Warprize

Chapter 9

I didn’t want to wake up; the darkness where I floated was warm and comfortable. But my ears ached from the sound of an angry voice that pulled at me. I cracked my eyes open, only to squeeze them shut as the bright light burned them. The voice continued, ranting in its fury. I eased my eyelids up again, squinting to let them adjust.

I was in Keir’s bed. The tent seemed to glow it was so bright.

“Ah. There’s my girl.” A whisper caught my attention.

“Eln?” I turned my head slowly, my neck achy and stiff. Eln was sitting on the bed next to me, holding a small bowl. I stared at him, puzzled.

“It’s me, child.” He kept his voice low. “How do you feel?”

“Feel?” I didn’t understand, but even more confusing was the angry voice that had not stopped or cooled. I turned my head slowly back to discover that the tent wall had been rolled up. Keir was pacing back and forth where the wall normally hung between bedroom and meeting area. Still dressed in black leathers, the silver wrist bands catching the light and glittering as he moved like a large cat. A large, angry cat. I could just see the tops of heads beyond him, filling the meeting area. Something wasn’t right. I sat up.

Rather, I tried to sit up. The arm I asked to support me objected mightily, and I gasped at the pain. In that instant it all came back, details of the attack flooding into my head.

Keir was by the bed in an instant. He half climbed into the center, and placed a hand on my chest to keep me flat. “You’re awake. Warprize, are you all right?” He was speaking my tongue.

I eased back onto the pillows. “I think my arm is going to fall off.” My voice was a croak.

Keir sucked in a breath.

“It’s not going to fall off.” Eln responded firmly. He frowned at me and gave a sharp jerk of his head, telling me in a not-so-subtle manner to watch my tongue. “I’m sure it hurts, but the wound is clean and well bandaged. There is bruising on your neck, but no real damage. You will recover fully.” Gils hovered behind Eln, his face tight with worry. Eln continued, “Your student did well, Lara.”

Keir snarled. “One of the few who did well.” He returned to his feet. “Tend to her,” he snapped as he resumed his pacing. None of the others had stirred.

I lay back on the bed as Eln leaned forward and placed his hand on my forehead. Gils stood next to him, nervously watching us.

“Eln, how—”

“Kidnaped from my home by mounted warriors and slung over a saddle like a sack of meal.” Eln snorted as he checked my heartbeat. “It took a while before someone who spoke our language explained what had happened.”

“How long have I been out?” I asked, still sounding rough. Gils flicked a look from my face to Eln’s and back.

Eln grunted. “I don’t know. You were unconscious when I arrived, and I have been here for a quarter of an hour.”

I repeated my question to Gils in his language.

“Warprize, you were unconscious for about an hour. I’s did the best I could, but I told the Warlord to send for a real healer from the city, and I knew your teacher’s name.” His face was pale under his red hair. “I’s told him that I’s your apprentice.”

Eln raised his eyebrows when he heard a familiar word. “Your ‘apprentice’ did a fine job of cleaning and binding the wound. I have checked it, and it would seem that stitches are not required.” Eln inclined his head toward the lad. “You might tell him that for me.”

I did, and Gils collapsed next to the bed, his body seeming to fold under the weight of his fears. “I’s so scared, Warprize. That I’s be hurting you, that the Warlord be hurting me…” Keir’s angry voice was raised again. Gils swallowed hard. “I’s think most of the blood we saw be your attackers, not yours.”

Eln produced a cup. “I want you to drink this, then sleep.”

I smelled the contents. “Lotus? No, Eln. I want my wits about me.”

“More fever’s foe then, and water.” Eln didn’t fuss at my refusal.

I looked into the main tent, at the heads that remained lowered, as Keir moved back and forth. “What is going on?” I asked.

Eln looked over his shoulder. “From the tone, I believe the Warlord is going to start ordering executions. ”

I straggled up, heedless of my arm. Gils moved to support me, kneeling behind me on the bed.

Keir’s voice was razor sharp. “I am looking for answers as to how the warprize came to be attacked inside my own camp, while she was under the protection of my warriors.” His head swung angrily toward the kneeling warriors, and I could hear the snarl of an infuriated cat in his voice.

Dearest Goddess, he was angry. The tent contained Epor and Isdra, the captain of the patrol, his men, Simus, Prest, and Rafe. Many of them had bandages as well. General Warren and his men were also on their knees, heads bowed. I thought I saw Iften’s blond head, way in the back. Everyone was on their knees, with the only exception being Simus, who was sitting on a stump near Keir.

