Warsworn

  So we loved, under the shelter of the alders, skin suntouched and shadow-dappled. And when Keir came into me, it was more than our physical bodies joining. It was our hearts and minds caught in a precious moment of shared passion. For an instant, Keir and I were one with each other and the elements that surrounded us, filled with light and joy. It left us gasping for breath, clinging to one another, and, well . . . sticky.

  The sun moved quite a bit before we actually entered the water. Keir extended a hand to help me walk barefoot into the pond. The water was cold at first, but it warmed as we went deeper, to stand in water up to our waists.

  Keir dived in, disappearing from view. I waited to see where he would surface, but I didn’t see him come up. Just as I grew concerned, I felt something grasp my ankle. Before I could cry out, Keir surfaced before me, laughing and breathless.

  “Keir!” I exclaimed, wiping the water from my face, laughing in spite of myself.

  He chuckled, and strode back to the shore, returning to hand me one of the precious bars of vanilla scented soap. I thanked him, and started to lather my hands.

  Keir moved closer, water streaming down his body. “Let me help you with that.”

  I cast him a sly glance. “Seems only fair, since you’re the one that got me sticky.” He reached for me, but I pulled back. “But if you help me, we will never get out of the water.”

  He quirked his mouth. “I fail to see the problem, Warprize.”

  I laughed, and he caught me, kissing me soundly. I let my soapy hands trail over his chest. He took the soap, and soon we were laughing breathlessly as we teased each other both above and below the water.

  Finally, he growled low, and pulled me toward him for a hard kiss. “Know what is even better than this, Lara?”

  I kissed his nose. “What?”

  “Food.” He released me and headed for the shore, looking back over his shoulder with a wicked grin as I laughed.

  I plunged deep into the cool water determined to get every inch of my skin and hair squeaky clean. Bathing from a bucket in a tiny tent is no easy task. Of course, the Firelanders all just jumped nude in the water, any water they could find, every chance they got, and washed each other. Maybe if I bathed under the bells? I broke the surface of the water, laughing at the idea of waterlogged bells.

  Even as I washed my hair, I cast several glances Keir’s way. Firelanders have no real understanding of modesty, and while it embarrasses me, there are times when I can appreciate its benefits. Keir was letting the sun dry his skin, not bothering to dress. The light through the leaves played over his strong back, and distracted me from my chore. I watched as he dug parcels out of the saddle bags, and laid them on the blanket. I returned to the task of rinsing my unruly locks. I didn’t really pay any attention to what he was doing until I got a whiff of a familiar odor. I was twisting my hair, trying to wring as much water out as possible. “Keir? Do I smell bread?”

  “Come and see,” he called. He was standing by the shore, with a spare blanket and drying cloth. I splashed through the water to the bank, shivering in the air that now felt cold. He wrapped me in the blanket, stole a quick kiss, and then carried me over to the ‘nest’ he had prepared.

  “It is bread,” I breathed, as I settled on the blanket. I took the drying cloth and wrapped it around my hair. “Where in—”

  “Sal was buying stock for supplies, and the farmer’s wife asked if you were with us.” Keir reached for the loaf of bread and tore off a piece. “Apparently she was worried that you weren’t being fed properly.” He handed me the piece of bread, and a small crock of butter. My mouth watered, and I took the offered knife, and smeared the bread thick with butter and took a bite. I closed my eyes and chewed. The familiar food filled my mouth, and my senses with the taste of home.

  “There’s more.”

  My eyes popped open to see a baked chicken, bright apples, and a sweating jug. I grinned at Keir, and tore a leg off the chicken. Keir grabbed for the other one.

  For many moments, we just ate, licking fingers and sharing the jug. Keir used his dagger to cut apples into crisp slices. They crunched in my mouth, tangy and sweet. The ale was light, cold and bitter. It didn’t take us long to strip the carcass to the bones, and consume every bit of the meal.

  I gave a great sigh of contentment as I padded to the edge of the water to wash my hands. I returned to the blanket, and dug through my bag to find my comb and a small bottle of vanilla scented oil. Combing the oil through my thick hair would help with the tangles. Keir tossed the carcass off into the bushes, along with the apple cores. There wasn’t a bit left of the bread, or the butter. He washed his hands in the water, and returned to pull fresh trous from the bags. I knew that was more for my comfort than for his.

  He rejoined me on the blanket, and lay back on one elbow to watch as I combed my hair. It was still damp, and I took my time working through the snarls. The light was still filtering through the leaves, but there was less of a breeze. The miseries of a few hours ago suddenly didn’t seem so important. I smiled at my fears. Amazing what a real bath and a good meal can do for your spirits.

  “Marcus told me that you spoke to Joden under the bells. All is not well with you, Lara.”

  I didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. I just had some questions—”

  “Look at me.” Keir’s voice was firm, and I obeyed, slightly resentful of his order.

  “This has been hard on you.” His voice was quiet, and he gave me an intent look. “Marcus has told me that you are trying to cope as best you can.” Keir rolled his eyes. “I got an earful about the abuse I am putting you through.”

