used, I can work off those items.”

Sal looked at me, her hands on her knees. “Warprize, the Warrior-priest would not have deigned to speak to me, let alone tell me his needs.”

“But how did he heal so many with such limited supplies?”

Sal gave me a grim look. “He didn’t. Now, what do you need?”

So I started telling her about fever’s foe and orchid root and all the other things that would supply me with the basics. She kept her eyes on mine, only occasionally stopping me to ask a question as to what something was, or to make sure that she knew how much I required. Hesitantly, I also asked about braziers and bowls to mix my medicines. She grunted at that.

Finally, I ran out of ideas. She nodded once and settled back on her stool. “So. Let me make sure I have it right.” She took a breath, and started reciting.

I was impressed. She had remembered every item, the quantity and its description. I listened carefully as she recited, nodding as she went along. I didn’t have to correct her once. When she was done, I nodded and smiled. She relaxed a bit, but there was no smile on her dour face. “All right?”

“Perfect.”

“Only the sky is perfect.” She stood and stretched, and moved to where Gils had left a pitcher of kavage. She brought it over with two mugs. “Not the hottest, but wet.” She poured two mugs and handed me one. “Now, I have questions for you.” Seated back on the stool she leaned forward, an odd look on her face. “What do you know of the city merchants?” Her eyes were alight with a strange kind of glow.

“Well, I know a number of them.”

She leaned forward. “Have you bought from them?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” she said “tell me about them.” There was a scowl as she drank her kavage. “I must needs deal with them for supplies. These ways are new to me. Tell me how they deal and what they are like.”

I chuckled. I knew that look now. It was the same look that Remn got in his eye when he was haggling over the price of a book.

We talked for a long time. Sal had questions about sellers of livestock, produce, cloth, and everything an army could want. She already knew all the types of coins used in the kingdom of Xy, and their relative values. She was not so interested in the butchers and bakers, and I couldn’t answer her questions about the dealers in swords and armor. She seemed well satisfied, and stood and stretched, looking out the entrance of the tent. “I’ve kept you late, Warprize. My thanks.” With that, Sal left as quickly as she had come.

I looked after her in surprise. “Is she always that abrupt?”

Rafe and Prest chuckled at my expression. “Unless you’re haggling, Warprize,” said Rafe.

“Let me check Atira one more time.”

Atira blinked at me as I checked the leg, and smiled drowsily. “Warprize.”

“Atira. How do you feel?”

“Good, Warprize.”

I sighed. “Lara. My name is Lara.”

She yawned. “Yes, Warprize.”

I sighed. Apparently I was wasting my time.

On the walk back to the Warlord’s tent, we paused to look at the stars that hung in the sky, and the moon riding low. Rafe was explaining the significance of the fact that Joden wanted to talk to Atira. “It’s an honor, to be in a song.”

Prest nodded. “A great honor.”

“To be honored for a broken leg?” I asked, skeptical.

Rafe chuckled. “Well, it would be better if it were a battle deed, but it is rare indeed to be in a song. Unless you’re particularly brave or cunning—”

“Or dead.” Prest added.

“Or dead.” Rafe agreed. “Joden must also be planning on singing about you, Warprize.”

“Me?” I stopped outside the tent.

Rafe laughed. “Why sing about the injury unless you sing about the healing?” He clapped his hand on Prest’s back, and they walked off, leaving me standing there with a foolish look on my face.

Marcus greeted me when I entered the tent. “Can I get you anything, Warprize?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Lara.”

He turned his one eye up to study the tent. “Kavage, perhaps? Some hot water?”

I snorted, but was too tired to fight him. “No, thank you. I think I will go to sleep.”

Marcus nodded. “I will add some fuel to the braziers. The Warlord is still with Simus, and I think they will talk the stars away.” He bustled about, as I sank down onto the bed, and bade me good rest when he left. I yawned, my face almost splitting with its strength. The bed felt wonderful when I crawled under the blankets and furs.

Later, much later, I woke to find Keir had crawled into the bed at some point. He lay off to one side, on his back, sleeping peacefully. There on his bare arm were those tattoos. I stared at him in the soft glow of the coals, then went back to sleep.

The dress was bright red. Bright, bright red.

Marcus smiled at me. “There, now. That will do us proud.”

I tried to smile back at him.