Keir continued, pacing all the while. “This much I know. My patrol came across six men of the city watch, who claimed to have been hurt in some type of attack.” His voice was cold and hard as he glared at the hapless captain of the patrol. “They rendered assistance by escorting them to the warprize.” His tone was of one who had been offended.

“Which was what your warprize had requested.” I kept my voice calm and moderate.

Keir swivelled his head to look at me. He gave me a hard look and turned away.

“Once they were in the tent, they attacked as soon as the warprize was vulnerable.” He resumed his pacing.

“Once in the tent, I tended the most severely injured. That is my job as Master Healer.”

Keir turned back and glared at me. “There was no injury. It was a trap, an assassin’s trick aimed at your death.” He swung back to the men. “The so-called wounded attacked you and everyone else in the tent.”

Goddess. “Was anyone else hurt?” I whispered to Gils, as I scanned the crowd.

He lowered his head to my ear. “No, Warprize. We’d just enough warning to get out of the way and let the patrol and your guards handle them.” He paused, and a look of awe came over his face. “Atira killed her assailant and didn’t disturb her leg at all.” He was clearly impressed by her actions. “And when the Warlord burst into the tent…” He shuddered and continued quietly. “We’re never gonna figure out which head goes with which body.”

Keir was still ranting. “When I learn who was behind it, I will…”

I leaned against Gils, feeling very tired. “Arneath.” It took almost all my energy to speak his name.

General Warren’s head came up and he stared at me.

I nodded. “It was Arneath, a member of the Palace Guard.” I closed my eyes. “I think one of them was Degnan. I didn’t recognize the others.”

“Degnan? Son of Durst?” Keir sounded outraged. I heard a low growl, and opened my eyes again. Keir was towering over General Warren, his sword in his hand. Warren was smart enough to jerk his head back down and keep it bent.

“This was a trick, your presence, the watch…” Keir’s voice was low and keen and deadly.

Warren didn’t move. “No. The day my king swore fealty to you, you became my liege. I am a soldier and a man of honor. I would never allow a hand to be raised against a Daughter of Xy.” He lifted his head and looked Keir squarely in the eye. Keir stood there, and I held my breath, thinking to see the man strike as he had in the throne room. Instead, Keir sheathed his sword.

Warren spoke. “Let me return to the castle and make inquiry. I’ll return with the information, and if my people planned this, you may have my life. Do not let the actions of a few destroy the peace.”

“I believe him.” I added my voice, hoarse as it was.

Keir did not respond, but resumed his pacing. I could see that every muscle was tense. His jaw was tight, and the muscles at the back of his jaw seemed to pulse with anger. I felt uncomfortable, disheveled and laying in the bed, when everyone was in the room. My arm ached, throbbed. I shifted it slightly, and stifled a cry when the pain flared sharper.

Keir was at my side in an instant. “You must rest.” He fixed Gils with a glare. Gils moved with all due haste to get me back down on the bed. Keir turned.

“Warren. Take the dead and return to the castle. Inform me of what you find.” He gestured with his hand, switching to his own tongue. “Leave us. All of you.”

Men rose and left quickly. Simus had two men to help him walk out. Eln quirked his mouth. “I take it we are being dismissed.” He rose from the bed. “I will check your patients before I go. With your ‘ apprentice’.”

“Healer.” Keir held out a bag of coins. “For your trouble.” He tossed it to Eln.

Eln stood tall and regal, and watched the bag as it arched toward him and fell to the floor with a plinking sound. He looked straight into Keir’s eyes, his eyebrows arched in quiet anger. “Long before she was your warprize, she was my friend and student.” He looked down at me and warmth returned to his face. “Be well, Lara. If it is permitted, I’ll check on you again.”

He left with that slow stride of his, with Gils in tow.

Epor and Isdra had remained on their knees, and their presence drew Keir’s attention. “Leave.”

Epor raised his head. “Warlord, we failed you.” Isdra nodded her agreement.

Keir scooped up the bag of coins and stood looking at it for a moment, the small muscle in his jaw throbbing.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Body guarding is far different from warrior’s work. Who knew wounded would rise to the attack?”

Keir glared at Marcus, who returned the look, unimpressed.

“Warlord, we feel the shame of this, Epor and I.” Isdra spoke. “We ask the chance to wipe this disgrace away.”

I felt the need to speak. “It wasn’t their fault.”

Keir’s glare scorched my skin. “It was. They were to protect you.” He tossed the small bag of coins onto one of the chests. I opened my mouth to respond, but a quick gesture from Marcus kept me silent. After long moments, Keir spoke. “Return to your duties. But never let this happen again.”

“Never again.” Epor confirmed.

“Our lives for hers.” Isdra pledged.

