Warsworn

Chapter 13

The bucket hit his chest and water splashed everywhere, but it didn’t faze the wild man. He raised his spear and shook it at me, snarling and growling like an animal, his unruly hair tossing about his head.

My heart was in my throat, but I wasn’t finished yet. My bag was a step away, and a large jar of boiled skunk cabbage was the first thing my fingers touched. I threw, catching him right on the head. The jar shattered, and the stinking, gooey mess exploded in the man’s face. He roared in pain as it splashed into his eyes.

I darted around him, and ran through the door. My cloak was on the bed, I snatched it up to cover my nakedness, screaming for help. The man was behind me, yelling something that I didn’t pause to hear. I plunged through the meeting room and out the entrance.

Rafe, Prest and Marcus were there, but I only had eyes for Keir, who was running toward us, swords in hand. I ran to meet him, as the crazy man stumbled out of the tent behind me, wiping his eyes and roaring.

Keir placed himself between us, and I took shelter behind him, clutching at the cloak. Everyone was shouting and in an uproar. But Keir’s roar silenced them all. “What is the meaning of this?”

“He came in while I was bathing!” I stayed behind Keir, and wrapped the cloak tight around me. My wet hair was a mess, streaming water down my back, and the ground was cold beneath my bare feet.

“We tried to tell him, Warlord.” Rafe spoke, glaring at the man. “He would not listen.”

Marcus spat on the ground.

There was silence as the wild man stood there, dripping water and stinking of skunk cabbage.

“Why do you violate the privacy of the Warprize, Warrior-Priest?” Keir challenged.

That was a warrior-priest? I peeked out from behind Keir, to stare at the man. He looked no less crazed than he had before. The matted hair was thick, and there was fur braided into it. His tattoos were bright and vivid, colored in green, red, blue, and black. His cloak was a fur of some kind, and his trous looked like it needed a good scrubbing. That skull on the spear did nothing to reassure me.

The man drew himself up, and tried his best to look impressive. Ordinarily, I was sure that it worked, but it is hard to be dignified and awe inspiring when noxious stuff is dripping from your hair. I had to give him credit for trying, though.

“There were no bells, Warlord. A Warrior-Priest of the Plains enters where he wishes, when he wishes.”

Of all the conceited, arrogant… I opened my mouth to reply, but Keir beat me to it. His voice vibrated with anger, but his face was impassive. “The Warprize is of Xy. Xyians do not expose their bodies to others easily. You entered my command tent without invitation, Warrior-priest. That privacy requires no bells. You ignored the guards placed at the entrance.”

The warrior-priest glanced about, but made no response to Keir’s accusation. “We were sent by the Elders from the Heart of the Plains. You failed to appear, as your messages indicated that you would, bearing a warprize.”

I sucked in a breath, but Keir anticipated me. “You traveled with others? Where are they?”

The warrior-priest frowned, taken back by the abrupt change of topic. “They follow. I came ahead.”

Keir turned his head, looking around. “The perimeter guards did not stop you?”

“They tried.” That arrogance was back again. “What means this?”

Keir ignored him. “Prest, you and Rafe, head off the rest of his party. Tell them to keep their distance, and see my orders enforced.”

“Enforced?” The warrior-priest gripped his spear tighter as Rafe and Prest ran off.

“We are isolated from others, by the command of the Warprize.” Keir looked him in the eye. “You risk death entering this camp. As you were told when you crossed within.”

“I see no enemy.”

“Pray that you do not.” Keir turned. “Lara, let me return you to our tent. You are shivering.” He put his arm around me and we started walking toward the tent.

The Warrior-priest gave ground only grudgingly. “I would have a report from you, Warlord.”

“I will provide the report, Warrior-priest.” We both stopped at Iften’s words. He was standing there, Wesren at his side.

“You are Second?” The warrior-priest asked. “Where is Simus of the Hawk?”

“Simus remained behind, upon my order.” Keir growled. “I will see a tent set up for you, and will meet you there to discuss this matter.”

“Your tent—”

“You are not welcome within my tent, Warrior-Priest.”

I shivered at the look in those cold eyes. Keir swept me up into his arms, and Marcus reached over to flick the cloak over my bare feet. I could feel the tension in Keir’s body, taught and tight under my hands.

“You are welcome within mine, Warrior-priest.” Iften raised his right arm. “I would also ask that you cast your healing spells, for my arm has been injured.”

“The only honorable wound I see,” the warrior-priest said.