The morning had started well enough. When I awoke, I found the bed empty and Keir already gone. After breakfast and kavage, I returned to the healing tent, to find Gils there feeding everyone and asking as many questions as he could with one breath. After some negotiation, I allowed some of Atira’s friends into the tent, so they could make their plans. Whenever I wandered in their direction, they would cover up the board, and wave me off. The only times I pushed the issue was when I needed to check the leg, other than that I left them to their schemes. The morning passed quickly, and I soon found myself hustled back to Marcus and food and the dress.

As dresses went, it was quite comfortable. A high neckline and long sleeves, with a flared split skirt. I especially liked the skirt, given the chance of a side-saddle in this army camp was nonexistent. The fabric slid between my legs like water glides over skin. It was nothing I’d ever seen or felt. Somehow Marcus had even gotten slippers that matched the dress.

I soothed the dress, running my hands over the fabric with mixed emotions. I certainly didn’t fill the bodice, the cut being made for more generous curves. The skirt fit fine over my more than ample hips, and the cloth flowed down my legs. Ordinarily I’d be pleased to own such a dress.

But not a scarlet dress.

In Water’s Fall, red was the color worn by women whose profession I was not supposed to know about. At times, some of the bolder women of the court would dare to have a scarf, or some trim of that color, but not a whole dress. What made it that much worse was that I had never seen a red like this before, so bright and vivid. It was the bright red of new blood, brighter even than the roses in the briar of the palace garden. It put all the Xyian colors to shame, making them look drab and dowdy. A dress like this, as bright as it was, all but screamed my position in no uncertain terms.

I bowed my head, hiding my face with a curtain of hair. If I said something, Marcus might not understand, but he might not make me wear the dress. Trous would raise eyebrows, certainly, but this dress would have the lord and ladies of the Court collapsing with seizures. I didn’t want to offend him, but I couldn’t wear this. In the back of my head I heard Great Aunt Xydella’s quavery voice. ‘Speak up, child.’ She’d say. ‘I can’t read minds.’ Of course Great Aunt Xydella would have worn the dress and loved every outrageous minute of it.

I bit my lip, then opened my mouth. “Marcus—”

Keir walked into the tent and stopped short. His eyes widened, and his face lit up. “Fire’s blessing.” He stood, looking at me with approval.

I swallowed what I had been about to say.

Keir made a gesture, and I turned slowly, allowing him to see it. “Marcus, where did you find such a dress?”

Marcus drew himself up and arched his eyebrow. “The clothing of one woman is a task well within my skills, Warlord.”

Keir smiled and acknowledged Marcus with a slight bow. “I stand corrected, old man.” He straightened. He was outfitted in full chain that held a high gloss, with a black cape edged in fur. The hilts of his swords peeked over his shoulders. He moved to stand before me, a look of pride on his face. He held out his hands, and there were the bracelets that I had worn at the surrender ceremony.

I stiffened and looked away. They lay open in his hands, heavy silver symbols of my status. I didn’t look up, for fear that I would betray my feelings. I simply extended my wrists and kept my head down as he snapped them into place. They felt heavy, like the bindings they were, and I let the weight pull my arms down to my sides.

There was a slight pause. Then Keir asked, “Is there a cloak, as well?”

There was, thankfully as black as Keir’s own. I took it from Marcus, who looked at me with a puzzled expression. I put on the cloak as I followed Keir out into the evening air.

The dress was even brighter in the sun. If that were possible.

Our escort awaited us. There were ten mounted men, besides Rafe and Prest. Rafe was holding the horses. Rafe and Prest were also in their best armor, and they gleamed in the afternoon sun. Rafe’s face lit up when he saw me. Prest turned, and a smile spread over his face. Rafe handed me the reins of one of the horses. “Warprize, you look—”

Keir coughed.

Rafe didn’t miss a beat. “Well. Very well.” He mounted his horse, as did Keir and Prest.

I had some difficulty, trying to get the skirt in the correct position, but managed to get up and into the saddle. I gathered the reins and turned, only to find everyone looking at me in varying degrees of dismay.

“What?” I asked, puzzled.

Prest just shook his head. Rafe sucked in a breath. “The way you sit—”

Keir looked at me sternly. “You should have told me you can’t ride.”

I frowned. “I can ride.”

They looked at me, scanning me from head to toe. I sat up a little straighter, but all three shook their heads. The others in our escort all seemed to be very busy adjusting their tunics and weapons. Almost as if they were embarrassed for me.

