WarDance

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  At a price.

  He lay there, letting it all sink in. Wyrik’s treachery. Yers’s betrayal.

  Wyrik, he dismissed. That warrior had found his own death. But Yers...that struck deeper. Simus wondered if there had been anything he could have done to convince Yers otherwise.

  Perhaps, and for that he regretted events deeply. But Yers had chosen a public display to rescind, and had then chosen to challenge, making his truths known. And that, Simus had to answer.

  Relief swept through him. He’d survived the Trials. Now to face the Council and deal with the weapons they would wield.

  With a laugh, he swept back the blankets, relishing the cool air on warm skin and—

  —drew a sharp breath as his body reminded him of another truth.

  He groaned and grit his teeth against the pain. Stiff and sore, the price of fighting so many over the course of a day.

  Still, the worst was in the waking, and the sooner he forced himself up and moved, the quicker the pain would leave him. But the first movements were the worst.

  He got to his feet with another groan, and started stretching, trying to work every muscle to ease the ache deep within. He could hear Snowfall moving about in the main tent, so there’d be kavage, and breakfast soon enough. His stomach rumbled at the thought. He reached for his clothing as the flap was pulled back.

  “Morning,” he said as he pulled on his tunic.

  “Good morning, Warlord.”

  Simus jerked his head around.

  Elois stood there, tray of gurt and kavage in hand.

  Chapter Thirty

  If Elois were to be honest, she rather enjoyed the stunned look on her Warlord’s face.

  “Where is my Token-bearer?” Simus’s dark skin furrowed into a deep frown.

  “I am the current candidate for your Token-bearer,” Elois said. She couldn’t keep her satisfaction from her voice, and didn’t bother trying. “I challenged and defeated Snowfall in the dying light of the evening sun.” She held up the pitcher. “Kavage, Warlord?”

  Simus ignored her offering. “Why wasn’t I told?” He was still frowning as he reached for his trous.

  “Elder Haya forbade it,” Elois said. “She said you were not to be woken.”

  Simus finished pulling on his trous and stomped into his boots. “Where is she?”

  “Elder Haya?” Elois couldn’t resist asking.

  “Snowfall,” came the growl as Simus finished dressing.

  Elois dropped her eyes and her teasing tone. “I do not know, Warlord,” she said. “She showed me how your tent was set up, told me you like your kavage strong, and left with her gear.” Elois raised her eyes then and gave him a narrow look. “As is the way of challenges, yes?”

  “Yes.” Simus belted on his weapons.

  Good, he wasn’t going to be difficult. One never knew with Warlords. “Tsor says to tell you that Yers is with the healer,” Elois said. “Yers is well enough, although he has not yet woken. The Council tent will be raised today, and Eldest Elder Essa has sent word that warriors should—”

  She kept talking, even though she knew he wasn’t really listening. He was distracted, clearly.

  “You need to eat something,” Elois finally gave up. “Since you aren’t hearing anything I say.”

  “Uh,” Simus said. He took the mug she thrust in his face. He looked down at it like he’d never seen it before. “I need...I have to find...” Simus drew in a deep breath. “Do you think I am bewitched?” he demanded.

  Elois looked at him seriously. “No, Warlord,” she replied. “But it is better for you and the army you lead that she is not Token-bearer. I am the better choice.”

  The stunned look vanished from the Warlord’s eyes, replaced by a flash of heat. “That choice is mine to make,” he growled, raising the mug and draining it in a gulp.

  Elois lowered her eyes and bowed her head. “Yes, Warlord.”

  “Have Tsor gather the necessary warriors for the tent raising,” Simus commanded, taking a handful of gurt from the bowl. “I will return shortly.”

  “Yes, Warlord.” Elois watched as the tent flap fell closed behind him. Only then did she let herself grin.

  Tsor stuck his head in the tent. “The Warlord is headed for Essa’s tent.”

  “Eldest Elder Essa’s tent,” Elois scolded. “If you would be Second, best you use his title at all times.”

  “I will.” Tsor stepped in, eyeing the tray in her hands. “Is that kavage?”