At a gesture from Keir they were up and out of the tent. Marcus silently lowered the tent wall. Keir moved to the braziers and started to add coal. “Keir,” I said quietly. He did not turn.

Marcus came up beside me and fussed with the furs. “Some broth? Some wine, or kavage?”

I nodded. “Yes, Marcus, please. Broth and kavage.”

He shot a glance at Keir’s back, then left on his errand. Keir was standing, staring into the sullen coals. “ Keir, please. I need your help.” He turned, looking at me with haunted eyes. I started to struggle to sit up. He was there in an instant, helping me. “Privy,” I said, smiling at him. He swept me up, and carried me to the room. No smile. No response. After the business was done, he carried me back, placed me gently on the bed, and pulled the covers up tight. He sat there, staring at me, stroking my hair. I put my hand to his face. “Keir, what…”

Marcus walked in, carrying a tray. Keir got up and resumed pacing. Marcus helped me sit up. “Soup I had simmering,” he murmured. “Drink it all.” His one eye glared at me as he set the bowl in my hands. I sipped obediently, enjoying the warmth. It tasted good. Rich, salty, with a bit of spice I didn’t recognize. The salt clung to my lips and stung slightly. I took a few more sips, relishing the flavor before I identified the aftertaste. “Marcus, you drugged this!”

“Aye.” Marcus stood, unrepentant. “Gils and the tall one gave it to me. Will do you good. Finish the bowl.” Marcus picked up the wine jug and poured some into a cup.

“And this for you.” He thrust the cup at Keir.

“No.” Keir turned away.

Marcus frowned, but turned back to me and eyed the bowl in my hands. I gave up, knowing that Eln had been right, but unwilling to take my own medicine. Besides, my neck and arm ached. I finished the bowl and handed it to Marcus.

“Leave us,” Keir growled.

Marcus picked up the dishes, caught my eye and nodded in Keir’s direction. I nodded back, pleased that he trusted me to take care of Keir. The tension in his face eased with understanding, and he left the room.

Keir was still moving about, still wound up. I settled into the furs and pillows, already feeling the effects of the lotus. Keir knelt by the bed. “Are you well?”

I smiled. “Fine. Marcus is right, sleep will help.” I yawned and shifted around, trying to get comfortable.

He looked at me intensely. “You could have been killed. If I hadn’t heard the noise and headed over, he would have killed you.” Something in his face closed off. “If you had died, the peace would have broken. ”

Alarmed, I tried to force my eyes open. “The peace is more important than any one person.”

Keir took a few of the pillows, and moved them to support my arm. “Don’t fight it. Close your eyes.”

I looked up through half lidded eyes, unable to resist the pull of the drug. He seemed so tired, so worn. He kissed me softly. “Sleep.”

“If you will.”

He shook his head. “No.” But he eased onto the bed, setting his sword close at hand and gathering me in with the other. “Sleep.”

Exhaustion pulled at me, but I resisted a moment more. “Keir. Don’t do anything…” 1 couldn’t think of the word.

“Rash?” Keir asked softly.

“Stupid.” I yawned, and heard his chuckle as I floated off.

I awoke to the dark tent and the sound of rhythmic steps. It took a moment to orient myself. Everything seemed slightly fuzzy, which was one of the effects of lotus. It was tempting to drift back into the warmth and the darkness, but the sound of the pacing drew me out of the covers.

Keir was pacing back and forth. I yawned and watched him move in those black leathers. I frowned when I realized that he hadn’t gotten any sleep. “Keir? What are you doing?”

“Keeping watch. You are under my protection. You have been hurt. It will never happen again.”

My eyes widened at that and the fuzziness receded slightly. I managed to get up on my good arm and stare at him. “Keir, there is an entire army out there. They can…”

“It wasn’t good enough, was it.” He paused and looked at me. “It will be tonight. I put the entire army on alert, with double watches.”

I groaned, closed my eyes and let my head sink back on the pillows. No one was getting any sleep tonight.

Keir came to my side. “Are you well? Should I call Gils?” I studied him, and the lines of worry on his face.

“Keir,” I spoke very firmly. “Take them off the alert.”

His frown deepened. “You must be…”

Enough. I interrupted. “I’m safe. I’m here with you.” I curled myself down into the bed. Keir hesitated, then moved to the flap and went out. I lay in a kind of stupor, imagining an entire army of warriors muttering about having to protect the Warlord’s prize. With double watches, yet. I yawned, closed my eyes and drifted.

At some point Keir came in and stood by me. I reached out from under the covers, taking his hand. It was cold, and I could feel the tension in his muscles. I yawned and tugged. He looked at me oddly, but allowed himself to be pulled under the covers. I moved over, letting him have the warm spot. Through the haze, I could feel his body was easing a bit. I moved closer, putting my head on his chest. The black leather warmed slowly under my cheek.

