Yers nodded, interrupting his sip of kavage. “It might take them a few minutes,” he explained. “Sal wanted to make sure that the Xyian supplies were well covered against the damp. And that Xyian healer was having some trouble with a leak in what he calls a ‘still tent’. Made quite the fuss.”
“How is Healer Hanstau?” Simus asked. “I have not seen much of him the last few days.”
“Because Haya claimed him,” Joden spoke up, approaching to take a seat off to the side, mug in hand. “She’s been having him help with the children, and demanding he explain his healing secrets to her.” Joden sat down. “Which is fairly amusing, since his command of our language is not strong, and Haya speaks no Xyian. Cadr has been kept busy, trying to explain one to the other.”
Simus chuckled, but looked at his friend with a careful eye. Something was off, something he’d not noticed before. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but something troubled Joden. Perhaps he’d approached Essa to become Singer? Simus caught Joden’s eye, and raised an eyebrow.
Joden shrugged, and dropped his gaze to his kavage.
Well, whatever it was, it would have to wait until after the senel. The last of his staff had entered, and were doffing their cloaks. Simus caught Snowfall’s eye and gave her the nod.
Snowfall waited until all were seated, then moved to stand before the wooden platform where Simus sat, and lifted his token high. “Rise and hail Simus of the Hawk, Warlord of the Tribes.”
All the warriors rose, and heads were bowed.
Simus smiled at them all as Snowfall placed his token before him on the platform. “My thanks, warriors. Please be seated. I have called this senel to discuss our status and preparations and avoid having to stomp through the rain to ask the things I must know.”
Laughter filled the tent, with nods of agreement all around.
“So let us start with our status. Yers, what say you?” Simus asked.
“The Tenths have organized well, and I am satisfied with their numbers and placement of warriors under their command,” Yers began. “While recruitment has slowed, the numbers are more than we had planned.”
Simus listened well as Yers spoke. He’d noted the slowing of new warriors pledging their swords over the last few days, but that was normal. Warriors were making their final choices. The Trials were fast approaching their end.
“Our supplies are good,” Sal said. “The Xyian caravan filled any gaps. We’ll use this day for making arrows and lances. We’ll fill all the quivers we have, and stockpile more. We also found strips of bells and cymbals buried deep in one of the last packs. Whose idea was that?”
“Mine,” Simus laughed. “For the dancing. If the rain clears, we’ll make such a noise tonight as to set the other camps as jealous as the winds.”
“In truth, Warlord, the army is ready,” Yers said. “All waits on your confirmation.”
“To the news then,” Simus said with a nod. “How go the other challenges?”
“Osa and Ultie are firmly in place,” Tsor told him.
“No surprise there,” Simus said.
“Zioa was knocked out of the running by Wyrik,” Tsor added.
“We might be able to recruit her,” Yers said. “If we offered her a Tenth position.”
“Once her temper cools,” Sal said wryly.
A stir at the back of the tent, and Haya and Seo walked in. Snowfall greeted them, gesturing toward the front of the tent.
“What of Nires of the Boar?” Simus asked.
“Still a candidate for Warlord,” Yers said firmly. “As are Ietha and Loual. I have been talking to Rhet, but she will not commit one way or the other.” Yers shrugged. “I think she thinks that the issue need not be dealt with here, but in the Council held after the Season of War.”
Haya and Seo wove their way through the group to seat themselves beside Joden.
“So Eldest Elder Essa may be close to the calling of the Council,” Simus said.
“If one can be formed,” Haya spoke up. She took a mug of kavage from Snowfall with a nod of thanks. Seo settled in beside her on a gurtle pad, and accepted his own mug.
“Elder Haya, Weaponsmaster Seo, welcome to the senel,” Simus said. “I hear you are learning from Healer Hanstau.”
“That man spoils children rotten. All soft and kind words over every scrape and cut,” Haya grumbled. “Still, he has skills we do not have, and I would learn them.” She rolled her eyes. “Would that he learned our language as quickly as the Warprize.”