  Elois nodded. “We may as well eat. I doubt he will be back soon. He seeks Snowfall.”

  “Not a surprise.” Tsor helped himself to the gurt, and let her pour him a mug of kavage. “Yers was wrong,” he said, his mouth full. “I agree with Simus that he needs to take the chances the winds send his way. Better to have her with us than not. Warlord Keir would be the first to understand that.”

  “I hope so,” Elois sighed. “But I agree with you. Warlord Simus is one I can support.”

  “That warrior-priestess challenges him,” Tsor smirked. “The first I’ve seen to resist his charms. He is not bewitched.”

  “Oh, he is bewitched,” Elois laughed. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “I don’t think you appreciate how difficult this will be.” Eldest Elder Essa made a fine sight in his silk robes as he paced back and forth in the confines of his tent. Wild Winds took a moment to appreciate the sight as he scooped a bit more of the spiced gurtle into his flatbread and started eating.

  “I am Eldest Elder Singer, but not all will heed my words.” Essa was glaring at the floor, talking with his hands. “They will also listen to the likes of Ietha, or take a neutral path until forced to decide otherwise. Yet the Warlords must be chosen, the armies must raid as they always have. Our truths may be enough to carry the day, but what of Nires? And where is Reness?”

  To Wild Winds’s mind, silence seemed the best response.

  “You took a risk, coming without escort. If you had gotten here earlier...” Essa turned, and his robes flared around him dramatically.

  The spiced meat burned Wild Winds’s tongue and he grunted in appreciation. He hid his smile from Essa with a quick sip of kavage. Essa continued to scold. He waited for a break in the flow of abuse to venture a word. “I got here as soon as I could.”

  “You and I are the only Eldest Elders—”

  “I am no longer Eldest Elder,” Wild Winds pointed out.

  “Stop that,” Essa scowled. “The Elders are gathering, true enough, but I am uncertain that Nires of the Boar will agree to remain as the Eldest Elder Warrior. And Reness is nowhere to be found. For all I know, she is still in Xy, seeing to the Warprize.”

  Wild Winds raised an eyebrow. It was not like Essa to repeat himself.

  Essa stopped pacing and scowled at Wilds Winds. “Hurry up with that. The warriors will be waiting, and the tent must be raised.”

  As grateful as he was for Essa’s hospitality, Wild Winds wasn’t about to rush. His friend needed to work off some of that worry before he dealt with the day.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked Essa.

  The man shook his head as he paced. “Not hungry.”

  “It would be well if you ate something,” Wild Winds suggested.

  “I don’t see how we can—” Essa broke off at the sound of a commotion outside the tent. “What now?”

  Essa’s guards were arguing with someone. “Eldest Elder,” one of the guards called. “Simus of the Hawk would speak with—”

  “WILD WINDS,” came a roar from outside the tent.

  “Let him in,” Essa called and with that the tent flap blew open as if the winds themselves demanded entrance.

  Simus of the Hawk stood there, chest heaving, eyes flashing. “Where is she?”

  Wild Winds raised an eyebrow and took another bite.

  “Where is who?” Essa asked, clearly irritated. “Having survived your Trials, shouldn’t you be gathering your warriors for the raising of the tent?”

  S
imus only had eyes for Wild Winds, and his glare was dagger-sharp. He took a step closer, to tower over him. “Where is she?”

  Wild Winds took a drink of kavage, and raised an eyebrow at the warrior. “Who?”

  “Snowfall,” Simus grated out. “She lost a challenge as Token-bearer. Where is she?”

  Wild Winds studied the tall, dark man before him, breathing fast and clearly agitated.

  Interesting.

  “I do not know,” he said calmly. “Why would you expect to find her here?”

  “You were her mentor,” Simus said. “She would—”

  “Did she not swear her sword-oath to you?” Wild Winds asked.

  “Yes, but—”

  “And when a warrior swears a sword-oath, and loses a challenge, that warrior is still oath bound to your service, yes?” Wild Winds asked.

  “Yes, but—”

  “You have not released her from her oath, yes?” Wild Winds said.