That got a reaction. The warriors around us all stiffened, placing hands on weapon hilts. But where ordinarily they would have all attacked for the insult, there was no movement beyond that. The warrior-priest looked around, and grunted slightly in satisfaction. “I will cast those spells for you.”

Spells? Magical healing? I turned my head to look at the man. “Could I watch? Could I watch the spell casting?”

Eyes popped open on every face, including the Warrior-Priest’s. He looked so astonished I almost laughed, but then his eyes turned mean. “No.”

“But—”

The squeeze of Keir’s arms warned me before the response of the warrior-priest. “You are of Xy, and offensive to the elements.”

Keir bristled, and the others too were looking damned angry. The warrior-priest tossed that matted hair of his. “Come, Iften of the Pig. I will hear your truths, and heal your wound.”

They walked off, Wesren but a step behind. I opened my mouth to make a comment, but Keir swept me into the sleeping area, and set me on the bed. He knelt, taking my feet in his hands and rubbing some warmth into them.

I leaned back, propping myself up with my elbows. “So, Iften is of the Pig. That explains a lot.”

Keir’s head jerked up, and he laughed out loud. I loved his face in that instant, happy and relaxed. But then he shook his head. “You have the word wrong. These are not the pigs of your land, Lara. These are wild boars, fierce, fleet of foot, and dangerous. Have a care when you face one.”

Isdra had appeared, and stood sentry at the door, with Marcus at her side. Marcus growled. “I’m more than willing to hunt one particular boar.”

Isdra nodded.

Keir kissed me. “Get dry and warm. I will deal with this.”

“Keir, I’m sorry. He scared me and I didn’t think, I just threw—”

Keir flashed that boyish grin. “Ugly, isn’t he. They all are. And do they offer their name? Or ask permission for anything? Ah, I couldn’t ask for better, my heart’s fire. He reeks of that foul smelling goo.”

I rolled my eyes. “And he will for some time. That odor doesn’t really wash away without strong soap.”

“Which will be in short supply.” Keir kissed me again, then whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry I was late for your bathing. Next time, send word.”

I blushed, but sat up to grab his arm as he turned to leave. “Keir, for all your pleasure he has been exposed to the plague. He needs to know the symptoms and the ways to treat—”

Keir turned back, knelt down at my feet, and took my hands. “Lara, you must understand something. He does not care, as you do. He is not a ‘healer’. Warrior-priests use their magic only as it profits them.”

“But if he has magic, Keir, I want to learn.” I tightened my grip on his arm. “Imagine what I could do with that power? I could have healed Atira’s leg, maybe even saved my father—”

“They do not share knowledge, Lara. I have doubts about their powers.” Keir looked at me intently. “You must promise me that you will not attempt to talk to him, not even with all your guards with you. He despises any who are not of the Plains. But he will hate you more for the gifts you bring us. Do you understand?”

Marcus moved slightly, and I looked over at him, remembering the cold blade at my throat. I looked at Keir and nodded. “I understand. Death can come in an instant.”

Keir smiled, and then lifted my hands to kiss them. “We will watch him carefully for signs of illness.” He stood, looking down at me. “I will make sure that the rest of his party returns to the Plains, Lara, with messages for the Elders.” He hesitated slightly. “Isdra.”

“Warlord?”

“Make sure that any who tend to Meara are such as can face a warrior-priest.”

I shivered at the very idea that any would harm the child. Marcus sucked in a breath and Isdra looked shocked. “Warlord, not even they would dare—”

Keir was grim, the hate in his eyes flaring. “I’ll not give them a chance.” He left, with a swirl of his cape. Isdra followed him out.

Marcus had drying cloths, and dropped one on my head. “See to your hair, Warprize.” He knelt at my feet, and started to rub them roughly with another cloth. “I’ve hot kavage fresh brewed, that will warm you.”

I sighed as I toweled my hair. “I certainly made a mess of things.”

“A mess of that arrogant fool, yes.” Marcus paused, looking up at me intently with his one eye. “But you did well, Warprize. You distracted him with what you had at hand, and used that advantage to flee.”

I smiled, warmed by his praise. “Still, I angered the warrior-priest. That won’t help Keir.”

“There’d be no help regardless. Hisself makes no secret of his hatred.”

“Because of what happened to you?” I asked quietly.

“There are other reasons.” Marcus stood. “I will fetch the kavage. Be warm and dry and tucked within the bedding when I return, eh?”

He left without another word.