“I’d ask a question about that,” Yers said. “Should we consider sending another messenger to Keir? Perhaps—”
Another commotion at the tent flap. Simus looked to see that Snowfall was talking to someone outside in low tones.
“Snowfall?” he called out.
Snowfall turned, and it seemed her eyes were just a bit wider than normal. “Warlord,
Eldest Elder Essa demands to speak to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Simus gave a nod. He and his warriors rose to their feet as one.
Snowfall pulled back the tent flap, and Essa swept in with his warrior escort. He threw back his black cloak to display silken trous and a tunic in vibrant hues of red and black. This was the Eldest Elder Singer Simus remembered of old; Essa appeared to have regained his confidence and balance. But Simus also noted the sword and dagger at his side, and that his escort was double the usual number. Quartis the Singer was in their midst.
Simus knelt and his warriors followed his lead. “We welcome you to my tent, Eldest Elder Singer,” Simus said.
“You honor me,” Essa said, his voice rich and strong. He walked forward, and four warriors followed him within. “Rise, please, all of you.”
Simus rose, and vacated his seat, gesturing for Essa to sit in his place. He stepped down off the platform to join the others, and they all seated themselves before the Eldest Elder.
Essa settled himself on the seat, his escort arranged around him, and waved off kavage. “Simus of the Hawk, as candidate for Warlord, I bring you word that I have called for the Gathering of the Council at the Heart of the Plains. The Council tent will be raised over the Heart. On that day, present yourself and ten of your strongest to aid the Council in this matter.”
Simus’s heart swelled, and started beating faster. It was here, finally, finally here. “My thanks, Eldest Elder. My warriors and I will present ourselves as you require.”
“Excellent,” Essa said.
Simus bowed his head.
There was a rustling, and then Elder Haya rose to her feet. “Eldest Elder Essa, I would ask for your token,” she said, her face wrinkled in a frown.
“Elder Thea Haya.” Essa gave her a nod of his head. One of his warriors produced a leather strip adorned with copper wires and small bells that gleamed in the light. The warrior handed it to Haya with a bow.
“You hold my token,” Essa said. “What truths would you interrupt me with?”
Simus exchanged a glance with Joden. That was not the tone one used to address an Elder.
Haya was not put off. She gave Essa a frown. “I do not understand how you can summon a Council—”
“As I do not understand the presence of your camp here during the Trials,” Essa said smoothly.
Haya continued. “The Spring Council is for Warriors, Singers, and Warrior-Priests. Wild Winds is not here—”
“He will be,” Essa said firmly.
“There is no Eldest Elder Warrior,” Haya pointed out. “After the Sundering last Fall.”
“There will be,” Essa responded. “One will be selected.”
“And last of my truths,” Haya said, her tone defiant. “The Eldest Elder Thea always attends the Spring Council, the sole voice of the theas. Reness is the Eldest Elder Thea. And Reness is not here nor has she sent word of her intent.”
“Then I would expect that you, as the only thea within the camp, to step into her place,” Essa said, raising an eyebrow. “As is traditional and appropriate and ne
cessary.”
Haya’s mouth closed with a snap.
Simus would have laughed at her expression, but he had better sense. Weaponsmaster Seo had no such restraint, chuckling out loud.
“I thank you for your truths, Elder Haya,” Essa said. “If there is nothing further?”
Haya returned the token to the warrior, and sat down. Simus saw Seo poke her in the ribs and whisper something in her ear. Simus looked away, careful to control his own face.
Essa was not finished. “Tonight, if the rains clear, the drums will call all warriors to the Heart for the dancing. We shall gather as one before we divide into the armies of the Plains. Organize your watches accordingly.”
“Heyla,” Simus said, and clapped his hand on Yers’s shoulder. Yers grinned, and all the warriors around them exchanged smiles and laughter. Soon, the Trials would be at an end. Essa held up a hand, and the warriors went silent. “This ends my words for now,” he said. “But I would have further words with you, Simus of the Hawk. Under the bells.”