  “Yes. No.” Simus stumbled through his words. “I mean that I have not released—”

  “Then her proper place is in your army, serving the duties of a warrior,” Wild Winds said. “Yes?”

  Simus looked stunned. “Yes.”

  “Then why would you think to find her here?”

  Simus stared at him, blinked, spun on his heel and left the tent.

  “Were we ever that young and stupid?” Essa mused.

  “You are not so old that you have forgotten those feelings,” Wild Winds chuckled, and reached for the bowl of gurt.

  “Aren’t you done eating yet?” Essa huffed out a sigh and sat on the gurtle pad next to Wild Winds. He reached for the flatbread and spiced meat. “Still, I expected him to ask after Joden.”

  “Ah.” Wild Winds smiled as he poured them both more kavage. “I think his mind is on other things.”

  “What kind of sloppy sword-work is that,” Destal bellowed at the two warriors sparring before her. “Ouse, keep your blade up. Lander, don’t just wave your dagger around like a stick. It has a point. Use it.”

  Both young warriors were circling each other, swords and daggers at the ready. Destal snorted at that idea of ‘ready’. Both of them fresh from the thea camps and it showed. She’d have to give them other partners. They might be free to share bodies and tents, but not bad habits. They’d improve if they had to fight others.

  She caught a glimpse of the Warlord coming, stomping through the tents, looking riled up and irritated. Elements, but he looked to be in a mood, a rare thing for her Warlord.

  “Where is Snowfall?” the Warlord demanded.

  Ouse and Lander had stopped their sparring, staring at the Warlord.

  “Here now,” Destal commanded. “Who told you to stop?” When the young ones resumed their clash she continued. “She’s been assigned duties, as any young warrior would be.”

  “What duties?” The Warlord was looking about, clearly seeking the warrior out.

  “Collecting fuel for the fires,” Destal said, and didn’t blink when the Warlord flashed her a glare. “As all young warriors do,” she reminded him. “I’ll give her this much, there was no complaint out of her.”

  “Where?” came the growl.

  “At the farthest edge of the gurtle and horse herds, behind the thea tents,” Destal said. “You’ll need a horse.” She looked over to where a group of older warriors were preparing for their scouting run. One had a horse ready, saddled and equipped with lances. “Here, Amer,” she called. “Give the Warlord your horse.”

  Amer came and handed over the reins. The Warlord mounted. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, and started off at a trot.

  Destal waited until he was out of earshot. “Might want to get another saddle out of supplies, Amer.”

  “You think he might be a while?” Amer asked, shading his eyes to watch the Warlord gallop off.

  “Aye,” Destal said. “I’m thinking he might.”

  The horse was fast; Simus urged it to go faster.

  She’d be at the edge of the herds, more than like, well beyond the thea tents. If he circled the thea camp, he was sure to see her. The idea that he might not had his heart beating faster in his chest.

  The morning sun inched up, the air cool and still. The herds were quiet, the horses concentrating on grazing, occasionally lifting their heads to watch him ride past. Another rise and he spotted the first of the gurtle herds, grazing steadily toward him.

  He pulled his horse to a stop, patting its neck as it huffed at him, restive and ready to go. He scanned the area looking for any signs of humans.

  “Muwapp.”

  Simus turned his head to see a gurtle coming closer. Mounted on its back was a young girl, her hair pulled back and high on her head. He recognized her at once.

  “Greetings, Warlord.” The young one pulled the gurtle to a halt a respectful distance away, and bowed her head to him. She was wearing leathers, and had a new wooden dagger and sword at her belt. She also had a small horn on a cord, which meant she was in charge of her herding group.

  “Pive.” Simus gave her a nod. “I see you have won back your weapons.”

  Pive straightened, clearly pleased. But her face remained serious. “Yes, Warlord. May I be of service to you?”

  Her gurtle started to graze, looking for the best grass.

  “Have you seen a warrior collecting fuel?” Simus asked. “She has tattoos on her shoulders—”

  “Yes,” Pive said, nodding. “We are keeping close watch on her. She is a warrior-priestess and not to be trusted.”