The next morning the final winners of the combat rounds stood before us, both smiling. I couldn’t help but smile back, enjoying their obvious pride. The man, Ander by name, was older than most warriors, although clearly not as old as Epor. He was bald, with thick bushy white eyebrows and hazel eyes. The woman, Yveni, was tall and thin, her skin as black as Simus’s. I’d seen her around before. Her hair was black and cropped close to her skull, and her brown eyes had flecks of gold.

“Heyla!” Keir called out, and the crowd around us returned his call with a loud shout of approval.

“Behold, the last two that contest for the position of the Warprize’s guard. They both meet with my approval, and so the winner of this combat shall have the position.”

Another cry of approval went up. Keir had met with each of the candidates the night before, talking to them about their duties and responsibilities. The man he knew from other campaigns. The woman had battle experience, but this was her first time under Keir’s command. Yers had given them both praise and Isdra told Keir she could work with either one. Marcus hadn’t had anything negative to say, other than his usual complaints.

“But this position requires one who is sharp of skill and wits. Who can both attack and protect. So, I have decided to change the rules.” That brought quiet, as everyone leaned forward, intent on Keir’s words. He smiled, his dark hair shining in the sun. “Marcus. Rafe.”

Marcus and Rafe moved to stand together, back to back, with something in their hands. They each paced out five steps, and then knelt to press something into the ground.

“Hear now the rules for this combat. Behind each warrior is a horsehair braid, tied between two stakes, a hands-length above the ground. The goal is to cut your opponent’s braid. Do you understand?”

Ander and Yveni both considered the ground as Rafe and Marcus moved away. They studied the stakes and the braids, and then took positions in front of them, facing each other.

Sal was to judge the combat, and she stepped forward at Keir’s nod. “Are you ready, warriors?”

They’d barely nodded when Sal cried “Begin!” They sprang forward, their blades clashed, the crowd roared, and the fight was on.

They were both using swords and shields and moved so fast I was sure to miss something if I blinked. The location of the stakes restricted their movements. While there was no formal circle, the warriors never wandered far from their braids. Keir and I were seated on a bit of higher ground, giving us a better view. Rafe and Prest were behind me, Isdra at my side, watching with a careful eye.

Iften and the Warrior-Priest were off to one side, also using the rise to their advantage, but making sure not to come close to Keir and I. The warrior-priest had a sullen look, but Iften seemed to be awfully pleased with himself, almost happy. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at his arm, which was hanging loosely at his side. I’d been told that the healing had taken place, with the sounds of chanting coming from Iftens’s tent, with clouds of purple-blue smoke billowing from the tent. But I couldn’t get a very good look, with all the people in the way.

The Warrior-Priest was unhappy because Keir had warned off the rest of his party. He’d told them to return to the Plains, bearing the message concerning what had happened here. By the time he’d crawled into our bed, he’d been hoarse from the shouting. But the messages had been understood, and they departed in haste from the area. Apparently warrior-priests travel with some kind of servants, who care for their needs. Being without didn’t strike the wild man’s fancy.

In the morning light, my first impression still stood. The man wore only leather trous, and a ratty fur cloak. The colors in the tattoos were very bright, and I wondered how that was done. I didn’t recognize any of the designs. And his hair! I thought it looked remarkably like a rat’s nest, but I kept my opinion to myself. From the way people were standing upwind, he still hadn’t gotten rid of the skunk smell.

I forced my attention back to the fighting. Ander and Yveni moved, considering one another, each looking for an advantage. They’d exchange ringing blows, and then break off. To my eye it seemed they were evenly matched, with no one having a true advantage over the other. Ander seemed to have a bit more power behind his blows, but Yveni had greater speed. The fight continued, but my gaze was drawn back to Iften. Was it possible that he’d been healed? I looked back just in time to see the warrior-priest hand him something that looked like gurt, only brown in color. Iften placed it in his mouth, and started chewing.

I stiffened. His right hand, his sword arm. He’d used it with no obvious pain, grasping the food with fingers that I’d seen swollen and numb. The same arm that Isdra had broken.

How was that possible?

THWACK.

I flinched, and turned at the sound. Ander’s sword had bit deep into the wood of Yveni’s shield. He tugged hard, but the blade did not come loose.

Yveni moved back, trying to pull the sword from Ander’s hand. He followed, trying to rock the blade from its prison. Ander concentrated on his sword, never once watching his feet. She yanked the shield back again, dancing a few paces sideways. Ander followed, intent on his weapon.

It was the laughter from the crowd that finally drew his attention, making him look up and take stock of his situation. Yveni had danced him around, moving both of them, until she stood a mere step from Ander’s braid. Her sword arm was extended, the tip of her blade just under the taut braid.