“Of course,” Simus said, and rose to his feet as he turned to face the group. “This senel is at an end,” he said, and the warriors arose, talking amongst themselves. “Yers,” Simus said, turning to his Second. “Stay and—”
“No,” Essa said from behind him.
Yers’s eyes widened. Simus went silent and looked back at the Eldest Elder.
“Clear the tent,” Essa said calmly. “Of all except for your Token-bearer and yourself.” Essa turned to look off to the side where Joden hovered, looking almost wary. “And you, Joden of the Hawk.” Essa pointed to one of the gurtle pads directly in front of him. “Sit.”
Joden obeyed and sat.
Yers gave Simus a worried look, but herded the other warriors out. Snowfall moved to close the flap, but Essa stopped her.
“My warriors will see to the bells. Sit.” Essa looked up at Simus. “You too,” he said.
Simus sat next to Joden, and Snowfall sat next to him. “This is my tent,” Simus said mildly, keeping his anger in check.
“Truth,” Essa said. He watched as his escort secured the tent flap, and wove bells into the ties. “But there are some truths that I wish to tell that are best not shared with all.” He raised an eyebrow, and fixed Joden with an imperious look. “You have been avoiding me,” he said.
Joden blinked and shook his head. “No, Eldest Elder. I was just waiting for the best time to—”
“A Singer must be impartial in all things,” Essa said, overriding Joden’s explanation. “A Singer’s word is above suspicion of any influence or taint. You understand this?”
“Yes, Eldest Elder.”
“Have you offered Simus your sword?” Essa demanded.
“No,” Joden exclaimed, startled.
“At least you have that much sense,” Essa said. “You would be a Singer?”
“Yes.” Joden sat up straighter.
“And yet you are housed in Simus’s tent, and fed by his people,” Essa scoffed. “If you are to enter the Singer Trials, you must do better, Joden of the Hawk. Gather your gear. You will leave this tent with me, and you will not return.”
Simus exchanged a startled glance with his friend, and then opened his mouth to protest. “Eldest Elder—”
Essa held up a hand to forestall him. “No. Joden, go.”
Joden rose and headed to his sleeping area.
Simus made to speak again, but Essa shook his head and they sat in awkward silence until Joden emerged with his gear and left with one of Essa’s warriors.
“Quartis, escort Joden to my tent. The rest of my warriors will wait outside,” Essa commanded.
Simus watched as they departed, thinking to catch Joden’s eye, wish him well if only with a nod. But his friend kept his head down as he and Quartis left, leaving only himself, Essa, and Snowfall in the tent. The tent flap was closed from the outside, and Simus heard the chiming of bells as it was secured.
Essa spoke. “It’s for the best, Simus. He must walk his own path. Worry more about yours.”
Simus kept still, feeling the loss of his friend. It felt wrong, to have him taken so quickly. But Joden had dreamed of being a Singer for as long as Simus had known him, and he would not stand in his way. Still...
He glanced over his shoulder. “What harm in a simple farewell?”
Essa ignored him. “Snowfall,” he said. “Has there been any message from Wild Winds?”
Snowfall looked at Simus.
Simus scowled at Essa. “None. And if there had been, I’d have sent you word.”
Essa gave an exaggerated sigh. “Not that kind of message.”
“Oh,” Simus said, and looked at Snowfall.
Snowfall dropped her eyes. “I am no longer in Wild Winds service, Eldest Elder.”
“What does that matter?” Essa said.
“I have given my word to my Warlord to not use any gifts without permission.”
“You know about this?” Simus blurted out to Essa. “That she can speak to those far off?”
“Yes, of course,” Essa said. “And the price they pay for it.”
Simus glanced at Snowfall. “The risk you mentioned.”
“As I explained, Warlord,” Snowfall said with an apology in her voice. “There are limits. And risks. Wild Winds warned me not to—”
“But you must,” Essa interrupted. “It is urgent that I speak with him.” Essa took a deep breath, and for the first time Simus saw worry in his eyes. “He must be here in time for the summoning of the Council, or the Council may splinter again. There must be an Eldest Elder of the Warrior-Priests present.”