We lay there for a moment, warming each other. I yawned again, and my jaw cracked. He chuckled and stroked my hair. “You should go back to sleep.”

I raised my head and tried to focus, but it was a losing battle.

Keir’s chest rumbled with another laugh. “I think you will be sleeping late tomorrow, Warprize.”

Tomorrow. I dropped my head back down. “What is a pattern dance?”

“Eh?”

I raised my all too heavy head. “What is a pattern dance?”

“A group dance. Many men and women dancing in a pattern that they weave with their bodies.” I felt Keir shrug. “It’s hard to explain. You have to see it to understand.”

“See it tomorrow.” For some reason I felt happy about the prospect.

Keir’s hand stilled. “I canceled the dance.”

I tried to lift my head again, but only succeeded in rolling off Keir’s chest to lay by his side. I managed to focus on his eyes. “They’ll hate me.”

He turned onto his side to face me. “They won’t blame you.”

I lost the focus, and his face blurred. The next yawn made my eyes water, and my jaw cracked again. I said something, but it came out all fuzzy. Like my vision.

Keir sighed, and shifted, moving out from under the covers. He tucked me in, letting none of the cooler air touch me. “I’ll take care of it. Sleep.”

I drifted off, wondering what I had said.

* * *

The evil taste in my mouth woke me first. Another of the effects of lotus. The irony of suffering the same effects that my own patients complained about was not lost on me. I would have to remember that the next time I dosed someone with it. It wouldn’t stop me from giving it to them, but I’d try to be more sympathetic.

The bed was empty, and I could tell that it was fairly late in the day. My stomach was reminding me that I had missed at least two meals. I stretched under the blanket, being careful not to include the arm. The worst of it was my neck, stiff and sore. The arm hurt as well, and I really didn’t want to move.

The tent flap from the main room opened, and Keir stuck his head in. “You’re awake.”

I nodded as I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling heavy and dull. I still had my trous on, but my shirt had been removed. My breast band had dried blood on it, and I made a face.

Keir pressed his lips together as he studied my throat. I grimaced, imagining that the bruising was at its worst now. “I’ll get Marcus for hot food, and kavage. We’ll send for Gils.”

“I want a bath.”

Keir cocked his head. I repeated my request. He frowned. “Marcus can bring warm…”

“No.” I gripped his arm with my good hand and tried to pull myself up. Keir helped me without even thinking about it. “I want a bath now. I stink. I don’t care what the water is like.”

Keir blinked. I stood there for a moment, getting my balance and waited to see if I would be dizzy or nauseous. Yet another effect of the drug.

Keir frowned. “Gils needs to check—”

“Gils can check it after I have bathed.”

“Gils said—”

“Who is the healer here?” I took a step.

His lips quirked. “Master Healer, if I remember right.”

I smiled. “The Master wants a bath.”

He smiled. “Then Master, you shall have one.” He wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked together to the privy. Thank the Goddess for his people’s attitude toward cleanliness. I was grateful that he didn’t question my need to be clean any further.

Once inside, Keir placed one of the wooden blocks on the washing platform, and I sat to strip off my trous and breast band. They were both soiled, but not harmed. As long as I moved slowly, the pain was no more than a dull ache. Keir put water within my reach, then handed me soap and a cloth. I got a whiff of the soap and held it to my nose. It smelled like vanilla. I looked at him, but he wore an innocent expression on his face.

Marcus called from the other room, and Keir moved about, taking a bucket of hot coals for the brazier, and more water. I washed out my breast band as the room warmed. I lathered up the soap and started on my face and neck, enjoying the scent of home. The arm wasn’t a problem, as long as I didn’t try to raise it, or use that hand over much. I hummed quietly to myself as I washed. The tepid water felt wonderful on my skin, and I was careful to keep the wound dry as I worked.

Keir came back in and settled in the corner, where the shadows were deepest. I glanced over quickly, but could only make out his eyes, gleaming in the darkness. I blushed slightly, bit my lip, but kept going. It felt uncomfortable to be watched so, but it was also somehow satisfying, to know that I was the object of his interest. My feelings confused me, so I concentrated on getting clean. When I reached my groin, I sensed a slight movement in the corner, but I moved on quickly to legs and feet and toes.

Keir did move forward at that point, bringing another bucket of water over to me. It had been closer to the brazier, which meant the water was slightly warmer. I used a bowl to rinse with, for fear of getting the wound wet. Once done, I wrapped up in the towels that he gave me. I decided against washing my hair. I was tired and felt a trembling that indicated I needed to eat. Instead, I grabbed a comb and tried to stand.