Yveni grinned at him, her teeth flashing.

Ander shook his head, then laughed, raising both hands in the air.

A roar of approval went up as Yveni cut the braid.

In Xy, chess matches are quiet things. Two players, sitting at a table in silence, making moves on a board,

It was an entirely different matter for the Firelanders.

If I’d thought the crowd noisy for the combats, I wasn’t prepared for the enthusiasm for this new game. Aret’s idea for a living chessboard had been a good one, and the warriors chosen as pieces had decked themselves out in their very best armor, with a shine and a polish to the weapons that told me they’d been worked on for hours. They’d used armbands to designate their color, and the ‘pawns’ had tried to make themselves look as uniform as possible.

But under all the noise and bustle and laughter was an underlying tension. The division that I’d seen in the war-leaders was starting to be seen in the army. Oh, no obvious insult was given to Keir or myself. On the surface all seemed well. But the games of chess were seen as being

Xyian, and many had decided not to participate or watch for just that reason.

Not that the game seemed Xyian any more. To my horror, the time-honored pieces known as ‘castles’ had been replaced. Instead, the pieces were called ehats. I hadn’t heard of this change until the pieces took the board. Four warriors, two for each side, had stepped forward with fur cloaks wrapped around them, and huge horns carved from tree branches. The other warriors had to duck as they moved on the board, holding their heads low, and sweeping the area around them with their horns. Laughter filled the air as the ehats snorted and pounded the earth with their feet.

The players strode at the ends of the boards, some pacing back and forth as they shouted their moves. The crowd then would chant the words, until that ‘piece’ moved into its proper place.

Warleaders, warriors, and even Keir had entered the chess tourney. The games had taken days, and had absorbed everyone’s attention. Keir managed to win all his games and was in the final match.

His opponent was a woman that I didn’t recognize, whose name was Oone. She was a muscular, thoughtful woman, almost as big as Simus, with short red hair and brown eyes.

I was watching the game board from the rise, wrapped in a cloak against the chill wind. Prest and Yveni had the watch, and were standing behind me, acting as a wind break. The game area had been laid out with stones, and they’d managed to make the squares big enough that the knights could be mounted on horses. Which meant that the ‘pieces’ had to deal with some obstacles not normally found on a chess board. Still and all, it was an amazing spectacle.

Iften and the Warrior-Priest were avoiding the games, and were very vocal in their opposition. They wanted nothing to do with me, or anything remotely Xyian, which frustrated my efforts to get a good look at Iften’s arm.

But I had help.

Marcus came to offer me hot kavage. “Any luck?” I asked.

“Not so far. Isdra is trying to get closer, as is Rate. But they swear to me that it’s almost as if he knows what they are trying to do.”

Prest grunted. Yveni looked at him, then turned back to me. “Tell me again, why we are trying to see the Second’s arm?”

“Herself is curious.” Prest said.

I looked at him sharply, but his face was neutral. Some time after Yveni had won the combat, I’d found her with Keir, Rafe, Prest, Isdra and Marcus clustered together, their conversation serious and intent. They’d broke off their words as I approached, but I was certain that the quirks and foibles of one warprize had been discussed hi great detail.

“Ah.” Yveni nodded her understanding. “Do you wish me to try, Warprize?”

“Not yet.” I sat, watching Keir make his first move in the game. Oone was intent, but quick and the game seemed to move as fast as they could call out instructions to the ‘pieces and pawns’.

After a bit, Rafe and Isdra reported back, glum with their failure. I nodded, unworried. It stood to reason that Iften would know them, and anticipate their interest.

As Keir’s knight advanced to take one of Oone’s bishops, Cadr moved up beside me, and knelt, adjusting his boot. “I got a good look, Warprize.”

“And?”

“Not sure. He has his bracers strapped tight over his leather sleeve. He is using the hand, and flexing the fingers. I thought they looked a little swollen, but I saw no sign of pain.”

“Pity.” Isdra said.

I kept my attention on the game, and my voice soft. “My thanks, Cadr.”

He stood, and moved off into the crowd without looking back.

I settled back on my stump, and pondered what that might mean. Magical healing? I’d read about it in stories, but could the warrior-priests wield that power?

A wave of pure jealousy washed through me. To be able to heal everything with the touch of my hand. I’d give anything to be able to ease pain, mend wounds that way.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t really see the game, until the crowd cheered, and I looked up to see that Keir and Oone had reached a draw. Oone studied her remaining pieces carefully. “I could offer you a warprize.”