  Simus drew a breath, looking into the child’s eyes. A child only repeating what she had been told.

  “This one can be trusted,” Simus said. “Take me to her.”

  “As you wish, Warlord,” Pive said, tugging on the reins of her gurtle, and turning it back toward the herd. “Hup, hup” she told her mount.

  “MUWAAAAP,” the gurtle protested, but did as it was bid.

  Pive plunged into the herd, and the other gurtles moved aside, protesting as they shifted to one side or another. Simus nudged his horse to follow.

  Pive angled off, toward another rise. There were other children scattered about, watching over the herds. Not that gurtles took much tending, but it was a common task given to younger children who had not earned their first metal weapons. Simus could remember his days of gurtle tending, not to mention the gathering of fuel for the fires.

  They topped the rise, and Simus spotted her, surrounded by a ‘guard’ of children. Her horse grazed nearby, with just a plain saddle, and straps for carrying baskets.

  The tightness in Simus’s chest eased. “My thanks,” he said to Pive and urged his horse forward at a faster pace, causing the gurtles to raise a storm of protest.

  Simus saw Snowfall raise her head at the sound. She watched as he approached, her face blank and expressionless.

  She watched as Simus urged his horse down the rise and headed toward her.

  Her heart sped up, and she lowered her gaze to the basket in her hands.

  She’d doubted he’d come. After all, she’d lost the challenge. Her duties were now no more than an ordinary warrior’s. His was the role of the Warlord. He should be gathering his warriors and aiding to raise the Council tent this morning, as Essa had commanded.

  But her heart had dared hope.

  And now that he was here, she found herself torn between joy and a terrible trembling in her bones. It felt as if she had always known that Simus of the Hawk’s loyalty, once given, was absolute. But she didn’t understand where that knowledge came from. That trust. It thrilled and frightened at the same time.

  But her heart ached for the one truth she knew well. She’d failed him. She could still serve, but not at his side, as she’d come to wish.

  How to face him? How to admit—

  But there was no delay, no escape. His horse pounded up, and she lifted her eyes to meet his.

  Simus galloped close, and then slid from his saddle. “Snowfall,” he said, and didn’t try
to hide his relief.

  “Warlord,” Snowfall said, nodding her head.

  “I needed to find you.” Simus stepped closer. “To see—”

  “I lost,” Snowfall said abruptly.

  “I know,” Simus said. “Where did she score on you?”

  Snowfall touched her left cheek.

  Simus stepped closer again to look.

  “She’s good,” Snowfall said, but there was a hint of grudge in her respect.

  “There’s no scar.” Simus made it a question.

  “I used bloodmoss,” Snowfall said. She looked at him closely. “You are well?”

  “Well enough,” Simus said. He took a deep breath. “I had to come find you,” he heard himself babble. “To see if...” Simus stopped himself.

  “Well, you have found me.” Snowfall gestured to the baskets of dried dung that surrounded her. “At my duties.”

  “We are watching her,” Pive piped up. She trotted closer to the two of them. “We told her she has to find the driest bits for a good fire.”

  Snowfall’s mouth quirked ever so slightly. “Yes, they did,” she said.

  Simus just stared at Snowfall.

  The sun was higher now, and for some reason Simus could see clearly. Clearer. Snowfall was all the more beautiful, standing before him, surrounded by baskets of dried dung.

  Her eyes were clear and quiet, but he could read her shame. Her curls danced in the light, framing her face.

  The pounding in his heart, the need within his soul...by all the elements above and below, he finally saw the truth.

  It wasn’t just her beauty, it was her, all of her, that he wanted. Needed. Her strength, her courage, her—

  Snowfall tilted her head. “Shouldn’t you be at the raising of the Council tent?”

  Joy filled his mind and heart. Simus started to laugh, at himself, at the skies, at his own stupidity, laughing until the horses, the children, the gurtles were all staring at him with concern.

  “Warlord?” Snowfall asked slowly, as they all, the horses, the children, the gurtles, all stared at him like his wits had been taken by the winds.