Keir swept me up, and carried me into the bedroom, placing me on one of the stumps close to a brazier.

“I can walk, you know.” I started to comb my hair. “Your turn.”

Keir made a negative gesture.

I lifted my head, sniffed the air, and raised an eyebrow.

He took the hint. He went out and brought in two more buckets of water, and fed the brazier again. Then he returned, stood in the center of the room, and looked at me.

I rested my eyes on him. He was glorious in that black leather, which fit him like a glove yet let him move like a cat. He lifted a hand to his collar and started to loosen the lacings of his jerkin.

I couldn’t look away. He pulled the lacings out ever so slowly, pulling them out to their full length, then starting on the next one. When he finished, he lifted the ends of his shirt, and ever so slowly pulled the leather up and over his head.

I stopped combing.

The man was certainly healthy. I swallowed hard. The faint light of the brazier shone over his muscles as he carefully placed his leather jerkin on one of the benches. He sat to remove his boots, and the thick socks underneath. He sat for a minute and wiggled his toes. He stood and nonchalantly started to unlace his trous. Slowly.

I turned my back to him. I’d cared for many a naked man in my time, but the sight of Keir’s body was different somehow. It affected me. Made me want to reach out and touch him—to feel those muscles move under his skin. To experience more of his touch, and maybe a few of his kisses. The idea made me shiver.

I could feel his amusement on the back of my neck. There were sounds behind me, as he removed the trous. I bit my lip again, finding that the imagining might be even more embarrassing then the actual seeing. My fingers continued to run the comb through my hair, but my mind was elsewhere. The sounds stopped.

He drew my hair off to the side, and kissed my neck.

I jerked as lightning coursed through my body. Tingles ran from my neck right to the soles of my feet. I turned my head quickly, but all I saw was a brief glimpse of the tent flap falling into place behind him. I sat for a minute, waiting for the tingling sensation to pass. My hand kept combing my hair, but it took a long time for the sensation of his lips to leave my skin.

By the time Keir emerged, Marcus was loading the table with too much food, and Gils had crept quietly into the tent to change my bandage.

For something that felt like an enormous hole in my arm, the wound was small. It looked good, with no signs of angered flesh or swelling. Gils changed the bandage with meticulous and agonizing slowness. I complimented him on his work, and then meekly accepted a dose of fever’s foe. He’d brought some of the liniment, and he applied it carefully to my neck, all the while casting glances at the privy entrance as if Keir was going to leap out at any moment, battle-raged, and swords in hand.

Finally, Gils sat back on his heels, looking satisfied. “I’s checked Atira, Warprize, and she’s well. And Simus let me look at his leg.”

“How is it?” I asked.

We were both startled when Simus replied. “It’s well, little healer.” Simus entered the tent, grinning at me. “If it can take me running to the healing tent and crawling on the ground, then I think I can walk on it well enough.”

“Simus…” I chided.

His teeth gleamed in a smile. “It’s not like I’m going to join in the dancing today.” His face turned serious. “How’s the arm?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled at him. “Gils is seeing to me.”

Gils stood, gathering his supplies. “I’s see you at the dance, Warprize. I’s chores to do before then.”

Simus sat on the bed, next to me. “Marcus! I need kavage!”

I looked at them both. “I thought the dance was canceled.”

Gils stood. “Oh no, Warprize, the Warlord announced it late last night.” A slight noise from the privy and he was out and gone.

Marcus brought kavage for both of us, and grimaced at Simus. “I suppose you’ve not eaten yet?”

Simus laughed.

Marcus scowled. “I’ve bare enough for these two, much less fill your belly.”

Keir emerged, dried and dressed. “Simus, join us.”

Simus smiled broadly.

Marcus huffed and left. Keir, Simus, and I pulled up stumps and dug into the food. For many minutes, there was only the sound of chewing and dishes being passed. The bowl of gurt was offered to me a number of times, but I politely declined. Simus leaned back first. “Never could figure out how Marcus manages such good food in camp.”

“Years of practice,” Marcus said as he returned with more kavage and served us all. “There’s not much time before the dance starts.”

Keir nodded. “Any word from Warren or Xymund?”

Simus shook his head. “No.”

Keir scowled, but said nothing as we rose to leave. He merely wrapped his cloak around me, and made as if to sweep me up in his arms. “I can walk.” I fought him off as I also tangled with the smothering cloth as best I could, trying to pull it up so that I wouldn’t trip.

Simus stifled a laugh. I looked up to see that his eyes were dancing with mirth. “You look like a child playing with her thea’s cloak.” I laughed, curious as to the meaning of the word, but Simus held out his arm for me. “Warprize.”