Keir threw his head up, and glanced over in my direction. His eyes were bright, his smile so bright it took my breath. “Oh no, Oone. I have claimed my warprize, and will have no other.”

I blushed bright red, warmed to the tips of my toes.

Keir looked back at his opponent, over the heads of the joyful crowd. “Oone, I think instead that your warrior-priests would leave you in this instance. What say you?”

There was much commenting on this. I frowned, a bit puzzled. Oone still had bishops on the board at her command. Yet she was looking at them with distrust. And the warriors portraying them were standing with their arms crossed, glaring at all and sundry from beneath lowered brows.

Keir’s bishops had been taken from the board, long before this. Yet he didn’t have the ability to force a checkmate. It was clearly a draw. Why were they—

Oone nodded her agreement. “I concede the loss, Warlord. My warrior-priests are not to be trusted.”

Stunned, I watched as the crowd erupted into cheers and Keir raised his arms in victory. I didn’t understand what had just happened, but I knew somehow that it was important. What kind of power did the warrior-priests hold that they would refuse to support a leader?

Movement distracted me, as Keir was lifted on the shoulders of some of the warriors and carried high above the heads of the cheering crowd.

I cheered as well, but groaned mentally. There’d be no living with him now.

Keir had announced a mourning ceremony for the evening before we were to leave. There had been no new cases of the Sweat since Gils had died. A full forty days had passed, and we were free of our invisible enemy.

Free of the disease, but not free of its effects. These people had been changed profoundly by what had happened here, each marked in different ways by the experience. They had confronted something unknown to them, and learned new skills as a result. I knew that I too had been affected. Never again would I walk into a situation so sure that I had a solution. A loss of confidence, perhaps, or maybe more of facing the truth of my limitations that I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before.

As the sun started to sink behind the mountains, everyone began to gather for the ceremony along the shore of the lake. This time, a minimal guard had been set, for all would mourn together. I watched the sun as I stood outside the command tent, wrapped in my cloak. The gathering warriors were bringing blankets to sit on, filling in the area, sitting close together, side by side.

Keir emerged from the tent with blankets and a bundle in his arms. He’d released my guards to join the grieving, and Marcus had indicated that he would remain in the command tent with Meara. Without a word, Keir took my hand, leading me toward the rise that overlooked the edge of the lake.

I saw Iften and the Warrior-Priest standing outside Iften’s tent. It almost looked as if they were hiding something, the way they looked about them as they talked. Iften threw open the tent flap and vanished inside. The Warrior-Priest walked off, disappearing behind the tent in the directions of the herds. I was surprised that they didn’t join in the ceremony, but it certainly didn’t bother me.

Keir stopped. I looked around to find that we weren’t far from our tent, and were really at the fringes of the crowd. “Aren’t we going to sit closer?” I asked.

Keir shook his head. “I think for this ceremony, we’d be better off here.” He shook out one of the blankets and spread it on the ground. “Besides, we are not the focus of this gathering. The dead are.”

I sat next to him, and he pulled me close, drawing an-other blanket over us. He leaned in, and spoke for my ear alone. “When you grow uncomfortable, we will leave.”

An odd statement. I would have questioned him, but a drummer had stepped out into the clear area at the lake’s edge. He sat, a large drum before him, and pounded sharply four times.

Everyone stopped talking.

Joden stepped forward, followed by four warriors, carrying small braziers. He faced the crowd, the warriors placing their burdens at the compass points around him, with Joden at the center.

Joden raised his right palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”

The response rose. “We will remember.”

Joden lowered his arm and spoke again. “Birth of fire, death of air.”

One of the warriors knelt, and blew on the coals within, feeding fuel that caused flames to leap up and dance.

“Birth of water, death of earth.”

The second warrior knelt, dipping her hands and letting the water trickle back into the brazier.

“Birth of earth, death of fire.”

The third warrior knelt, raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall back into the brazier.

“Birth of air, death of water.”

The fourth warrior knelt. He too blew on coals, but the fuel he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.

The four warriors stood, bowed to their elements, and melted back into the crowd.

“We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead.” Joden spoke again, his voice melodic and beautiful. In the silence, every word carried, clear and firm. “All life perishes. This we know. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall.”

The drummer started a beat then, a slow but steady pulse.

“But we are also more than our bodies. This we know. That which is within each of us, lives on. Our dead travel with us, until the snows.”

Joden paused, then continued. “How can we mourn then? How can we sorrow for what must be? If our dead are with us, and we will join with them when our bodies fail, how then do we weep?”

