Warsworn

  Iften was taken aback as well. He looked at Prest, and then looked away, as if ashamed. “I will listen.”

  “Your arm is still badly swollen and the flesh is discolored. Your hand and fingers are numb, and it hurts to move them. There is no strength in the arm.”

  Iften eyed me, but made no response.

  “If you don’t let me set it, you may heal, but you will not heal true. You may lose all use of your hand, or never regain the strength in it again.” I paused. “It is your sword arm.”

  He responded then, glowering in my direction.

  “If you allow me to care for it, the chances are good that the arm will heal true. If you wait to see a warrior-priest, the damage maybe too great for them to fix.”

  “You’d cast your spells, eh, Warprize.” He mocked me.

  “I cast no spells, Iften. I have only the skills and knowledge of my craft. The rest is in the hands of the Goddess. Or the elements.”

  There was a long pause, and for a moment I held the hope that he would agree. But his face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. I’d lost.

  He spat out his fury. “I’ve listened, and the wind has brought me nothing. Leave.”

  “Fool,” Prest said.

  Without a thought, Iften reached for his weapon, but the pain caught him even faster as the arm began to move. He hissed, drawing the limb back against his chest.

  I turned and left without another word. As we emerged and headed toward Keir’s tent, I questioned Prest. “What was that?”

  He smiled, the wind catching his braids. “A teaching tool.”

  “For children.” Rafe shook his head. “For a quiet man, you can sure make someone froth at the mouth.”

  Prest grinned.

  Rafe turned back to me. “It goes like this, Warprize.

  The wind will teach us—if we but listen.

  The stars will guide us—if we but look up.

  The waters will cool us—if we but seek it.

  The fire will warm us—if we are wary.

  Remember this, Child of the Plains.

  I nodded, then looked over at Prest. “You insulted him.”

  Prest shrugged, but there was no grin this time. “How long, Warprize?”

  “Before he loses the use?” At his nod, I continued. “It depends on the swelling. But the damage will be permanent if he doesn’t get it seen to within the next week or so. And even then, I might have to re-break the bone.”

  Prest grunted, but he looked oddly satisfied.

  The combats proved to be both unsettling and exciting.

  Unsettling because these warriors went at it tooth and nail, with bare steel and grim faces. I was used to watching practice sessions, but that didn’t prepare me for naked combat. True, they were to first blood, but they took the fighting deadly seriously. Each combat had a judge, usually one of the warleaders, or Keir himself.

  Exciting because each combat had warriors watching, warriors who yelled out their support, their criticisms and encouragement. More mob than audience. The first one or two, I had sat there in fear, waiting for one to kill the other. But Isdra pointed out the level of skill that the warriors were using, and Yers explained that it was considered disgraceful to kill someone in these types of fights. So I started to relax. The noise was startling but the fever was catching, and I found myself yelling as well. Keir, laughing at my enthusiasm, had reminded me that it would be best if I showed no favoritism. It was hard to sit there and watch without really participating, so I spent more time in my stilltent. Because the combats accomplished more than just determining a winner: They also had warriors seeking me out for aid. The last one for today was standing before me, holding his right arm in his left hand.

  “That looks deep.” I reached for his arm, to see it better. The blood was oozing through his leather armor. It looked clean, thank the Goddess, and I looked up to offer reassurance.

  Large brown eyes stared at me glumly through fairly long brown hair. “I made it through four rounds, Warprize, but Ander’s blow went right through the leather.”

  If he was twenty, I’d be surprised. A warrior, and his disappointment was obvious. I turned the arm carefully, to look at it closer. “A nasty cut. Sit here, and let me see to it.”

  The lad shifted from foot to foot before sitting down rather slowly. I called to Rafe, standing guard outside, then turned back to my patient. “What is your name?”

  “Cadr, Warprize.”

  With Rafe’s help, we eased the young man out of his armor. Rafe whistled when he saw the cut through the leather. “Who was your opponent?”

  “Ander.”

  Rafe nodded. “He’s a strong one. How many rounds did you make it through?”

  The lad looked up. “Four, Warrior.”

  “Well done, to make it that far.” Rafe gave me a nod, and went back out to his post.

  The lad straightened at Rafe’s parting words. I started to clean the arm, although it wasn’t all that dirty.

  “Gonna use bloodmoss?”

  Startled, I look at him. “Why, yes, I think so.”

  He nodded. “Gils told me. Told me that the wound had to be clean.” He gave the wound a critical look. “Looks clean.”

  “You knew Gils?”

  He nodded, and used his good hand to open a pouch at his side. He pulled out a small package of bloodmoss, wrapped carefully in a clean cloth. “Gils and I were friends, Warprize.” His face was stoic, but I could hear the pain in his voice. “I wanted to take his place as your guard.”

  “Gils wasn’t my guard, Cadr. Gils was my apprentice.” I choked a bit on the words.