Keir growled, and swept me up into his arms, stomping out of the tent. I looked behind to see Simus rolling his eyes and following behind with Marcus.

The sky was clear when we emerged and headed for the gathering area. The entire camp seemed to be headed in that direction, everyone armed. It didn’t look as if they were going to a dance. I wrapped my arms around Keir’s neck. “Will everyone be at the dance?”

“No.” Keir slowed his walk to allow Simus to catch up with us. “The watches will rotate.” His voice lowered. “I believe you would call that a ‘compromise’.”

The flat area in front of the wooden platform had been cleared and the area was ringed with a circle of unlit torches. We made our way onto the platform, and sat close to the front. There was no formality. We took our seats even as bodies milled in the space in front of the platform. Simus remained standing, looking off into the crowd. He laughed, then pointed. “Here they come.”

Looking out, I could see that someone was being carried on a cot, much like Simus had been carried to the senel. It was Atira, laying flat on the cot as some of her friends carried her through the crowd. The stones had been removed, but her leg was still in a cast.

“Bring her up here.” Keir called out, and the cot started to head toward the platform.

“Warprize!” Atira called out when they drew nearer. “Are you well?”

“Very well. How’s your leg?” I asked, curious to see how the leather was holding up.

“It itches.” She complained as they brought her cot up and placed it next to me, so that she had a good view of the grounds. “That grey one came and looked at it, and seemed pleased. Gils has been watching it too.” She smiled at me as she propped herself up. “I’m glad to see that you are well. Scared me to the snows, let me tell you, you being attacked.” She looked around. Keir was kneeling at the edge of the platform, talking to a few of the warriors. She dropped her voice and continued. “I managed to throw a knife and take one out, but got knocked to the ground before I could do more. It was the Warlord’s raging that saved our hides.”

“Were you there when he…” I let my voice trail off, unsure how to ask the question.

“When he was standing over you?” She rolled her eyes. “Aye, half under my cot and fearing to breathe. I ’ve heard tell of battle rage, but never saw it before. Knew enough to lay still and quiet. Good thing you talked him out, Warprize. Not something they can always do.” She flashed me a grin. “But never mind that, there’s a pattern dance to watch!”

Keir had risen to stand at the very edge. “Would you see a pattern?”

“AYE!” Every voice seemed to shout, and cheering began.

Keir held up a small wooden bowl. “Iften, call the dancers forth.”

Marcus was behind us, wrapped deep in a cloak. He muttered something that I didn’t hear, but that Iften picked up as he approached. There was anger on his face as Iften took the bowl from Keir’s hands. But he moved off into the center of the field without a word. Iften held the bowl before him with both hands. “ Hear me!”

The crowd grew quiet.

“Heyla!” Iften called out.

“Heyla!” The crowd responded.

“Who would dance a pattern for us?”

From all around the circle, nine running figures emerged from the crowd, dashing up to Iften and placing some sort of token in the bowl that he held. As they dropped in their tokens, they continued on, disappearing back into the crowd. The last one jumped up just before he reached the bowl and dropped the token in with a flare, prompting laughter from the crowd. After a pause, Iften raised the bowl over his head. “Let the sky hear our voices.”

I was startled when a sound like a crack of thunder was heard, until I saw the drummers in the crowd, with large drums at their feet. Each had struck their drums once, and the vibration filled my ears.

“Let the earth feel our feet.” Iften made a quarter turn to face another part of the crowd. Again the drums sounded. “Let the wind sense our strength.” He paused as the drums sounded in response. “Let the flames see our patterns.” He shouted, as he made another turn. This time, in addition to the drums, the torches were lit. The crowd roared out with the drums at the last call, crying a tremendous ‘heyla’!

Iften reached in and pulled a token from the bowl. “Red, dance your pattern.” He called, then moved off the field.

Again, runners emerged from the crowd. It was a group of ten men and women. They were dressed in tunics and trous, with red headbands, and red streamers flowing behind them as they ran. They ran to the center of the field, and stood in a circle. There was a pause, then the drums began to beat a fast, steady measure.

The dancers took one step forward, linked their arms, and began to dance. It didn’t take me long to see what they were doing. I’d been taught court dances when I was a child, and seen the romps and rills that the servants danced when they celebrated the harvest. But I had never seen anything like this before. They wove a pattern with their bodies, stepping in then out of the circle then around each other to form the circle again. Just when I was sure they were coming to an end, from nowhere they produced wooden sticks, like axe handles, and started to beat out a counter rhythm to the drums. On each other’s sticks.