The drummer’s beat continued behind Joden’s words.

“We grieve for what we lost. For the hollow place within our hearts. For the loss that is felt each time we turn to confide a secret, to share a joke, or to reach for a familiar touch.”

My eyes filled. I remembered Epor, his flashing grin. Gils’s serious face. Father’s joy when he won at chess, his mind sharp even as his body failed.

“This is our pain, the pain of those left behind. Let us share it.” Joden began to sing then, lifting his face and voice to the sky. It was the same song that he’d sung in the throne room of Water’s Fall, and my tears flowed when I recognized the words.

I was not alone. Others, too, wept, clinging to those around them, offering and receiving comfort. I sheltered a bit deeper within Keir’s arms and felt his rough breathing as his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

At the end of the song, Joden started a chant, similar to the one that I’d heard when I’d been ill. The phrases repeated over and over, to the rhythm of the drummer’s beat.

“Death of earth, birth of water, death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth.”

A movement caught my eye, and I turned my head to see Isdra rise and walk past us, away from the area. Her face was stoic, but her sorrow hung about her like a cloak. She staggered slightly, but walked swiftly away.

I moved to follow, but Keir held me back. “Don’t.”

“But she’s so sad,” I started, but Keir shook his head.

“Nothing you can say will ease her pain, Lara.”

I eased back into his arms with a flash of guilt. I had my heart’s fire. Living, breathing, sitting beside me, his arms around my waist. Isdra had lost that. Keir was right. I’d probably just remind her of her loss.

Keir drew me closer, and pointed toward the lake.

Two cloaked warriors stood, and were making their way down to stand at Joden’s side. He bowed to them, and they dropped their cloaks. Each was dressed in plain black tunic and trous, no armor or weapons. Joden stepped back to stand at the drummer’s side. As the last of the chant faded, the standing warriors threw back their heads, and wailed, lifting their arms and crying out. They started to dance, using their bodies to express their grief, tearing at their clothing until they were nearly naked, crying out for their loss and pain.

The drumbeat grew faster, and their wails turned angry, now howling their rage to the skies. The crowd joined in, shouting and cursing the elements and the skies. Even Keir spit out a curse. The emotion startled me, but I felt my anger too, at a disease that I knew little about and had no way to defeat.

The man kicked over the brazier of fire, and stomped out the flames. The woman overturned the brazier of water, and then did the same to the one with the earth, stomping the clods flat to the ground.

The brazier of air received the same treatment. Their hands moved to dissipate the smoke that rose from the coals. Their angry howls filled the air, and with a final beat of the drum, they dropped to their knees, and embraced one another.

I was crying openly now, sobbing in my anger and pain. Keir produced the bundle of clean cloths he’d brought from the tent. I fumbled with one to clean my face, when the silence was broken by another drum beat, and Joden, calling out to the people.

“Death and pain are a part of life. But not all of it, People of the Plains! Joy is also there, to be enjoyed and shared! Rejoice!”

I looked up to see the dancers moving, embracing one another, kissing, rubbing their…

I blinked.

The drumbeat was getting faster, and the dancers moved with it, their hands stroking one another, removing their torn clothing. The man was kissing the woman’s neck and…

Goddess.

I looked away, only to discover from the movement around me that the dancers weren’t the only ones seeking ‘comfort’. People were embracing their neighbors, hands reaching out, clothing being removed, caresses being exchanged. There were two men near us, and to my amazement, one reached for the other, stroking and kissing and…

I hid my face against Keir’s chest.

He drew the blanket up over my head, chuckling softly. “My shy one.”

“Keir,” I whispered in his ear. “Men with men?”

He shrugged. “Each to their own preference. It’s not one I share.” He helped me to my feet, then swept me up and started toward our tent.

I pressed my face to his neck, hiding my eyes, embarrassed by what was happening, but also embarrassed at the heat growing within me, a hunger for him, for life. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Keir. I know this is your way, but—”

“It is not yours.” I felt the movement of his head as he nodded his understanding. “They but celebrate life, Lara.” His breath tickled my ear.

“I don’t mind celebrating life.” A laugh escaped me as he picked up his pace. “Just in the privacy of my own tent.”

“As you wish, my Warprize.” His voice was low and hungry and I felt my own desire flare within me.

We’d reached the entrance, and I was so distracted by the look on his face that I didn’t see Marcus standing there until he spoke. “Warlord.”

Keir turned, and my stomach dropped as I saw the look on Marcus’s face. “Oh no,” I whispered. “Not the Sweat. Please, Marcus, don’t tell me it’s returned.”