  “Guardian of your knowledge.” Cadr answered quietly.

  I reached for the dried leaves as I blinked back my tears. Cadr watched in silence as I packed the arm carefully, pressing it tight to the wound. The familiar moldy smell filled my nose as the plant did its work. As soon as the color changed, I pulled the leaves away to reveal the pink skin beneath it. “Favor the arm for a day, Cadr.”

  “I will.” He adjusted his seat as he struggled into his tunic with my help. “Warprize, what Gils told me was interesting, and I’d like to learn more. Not sure I want to give up being a warrior . . .”

  I looked at him and smiled. “If you want to learn more, that’s fine. Come when you have time, and I’ll be glad to teach you some useful things.”

  Cadr nodded, picked up his other bits of armor and turned to leave. But a memory came to me, something Gils had said. “Cadr?”

  He turned, with an enquiring look.

  “Didn’t Gils tell me that you had a boil?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “I tried to deal with it myself, Warprize. Thought you’d be angry. But it’s back, and bigger, and hurting.”

  “Drop your pants, young man.” I moved to get my lances, a sense of quiet joy in my heart. Here was something I could cure. “I’ll explain about boils while we take care of this problem.”

  Cadr sighed, and dropped his pants.

  After dealing with Cadr’s problem, I returned to the command tent. Keir was still out, but Marcus had promised to have four buckets of hot water waiting, with my soaps laid out for me, and drying cloths. Keir’s people may be comfortable bathing together naked in the river but not me. While a hot bath might be out of the question, using the drain in the privy room to shower myself with warm water was the next best thing.

  Rafe and Prest took up position by the tent entrance. Marcus was waiting inside. “Everything is laid out, Warprize. If you need help with the water, call.”

  “I will.” I turned and glared at my guards. “No interruptions.”

  “Even the Warlord?” Prest asked with a sly grin.

  “The Warlord may enter.” Actually, I was hoping the Warlord would enter. I’d not seen him most of the day. “No one else, unless they are ill.”

  “As the Warprize commands.” Prest bowed, as Rafe and Marcus chuckled.

  Once in the privy, I checked the water temperature, set my bag on
a bench and started to undress. I did miss the hot baths under the castle of Water’s Fall. Soaking in their warm depths was a luxury that I had taken for granted. But given the living conditions in this camp, I was grateful for what I had. Remembering the temperature of the water in the lake made me shiver.

  I took my time, hoping that Keir might appear. I removed my tunic, combed out my braid, and eased my trous off. As I bent down, it seemed to me that my waist was a bit thicker than I remembered. Of course, Marcus had been feeding me on a regular basis but—

  I paused, thinking back. When had I last had my courses?

  The last I’d thought of it had been the day when Keir and I had eaten by the lake. I flushed at the memory of our tryst. We’d taken advantage of the sun and the water and the privacy. I’d been due then, and here I was, weeks later, with no sign of them. Admittedly, I’d been sick, which could cause a delay, but still . . .

  Could I be pregnant?

  I sat and stared at the tent wall for some time, thinking about it, trying to decide how I felt about the possibility. I didn’t feel like I was bearing, not that I had any actual experience. But I knew the symptoms as well as any other healer, and I wasn’t feeling anything along those lines. No swelling of the lower limbs, no nausea.

  I thought of how Keir had played with little Meara, how the other warriors had treated the babe as gently as any Xyian. The news would bring great joy, but troubles too. The Council of Xy had made demands, conditions on my acceptance of the role of Warprize. I hadn’t talked to Keir about them yet. It wasn’t an issue until I was pregnant and the child was due.

  Which was a falsehood on my part. I worried my lip, thinking. How do I tell him what I’d promised? Before I’d seen him with a babe, I’d thought that children meant little to these people. After all, they bore children, they left them to be raised by theas, going off to serve in the army. But then they’d shown that they treasure children much as my people do, maybe even more.

  I drew a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I’d tell him when I was with child, not before. Isdra would know, she’d borne before. I could confide in her, but even as I had the thought I knew I wouldn’t. It was too soon, and I had no desire to add to her pain, or worse, give her a false hope. I’d share the news when I was certain, not before.

  Time would tell, of course, and I tried to be practical. But for just a moment, as I put my hand over my belly, a vision of a small boy with dark hair and blue eyes, dragging a wooden practice sword, flashed into my mind. He’d look so much like Keir . . .

  In a bemused state, I moved to start my bath.

  Of course, I was bending over, rinsing my hair, when I heard someone enter behind me.

  “You came too late, my Warlord.” I stood and turned to reach for another bucket of water, a teasing smile on my lips.

  It wasn’t Keir.

  A man stood there, with wild tangled fur for hair and colored tattoos all over his face and chest. He was glaring at me, holding a long spear, with a human skull tied near the tip.

  I shrieked, and heaved the bucket at him.

  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 inj
ured.”

  “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.”