I watched, amazed, waiting for someone to hit a hand or arm instead of the sticks. But the dancers never seemed to miss a beat as they wove and pounded on each other. The crowd was yelling now, some calling out encouragement and others yelling insults. The group formed two interlocking circles and wove their patterns together. As each passed the place where the circles joined, they had to beat out the rhythms on the other sticks. I laughed with joy to see them move with no errors, in a perfect pattern. “ How do they do that?”

Simus laughed. Keir shot me an amused glance and responded. “Practice. Lots of practice.”

The dancers were smiling, but I could see the concentration on their faces. I didn’t know whether to watch their feet, or their hands, and ended up trying to watch it all at once. Finally, just when I was convinced that fatigue would start to set in, the dancers all cried out at once, spun in place to wind their streamers around their bodies, and stood frozen, spaced evenly in a circle, facing inwards.

The crowd erupted with cries of ‘heyla’ and praise. I clapped my hands together, which drew some odd looks from Atira and Simus. “That was amazing!”

Atira sniffed. “I’ve seen better.”

Marcus was handing me some kavage. “They were slightly off, Warprize. But not by much.”

I took the drink eagerly. “When is the next one?”

But Iften had already moved into the center of the field and was pulling the next token. He waited for the crowd to settle, before calling out ‘Yellow’.

This was a larger group, some twenty people with yellow streamers came running into the field. Keir leaned over to me. “This group is trying for a very large pattern. Not so intricate but harder with so many. ” The drums began again, and I tried to pay more attention to the dancers individually. Sure enough, after just a few minutes, there was a groan from the crowd, and the dancers broke apart and ran off the field.

Simus grunted when he saw my disappointment. “They stop when the pattern is broken, Warprize. The dance can’t continue if an error is made.”

The next group summoned down to the field was brown. Their pattern was intricate, but started very slowly. As the drums speeded up, so did their steps, and the blows to their sticks. I watched in anticipation, trying to see the dancers the way Keir did, but all I saw was a wonderful explosion of movement, rhythm and color. Just as it seemed to reach its peak, the drums began to slow, and the dancers slowed at the same time, until they stood in their original positions. As the last drum beat faded, the crowd erupted into cheers. The dancers ran off, and the crowd started stirring.

Keir stood and stretched. “The watches are changing.” He looked at me. “Warm enough?”

I nodded, as Marcus held a plate before me. There were small buns there, and I took one in one hand. “ What are these?”

Atira grinned and reached for the plate as Marcus offered her one as well. “Warprize, take a bite.”

I looked doubtfully at her, but she bit hers with relish, so I did the same. There was an explosion of spice in my mouth and I opened my eyes wide. Atira laughed.

The spice was strong, but it didn’t burn. There was a sweetness to it that seemed strange at first. “What is this?”

“Bread tarts.” Atira took another bite and talked around her mouthful. “Rare to get them in camp.”

Keir and Simus were eating theirs, obviously pleased. Marcus had a proud look on his face, and even quirked his mouth in a grin when I took another bite. We were all enjoying the treat when a warrior came up to the platform. “Warlord, a messenger has come from the city.”

“From Warren?” Keir asked.

“From their king, Warlord.”

“Bring him here.”

The crowd was starting to settle, and Iften seemed to be looking at Keir for the signal to start. Keir gestured for him to continue, and the opening ritual was repeated. This time the dancers were wearing bells on their hands and feet, and carrying sticks. As they danced, Marcus frowned in disapproval. Apparently the bells were a distraction from the pattern, and Marcus was quick to express his opinion. Keir leaned over at one point and spoke softly, “Marcus danced patterns well before he was injured. But his eye gives him no vision on that side, and he no longer dances.” I nodded, but I liked the chiming of the bells, and was quick to call out ‘heyla’ at the end.

“Warlord.”

We turned to see the warrior standing behind us, with Heath at his side, grinning like a fool.

“Heath!” I jumped to my feet, leaving the cloak behind me. The cooler air hit me, giving me goose bumps, but I paid no mind as I ran over to greet him.

Heath was stiff, but he relaxed and brought his arms up to give me a quick hug, before pushing me back slightly. He brought his hand up to cup my neck, then let his hand fall as he stepped back. He dropped to one knee. “Warlord.”

I turned, to see Keir standing there, a dark expression on his face. I caught my breath, suddenly understanding that I’d made a mistake. Heat flooded my face. Keir pointed at the stool where I had been seated, and I returned to it. Marcus draped the cloak back over me, and made sure that it covered me completely.

“Your message?” Keir’s voice was cold, as behind us Iften called the next dance.