Prest frowned. “Maybe a pregnant mare?”

Rafe looked toward the city. “We could walk the horses—”

Keir shook his head. “It would take too long. She can ride double with me.”

“This is ridiculous.” I gathered the reins, clicked my tongue, and urged the horse on.

Nothing happened.

Now the guards by the tent were looking at me, shaking their heads. Prest grabbed for my reins, as if afraid the horse would run away with me. Keir moved his horse along side mine, planning to snatch me from the saddle, but I was having none of that. Whore I may look, Warprize I may be, but I’d be damned before I was taken to the ceremony like a helpless child.

Rafe pulled his horse to the side, and I saw what he was doing. He used his toes under the horse’s front legs, instead of his heels, and seemed to shift his weight forward. I did the same, and the horse obliged with a few steps forward. I fended off Prest and Keir and urged the beast on.

Keir’s voice came from behind me. “It’s not safe. You will ride with me.”

I shifted forward again, and the horse broke into a trot.

There were calls from behind me, but I was not going to stop. I could ride. I headed down the path through the tents, toward the road to the city. It didn’t take long for Keir and the others to catch up and form up around me. Rafe was still muttering about my skill, and Prest had a frown on his face, but I noticed that Keir had that look of pride again as he passed me to take the lead.

There were workers in the fields that we passed, and I gave them no notice at first. But the closer we came to the city walls, the more my awareness grew. They weren’t harvesting or preparing the ground for the spring. They were still gathering the dead. It had been days since the fighting had stopped, yet still they moved about in their work.

Were there so many dead?

I had to focus on the road before me, couldn’t look at the men with the carts any longer. I clenched my jaw. The peace had to hold, I had to do my part. Or there’d be more bodies, more lives wasted. If that meant I never heard my name again, so be it. Such a small price to pay.

Our appearance at the main gates of the city caused quite a stir. The ceremony was still some hours away, and from the reaction of the guard, we were not expected so soon. The gates were normally kept open for the merchant traffic. They had been closed due to the war, and apparently were being kept closed. The Warlord drew up to the gates and stopped.

The head guard stepped forward. “Hail, Warlord. Do you wish an escort or crier through the city?”

“My thanks, but no. The warprize knows the way.”

The guard glanced at me, and his eyes bulged out. I looked away. We sat in silence for a moment as he stared.

“The gate,” Keir growled.

The guard started, then gave a shout for the gate to be opened and the portcullis raised. As soon as the way was clear, we headed into the city. The only crowds were the normal crowds of a market day. Keir brought his horse up short and looked over his shoulder at me with a question in his eyes. I moved my horse up next to his. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“Tell you?” I flushed slightly.

He narrowed his eyes, and studied me. Finally he turned away. “Would there be time to see more of the city? I have only seen the main road.”

I nodded and pointed off to our left. “That will take us along the west wall, and eventually to the palace.”

Keir gave me a sly smile. “Where is the shop that sells the vanilla?”

“Close to where the tinker’s cart was.”

He nodded, looking around. “We will head that way. What is a ‘crier’?”

I smiled. “Someone who walks in front of your horse, crying out your name and title. Usually used by someone who thinks he is of great importance and is afraid no one knows it.”

Keir looked offended. He moved off in that direction, and I fell in behind, with our escort riding around us. That went against road custom in the city, to ride so far abreast. But I doubted any of the City Guard would fine us. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a guardsman running for the palace. I suspected that word would spread fairly quickly that we were in the city.

The townspeople’s reactions were almost predictable. First there was outrage at the violation of road custom, then recognition of the Warlord. At that point, their faces were not welcoming. Then they’d spot me as the procession continued. My cloak was open, the dress visible, and it was causing quite a stir. Thank the Goddess that Keir had headed for the shops. The pleasure streets were on the other side of the city; I could only imagine how the denizens would have reacted.

Our escort stayed close, and Rafe and Prest stayed right by my side, scanning the crowds. Some of the townspeople tried to approach me, but Keir’s glare and the presence of the guards discouraged them. I settled for a nod and a smile to any that I recognized. Most were content to wave and call out to me as we passed by.