  I smiled, knowing very well the sharp edge of Marcus’s tongue. “You’re not abusing me. I’m doing fine.”

  “I’m sorry for this.” Keir shifted to lay flat on the blanket, his hands on his chest. “I’d slow our pace, but I can’t We need to arrive at the Heart of the Plains as soon as possible.”

  “Joden tried to explain, but I’m not sure I understand.”

  Keir turned his head to look at me with his blue eyes. “I sent messengers to the Elders at the Heart of the Plains the very night I claimed you. They will have sent messengers of their own, summoning the other elders and warrior-priests. The ceremony will start when we arrive, under the open skies for all to see. If we hurry, the ceremony will be held before all can make the journey. There are some I would prefer to avoid.”

  “Can they deny my confirmation?” I leaned forward a bit, and the blanket that I had wrapped around me dropped slightly.

  Keir’s eyes fixed on me, but not on my face. “I don’t want to talk about the future, Lara.” His eyes grew sultry, and his voice roughened. “I don’t want to talk at all.” He rolled back on to his side, and reached over to tug on my blanket. “I’d rather talk about the way the sun is dancing on your skin. How you smell like vanilla. How the light is being caught in your hair, and kept prisoner.”

  I flushed up, put the comb down and moved toward him, letting him pull the blanket away from my body. His eyes were half-closed as he pulled me in close, wrapping me in his arms. He nuzzled my neck, and his hand drifted down to my buttock. “Too long apart, Lara. I’ve missed your touch, your heat, your—”

  I opened my mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn.

  Keir pulled back, looking into my eyes. I blinked at him, my vision suddenly blurry and tired. He shook his head, and then pulled me down to lay next to him, my head on his shoulder. “Sleep, Lara.”

  “Keir, let’s not waste this haven. I can sleep late—” Another yawn cut me off.

  “But you won’t, and haven’t, have you?” He stroked my back, rubbing circles softly on my skin. “Put your head down, and close your eyes, Lara. I’ll be here, watching over you.”

  I yawned again, the warmth of his body and my full stomach defeating me. Keir chuckled as I relaxed, and I felt him pull the blanket up over us, even as I drifted off to sleep.

  I woke to the odd feeling of something tugging my hair. Kei
r had spooned up behind me, and his arm was draped over my hip. The odd feeling was a robber jay, tugging on one of my curls that were spread over the blanket. I’d heard of them from my father, large grey birds that feared no one and nothing, and that stole whatever they could get their hands on. The bird tilted his head, looking at me, then jabbed at my curl again, trying to pull it away.

  Keir’s hand flipped out, and the bird took flight, scolding us in the process. I felt Keir nuzzle my neck, and I hummed softly at the pleasure.

  Keir chuckled. “You smell wonderful.”

  I turned slightly, smiling into his blue eyes. His hand drifted up to cup my breast and I groaned at that simple touch. “One stroke of your hand and I feel such wonderful things.”

  “There’s more,” he whispered.

  I kissed him, ready and eager for more when there was an outburst beyond the bushes. Horses, a lot of them, pounding up, with warriors calling out for Keir.

  Keir sprang to his feet, with sword in hand. I fumbled for the blanket, pulling it to my chest to cover myself.

  “Warlord!” The voice that came from beyond the thick alders was high and tense. “I must report.”

  “What news?” Keir sheathed his sword and grabbed for the rest of his gear.

  “Rebellion, Warlord!”

  3

  The tradition of the Plains is that the Warprize takes nothing except from the hands of the Warlord. This was not, as I’d originally thought, to keep the Warprize subservient and dependent on the Warlord. Rather, it was to allow the Warlord to demonstrate that he had the ability and strength to provide for the Warprize.

  This had resulted in some rather rigorous arguments with Marcus, self-appointed guardian of the tradition, once I’d returned to my Warlord’s side. I had won on the issue of my healing equipment and supplies, since Marcus grudgingly acknowledged that Keir had purchased them for me while we’d been encamped.

  Marcus had won on the issue of clothing, since that scarred little man had worked miracles in providing me with tunics and trous, and even one memorable red dress. While the clothing he provided was plain, it was also comfortable.

  I’d won on the issue of undergarments.

  Keeping the blanket around me, I struggled into my breastband as fast as I could, listening to the sounds of warriors and horses moving around our shelter. The leaves somehow didn’t seem as thick as they had been a few minutes ago. “Keir, it can’t be my people.”

  Keir grunted, reaching for his armor, called out in a strong voice. “Yers!”

  “Warlord?”

  “Call senel to hear the report. Warn Marcus, and find Joden as well. Summon the Warprize’s guards.”

  Yers’s voice was raised beyond the thicket, carrying out his orders, even as Keir stopped speaking. Keir continued to dress, his movements as fast and precise as a cat’s. “We’ll know soon enough, Lara.” His face was grim as he rearmed himself.

  I paused, my arms buried in my tunic, fear coursing through me. “And if it is?”

  “It will be answered,” was his gruff response. He gestured for me to continue, and I pulled the tunic on over my head, fighting to pull my hair free.