“Warlord, King Xymund sends word that Lord Durst still lives. Eln the Healer believes that he will recover.” Heath lifted his head. “Lord Marshall Warren and the King continue to question and investigate the attack on the warprize and will send further word tomorrow.”

Keir grunted, but I saw a brief flash of relief in his eyes.

Heath continued, “Warlord, I also beg your forgiveness on behalf of myself and your warprize. We are childhood friends, who played in the kitchens together when we were small.” He swallowed hard. “I had heard that she was hurt, and asked to carry the King’s words in order to see for myself and report back to my mother.”

Keir narrowed his eyes. “Your mother is Anna the Cook?”

Heath nodded. “She who rules the kitchens, and will beat me with a spoon if I do not report back on Lar —the warprize’s condition.”

Simus chuckled. “Never anger a good cook, Keir.”

Keir still looked grim, but his voice was polite. “Stay then, and talk with the warprize. Would you see a dance?”

Heath smiled, stood and moved to sit on the platform, leaning back against the side of Atira’s cot. He looked at her leg, and grimaced. “Broken?” I nodded. He smiled at Atira, and pointed at her leg and then at his. “I remember what that is like. Tell her she has my sympathy.”

I translated for Atira, and she nodded her thanks, eyeing Heath’s leg and its apparent health.

Keir and Simus settled back down as the next dance was called. Atira propped herself a little higher when Iften called the color. “These are my dancers!”

I quickly explained things to Heath as the dancers ran out on the field. Their ribbons were blue, and they formed a square in the center of the field. But instead of sticks, they carried what looked like rocks. We watched as the drums pounded and the dance began. The dancers wove a pattern for some time before they raised their rocks and cracked them together. The sound it made was far different from the sticks, and the crowd cried out in astonishment as sparks flew from the dancers’s hands.

Keir and Simus stood, and Marcus moved to the front of the platform to get a better look. I stayed where I was, not wanting to block Atira’s view. The dancers beat out the pattern with their feet, the drums seemed to build in intensity, and every so often the sparks flew as the rocks were struck. The crowd started to stomp their feet in time with the drums, and seemed to be chanting ‘heyla’ over and over to their beat. The sound was infectious and I clapped to the rhythm. Atira was grinning, and Heath seemed spellbound by the sight.

At last the dancers came to the end, and the crowd cried out their approval. Atira collapsed back onto her cot, letting out a large nervous laugh.

Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. “Well done, pattern weaver.”

She smiled at him with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“It was your pattern?” Simus asked, visibly impressed.

“My first.” Atira grinned. Heath was looking puzzled, so I translated for him. By this time, the dancers had run to the platform and formed a group in front of Keir. The tallest one stepped forward. “Warlord, may we take Atira? We wish to praise our weaver to the skies.”

Keir gestured to the cot, and the breathless men and women swarmed the platform to lift her high. “Have a care of that leg!” I called.

One stopped and bowed toward me. “We’ll take her to the healer tent, Warprize and celebrate there. We’d not risk that she’d not dance again.” With that, they disappeared into the crowd.

Heath stood and moved next to me. “I should go as well, for Anna is dying for news.”

I smiled, but refrained from hugging him. “I’m fine, Heath.”

He smiled back, and cupped my cheek again before turning to make his respects to the Warlord. Keir signaled for someone to escort him, and he too disappeared into the crowd.

I knew I had a broad grin on my face, but I didn’t care. I loved the dancing, like nothing ever seen in the Kingdom of Xy before. I looked about to see if the next dance was about to be called, but the crowd was still moving around. I noticed that Keir was watching me intently, his expression stern. I ignored him, not wishing anything to steal the pleasure of the next three dances from me.

The crowd settled, and once again Iften moved to the center of the field. This time, he had no bowl in his hand, but stood with naked sword in one hand, shield in the other. “Warlord!” His cry echoed over the field. Keir and Simus both stiffened. “I cry challenge on you.”

All was quiet and movement ceased.

“The time of challenge is in the spring, Iften.” Simus rose and moved to the edge of the platform. He limped slightly and I suspected he’d pushed the leg too far. His strong voice carried easily over the crowd. “Your challenge is improper.”

Iften stayed where he was. “I cry challenge on you, Keir of the Cat, named Warlord of the Northwestern Range for this Season of War. I cry challenge for all the elements to see and witness.”

Keir spoke. “There is no challenge on campaign, Iften. You’ve sworn oaths to follow me until you are released from my service.”

“That woman beside you is no true warprize and of a people who use assassination and treachery as their weapons. Are these the ways you wish us to learn?” Iften beat his sword against his shield, and I jumped, startled by the sound. “I swear I will kill you and the woman and lead this army to take what is ours by right. Come and fight me, Keir! Fight and die!”