“No, Lara.” His face held a strange look of regret. “It’s not the disease.”

They’d found Isdra sprawled on the ground, a dagger in her stomach up to the hilt. There was a lot of blood, and she had a puzzled expression on her face. I didn’t have to touch her to know that she was dead, but I did it anyway. There was warmth in her flesh, but no life.

“No, no, she promised to stay with me.” I cried as Keir pulled me back to his side. Marcus had come with us, and he’d managed to find Rafe and Prest as well. I looked at Marcus. “She promised, Marcus.”

“Epor’s call was stronger, Warprize.”

“As it should be.” The Warrior-Priest walked up. “Her place was at her bonded’s side.”

“I would have done the same.” Keir said.

I looked at him in horror, but he met my eyes calmly. I looked away, angry at his acceptance. “Before, she was ready for it—even offered Epor’s weapon to Prest. Why would she do it this way?” I scowled, wiping my tears with my hands, then turned to look at Prest. “Do you believe this?”

Prest let his eyes flicker over the crowd that had gathered, but said nothing. With a long step, he took the war-club off of Isdra’s body, and walked away.

The sun was rising as we prepared to depart.

As was her preference, Isdra was given to the sky. A platform was erected, with her naked body exposed to the elements. At my insistence, they’d placed it in the center of the burned village, by the stone well. As close to where Epor had burned as I could arrange it. I’d dug through my supplies to find those few dried lavender flowers to place around her body. Joden chanted a soft, sad song in the crisp, cold air.

I stood there in the blackened ruins. I’d known, of course, that the village was being used for the pyres of the dead. But that hadn’t prepared me for the sight of black cinders and ashes, spread out over such a large area. The smell of smoke seemed overwhelming. I stood next to Keir, and leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and held me close. Rafe and Prest were there, with Marcus. Some others were in attendance as well. Yveni was behind us, with the horses. Ander was there as well. Keir had summoned him, and asked him to take Isdra’s place, and Ander had agreed.

The last notes of Joden’s song hovered in the air. In the silence, we all turned and walked to our horses. The crows were already gathering as we left.

I did not look back.

With Isdra gone, I’d made the decision to send little Meara back to Xy, to Anna’s care. The babe had recovered well, although she’d been quieter than normal. But she had a ready smile for all of her theas. I couldn’t ask for better caretakers than the fierce warriors that had surrounded her. But despite their protests, she was a child of Xy, and I wasn’t sure of her welcome in the Heart of the Plains. The comments by Iften and the warrior-priest’s attitude made me nervous. Keir agreed with my decision. He’d gathered a swift group of riders to escort her back, and they had left with the dawn. I had no fears for her safety.

The command tent was being dismantled when we returned. Marcus started to complain about the way they were loading the horses before he even stopped his horse. Everyone dismounted to pitch in, and the remaining gear was loaded very quickly.

This time I was to ride by myself, and I was delighted to find that it was the same brown, with the scar on his chest. He seemed happy to see me, sticking his nose in my hair and snuffing me. Greatheart checked me over throughly, and then promptly fell asleep. He never stirred as I gathered up Gil’s satchel and tied it firmly to my saddle. Tears filled my eyes, but I resolutely turned and watched as the others prepared to mount. Keir had indicated that I would be in the center of the army again, so it would be some time before we took our position.

Iften was waiting at the head of the army, ready for the command to move. I’d never seen the blond look so confident or proud. The warrior-priest was there beside him, a stony look on his face. Neither had attended the funeral. I focused hard on Iften’s right hand, but he seemed to be using it normally. He was chewing something, and I assumed it was gurt.

Without any further ceremony, Keir gave the signal, and the forward scouts sprang to a gallop, taking their lead positions. Once they were out of sight, Keir gave another signal, and Uzaina started the front riders at a walk on the road. Slowly but surely, the long line of riders headed out.

I stood for a while, watching them gradually leave. Rafe and Prest had mounted already, and Yveni and An-der were close at hand. Greatheart was still fast asleep, his head hanging, ears flopping over, eyes closed. He’d put all his weight on his left leg, his right hind foot cocked behind him. I reached over to give his ears a good scratch when his head jerked up, his eyes wide. He snorted, his stance changing in a moment, on guard for an attack.