Snowfall sat silent, her hands in her lap.
Simus considered. “There is sense to your argument, but I am concerned about the risk to Snowfall.”
Essa raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Simus frowned, thinking it through.
“Well?” Essa demanded impatiently.
Essa was right; Wild Winds needed to attend. “Do it,” Simus commanded. “But if you sense that another hears, then end it. Understood?”
Snowfall’s gaze lifted to his, her grey eyes wide. She nodded. “I need a few things for the casting,” she warned.
“Get them,” Simus said.
“We will wait,” Essa agreed.
Snowfall got to her feet and disappeared within the depths of the command tent.
Essa settled back on his seat with a satisfied sigh.
Simus could not bear to sit still. He rose and started to pace before the platform. “Such a thing,” he said. “Such a thing would have made such a difference. If they had shared this knowledge. If you had shared this knowledge.”
“Remember that power did not flow so freely to them before,” Essa said. “And when have any of us ever shared all of our secrets with the other? Each Tribe, each role, has its secrets.”
“That needs to end,” Simus growled, thinking as he walked. More importantly, Keir needed to know. If others had this power—
“I doubt Antas has any knowledge,” Essa said, as if following his thought. “Who would share this with him? All of the warrior-priests are dead. And the few that survived are apprentices and they travel with Wild Winds.”
“They shared this with you,” Simus pointed out.
Essa shifted on his seat. “Eldest Elder Wild Winds shared this with me, when I became Eldest Elder Singer. And he and I were tentmates before he became as he is. As he was.” The older man rubbed his hand over his face, and Simus saw the weariness there. “Accuse us all you wish, Simus. That was then. This is now.”
A soft step and Snowfall appeared from the cooking area with a large flat copper bowl and a pitcher.
“Is that all you need?” Simus asked as she set the bowl on the platform, placing it before Essa. “I was expecting, I don’t know, flames or smoke, or maybe a sacrificed gurtle.”
The corner of Snowfall’s eyes crinkled in amusement for just a moment. “If you wish, Warlord,” she said, all seriousness, “I could
go and get an animal.”
Essa all but rolled his eyes at both of them. “If you don’t mind,” he said impatiently.
Snowfall knelt by the platform, and poured clear water into the bowl. “It will only be his face that appears, Eldest Elder. A larger image usually takes more warrior-priests, and much more effort.” She looked at both of them. “Do not disturb the bowl or the water,” she warned.
“How quickly can you find him?” Simus knelt as well, settling well back on his heels.
“That depends,” Snowfall said, “on where his attention is, what he is doing.”
“Best be about it,” Essa growled.
Snowfall nodded in obedience and closed her eyes. She took a long deep breath, as if steadying herself, and then started to chant.
The words were odd, and not of the Plains. Simus frowned as he watched her. For just sitting and chanting there was a strain in Snowfall’s face. He was disappointed. He’d been expecting fire and smoke and that purple cloud the warrior-priests usually invoked when working their so-called magics. Yet here was Snowfall doing real magic, and it seemed dull. Almost boring.
Essa was ignoring both of them, staring down into the bowl.
It took a moment for Simus to realize that something had changed. The bowl—no the water—was glowing, golden and soft. Snowfall’s voice had a smooth cadence, and now she too appeared to glow, the golden light highlighting the beauty of her brown skin. This close he could see her dark lashes, admire the beauty of her heart-shaped face. She was so very—
“Wild Winds,” Snowfall called softly. “I seek Wild Winds.”
The air around them seemed to shift, blowing the rain hard against the tent sides. The tent grew darker, and Simus swore the fires in the braziers crackled with malice, as if jealous of the power that stirred within.
“Wild Winds,” she repeated, and the hair rose on the back of Simus’s neck.
The light in the bowl flickered, and Wild Winds’s face appeared, looking startled and wary. Until his gaze fell on Snowfall. Then his face, covered in the traditional tattoos of a full warrior-priest, broke into a wide smile. Simus blinked to see it.
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