The streets were crowded with marketgoers scurrying about, their arms filled with baskets and bundles. One man went by with three chickens in his arms, squawking and flapping their wings. My horse shied a bit, which brought me dire looks from the men around me, but I brought it under control. I could tell that they hadn’t spent time in cities before, or at least cities the size of Water’s Fall. They were on alert, and on their guard, eyes taking in the crowds, the buildings crammed together, some leaning out over the streets. They were doing their best not to be overawed, but I could tell that they were impressed. Once in a while, one would wrinkle his nose at the smells, or start at a strange noise, but no one made a comment. We continued on without incident, moving past the army barracks by the Great South Gate. By now, word of our coming had spread, and there were folk lining the streets to see us. For the most part they were quiet, merely speaking among themselves as we passed. Needless to say, the dress drew its fair share of attention.

Finally, we arrived at the market. I pointed out Estoval’s shop. Keir dismounted, and gestured for me to follow. The others took up positions, clearing an area in front of the shop. Keir opened the door, and I followed, curious.

Thankfully, the fragrant shop was empty of customers. Es-toval turned to greet us and his mouth fell open.

I felt the heat rise in my face. Keir stared at the man, then looked at me for a long moment, eyes narrow. He opened his mouth, and took a breath to speak.

He grimaced then sneezed. Explosively.

That snapped Estoval out of his trance. “Warlord! How may I serve you?”

“Merchant, do you sell vanilla?” He pronounced the word slowly and carefully.

“Yes, Warlord, in many forms, although it is quite expensive. Did you want ground, whole beans, the oil? ”

“Yes.” Keir looked at me. “See to it.” He sneezed, then caught my eye with a flash of a grin that took my breath away. “Buy lots. Buy it all. And whatever else you need.” With a gasping wheeze, he headed for the door, his nose scrunched up against another sneeze. As he passed me, he slipped a purse into my hand. Then he ducked out of the shop, leaving me flushed and embarrassed.

Once Keir was out the door, Estoval relaxed a little, but I noticed that he kept an eye on the door. “ Warprize, you honor my shop.”

“Estoval, please. My name is Lara.”

His eyes darted to the door. “Not anymore, Daughter of Xy.” He gestured to his displays. “I have plenty of vanilla, even some scented soap, for no one is buying extravagances. But my stocks of other items are low. The Warlords supply master was here earlier, and bargained hard.” He shook his head. “Bargained hard and meanly.”

I suppressed a smile. Estoval started to gather up every kind of vanilla that he had on hand. I stopped, thinking for a moment, considering Keir’s words. He had said..

“Estoval, I need an apprentice to run an errand. Are any available?”

“Of course.” He raised his voice calling for a lad.

“And paper and pen, if I may?” He inclined his head. I wrote a quick note and in a moment a lad stood before me.

“Take these coins and run to the shop of Remn. You know it?”

“Of course, Lady.”

“Tell Remn I want two books. Used, mind, cheap as possible. The Epic of Xyson, and a reading primer. Give him this note. Be quick, and I’ll have a coin for you.”

The lad grinned and was off out the back of the shop. I turned back to Estoval, and we continued our business. I was well satisfied. Remn would have both books, especially the Epic. A hoary old saga of my ancestor’s heroic deeds. It was long, filled with battles, duels and the discussions of the virtues of various styles of weapons and armor. It was the bane of every child who learned their letters in Water’s Fall. Atira would love it. I could read it to her, or use it as incentive to learn to read my language.

The lad was as quick as I could ask. He returned with a bundle and the two books. I gave him a coin and asked Esto-val if I could use his back room for a moment. Once in that small area, I broke open the bundle.

Proper undergarments.

Bless Remn’s wife. She was about my size and had included two of each kind. I could trust their discretion in this. Goddess forgive me, but I was too embarrassed to talk to Keir or Marcus about these items of clothing. I dressed quickly, feeling better able to face whatever was to come. When I emerged, I thanked Estoval, who handed me a small parcel, bowed me out and locked the door behind me. I had been awhile, and oddly enough the street was almost completely clear. Which made sense to a degree. Those that could not attend the Court for the ceremony would observe in their own homes, as part of the evening meal.

Keir and Prest were already mounted. Rafe stood, holding my mount and his. “Are you finished?” Keir asked, trying to hide his impatience and failing miserably. “I have sent the others before us.”

“Yes.” I tucked my two packages into my saddlebag and moved to mount my horse. As I swung my leg up, the horse shied and moved away from me, causing me to lose my balance. I dropped back to the ground.

So the lance passed over my head, instead of hitting my chest.