Even as I turned to look, I could hear the drumming of hooves. I fully expected to see one of the scouts, except the sound was louder, stronger…

There were four of them, galloping hard, sending men and horses scattering out of their way. Four warrior-priests, two men and two women, with long spears held at the ready. All were riding dressed in nothing more than trous and a long cloak. Even the women had the matted long hair, and tattoos that covered their breasts, but one had also added colored streamers and some kind of white paint on her dark face. I had a moment to wince at the tattoos that covered the women’s breasts. But then I realized that their target was Keir.

I took a step to run to his side and ran smack into Prest’s horse as he moved to block me. Yveni and Ander mounted in a heartbeat, covering my back. They formed a circle around me, with Marcus next to me, a firm grasp on my arm. Greatheart stood at my side as well, head held high as if to see.

They galloped in a direct line right toward Keir. Terrified, I looked on as the warriors about him merely watched, none taking any action to protect him. “Will no one help him?” I whispered.

“Watch.” Marcus’s response was soft.

Keir stood firm, his hands at his side, facing the riders. From the rigid lines of his back, I knew that his face was grim. I feared to see them plunge a spear into his chest, but at the last moment they circled him, each taking a point equal distance from the other.

One, a warrior-priestess, pulled her horse to a stop at the last moment, right in front of Keir. Keir didn’t flinch or step back. The rider’s horse reared, flailing its hooves, as the priestess plunged a spear into the ground at Keir’s feet.

“Keir of the Cat.” Her voice was shrill and piercing. “The Elders of the Plains summon you to appear before them, to answer for the dishonorable deaths of the warriors entrusted to you.”

Keir’s shoulders shifted slightly, but he made no response.

The warrior-priest to his right threw his spear, close to

Keir’s feet. “Keir of the Cat. The Elders of the Plains summon you, to answer for the dishonorable deaths of a bonded couple entrusted to you.”

The warrior-priestess behind him threw her spear with a scream. “Keir of the Cat. The Elders summon you, to answer for your failure to provide for the People.”

Finally, the warrior-priest to his left threw his spear as well. “Keir of the Cat, The Elders summon you to challenge your claim of a warprize.”

The warrior-priestess before him snarled. “The Elders will demand your life, Warlord.”

With that, she spun her horse on its heels and they galloped away.

I took a deep breath even as Marcus released my arm. But what broke the silence was the sound of Iften laughing out loud, ringing like a bell. As I looked over, the blond urged his horse to a walk, moving with the warriors of the army. I had to grit my teeth at the look on his face, and that of the warrior-priest at his side. They both rode off toward the head of the army, Iften’s chuckles still floating back on the breeze. And the expressions on the warriors as they rode past indicated that there were many that agreed with Iften in this matter as well. Some joined in his laughter, while many seemed to frown and shake their heads.

It was a long moment before everyone around us turned back to their tasks. But I noticed that a few were looking at Keir from the corners of their eyes and others were not looking at him at all.

The tension left my guardians, and Rafe and Prest moved their horses off. Greatheart relaxed and lowered his head, as if to go back to his nap. I looked at Marcus, who spat on the ground, and returned to his task, his expression grim.

Keir grabbed the spear before him, and with a quick jerk, broke it over his knee.

I took Greatheart’s reins and tugged, leading him over to where Keir stood. Greatheart shook his head in protest, stretching his neck out as far as he could before he actually picked up his feet to follow me.

Keir was holding the spear halves, and watching the warrior-priests ride away into the distance. As I came alongside, he growled, and threw the pieces down on the ground.

We stood in silence for a bit, then he turned and looked at me intently. “This will not be easy, Lara. My enemies have been at work, taking advantage of this delay.” He gave me a rueful smile. “We stand on the brink of checkmate.” He looked off toward where the warrior-priests had disappeared. “You could still return to the safety of Water’s Fall.”

I moved closer to him. Keir turned to look, and I lifted my face and kissed him, leaning into his strength and warmth. I put everything I had into that kiss, using my mouth to reassure him as to my promise. It took a long moment before I felt him relax and bring his arms up to wrap around me.

His eyes were warm and loving when I pulled away. I smiled, and turned to mount my horse. As I settled in the saddle, Keir took a step closer, and placed his hand on my knee, looking up into my eyes. “One thing I know. I have no regret in claiming you as Warprize.”

He looked so handsome in the sunlight, his hair gleaming black and teased by the wind. I looked down, arching an eyebrow. “And I have no regret making you claim me.”

Keir laughed, throwing back his head, and roaring his delight.

I leaned down to caress his cheek. “No regrets. Whatever comes.”

Keir nodded. My guards came up with Marcus leading Keir’s black. He mounted, and without another word or look, led the way to the Plains.