  It had been one of my greatest fears. While I’d convinced Warren, the Lord Marshall, and the entire Council of the wisdom of accepting Keir as Overlord, we’d all known that the outlying areas might not be quite so accepting. Messengers had been sent to spread the word, but events had moved fast, even faster than the pace Keir had set for our return to the Plains. It was possible that one of the smaller villages had decided to defy the command, but I thought it unlikely. No single village had the wherewithall to close its gates and refuse to submit. The long summer of fighting before Xymund had conceded defeat had taken men from the villages. There was a question as to whether we had enough workers to take in what was left of the harvest, much less resist a foe. For in one thing, Keir was implacable: oathbreakers are punished absolutely, and completely. If a village or town swore fealty to him, and then rejected his control, he would raze it to the ground and salt the cinders.

  I struggled with my hair, trying to free it from my tunic, as Keir waited impatiently. “I’m sorry. I should probably cut this mess off.”

  Keir stepped forward, and eased his hands under my hair, pulling it free for me. “Don’t.” His hands were warm and I shivered as he brushed my neck. I tilted my head up and he lowered his and kissed me. There was a sense of desperation, almost fear in him, and I brought my arms up to hold him close. He wrapped an arm around me as well and deepened the kiss until I ran out of breath.

  He raised his head, and we stood in each others arms for a moment, until the sounds beyond the alders reminded us of the world around us. He stepped back with reluctance. I straightened my clothing, and he waited until I finished, but stopped me when I reached for the blankets. “Leave that.” He turned, and started through the thick branches, again keeping the branches off my face as I followed. The birds protested again as we emerged from our haven to find Yers standing there, holding his and Keir’s horses. Prest, Rafe, Isdra and Epor were coming up behind him.

  Yers handed Keir his reins. “There’s a large willow at the top of a crest down the road. I’ve called the senel to meet there, and have summoned the scouts.”

  I stood there, breathing hard, trying to braid up my hair. “What has happened?”

  Yers shrugged, his crooked nose twitching. “All I know so far is that the scouts were attacked by Xyians.”

  “Injuries?” Keir asked.

  “Unknown.” Yers responded.

  “Send word to Ortis that I want the scouts involved at the senel.” Keir mounted, the leather creaking as he pulled himself into the saddle. “We’ll go on ahead.” He turned to speak to Prest and Rafe as Yers mounted his own horse. “Gather up the Warprize and her things, and bring her along. All four of you with her at all times. If they are offering challenge to me, they may well target her.”

  Epor nodded. “Marcus has gone ahead to prepare. Something about ‘doing things right by Hisself’.”

  Keir gave a grim smile. “Marcus would serve drink in the midst of battle, if he could.”

  “Keir,” I stepped forward, but he cut me off.

  “Lara, there’s no point discussing this until we know more.”

  “Keir, I—”

  Keir shook his head, and his horse jumped forward. Yers was quick to follow, leaving me standing there in the dust. I put my hands on my hips, glared at their backs and called out to them as loud as I could. “The least you could do is let me ride my own horse?”

  Yers had described it perfectly. The willow was old and bent, its long branches trailing on the ground, moving slightly in the breeze. I could make out people moving within its shade, and there was a smell of kavage in the air. As we rode up, Iften and Yers emerged from behind the branches, and Iften’s voice was raised in complaint. “—wasting time, neglecting his duties, all he thinks about is plants and illness. Pah.”

  Yers responded mildly. “You’d not think it a waste, were it to your benefit.”

  They turned to look at us as we brought the horses to a stop. Iften had the usual sullen look that he carried whenever he saw me. I was riding behind Rafe. And saw him turn his head to look at Prest. Then they both seemed to glance at Epor, who nodded. The silent communication somehow also included Isdra, who rode up next to us and dismounted. Epor and Prest dismounted as well. Prest led off their horses, and Epor stepped to my side. “May I assist you, Warprize?”

  I was about to protest the need for help, but something in his eyes stopped me. I accepted his assistance, and he lowered me carefully, keeping his body between me and Iften. Rafe moved off, and Isdra stepped up behind me.

  “What is this?” Iften growled. “You have no place at senel, Epor.”

  Epor nodded, calmly accepting Iften’s challenge. “True, Warleader. But the Warlord has trusted us with the safety of the Warprize, and commanded two of us at her side at all times.” He said nothing more, mer
ely adopting a neutral look. I took my cue from Epor, and remained silent. A quick glance behind me showed that Isdra was also keeping her face bland, looking almost bored.

  “It’s an insult.” Iften spat, his cheeks flushing red under his beard. I wasn’t sure, but I had the impression that Epor had managed to offend him somehow.

  “It’s a precaution, and a wise one.” Yers countered.

  “It’s the Warlord’s command.” As if that was the end of the discussion, Epor inclined his head to the two leaders, and moved forward. They gave ground, moving with us under the branches. Iften’s face was still red and angry, but Epor’s remained bland, offering no offense.

  There was a warrior there, holding a pitcher and a cloth. As I washed my hands, thanking the Goddess under my breath, I realized what the silent exchange had been about. Rafe and Prest had known that Iften would be difficult. Epor, older and with higher standing, had stepped in to handle the problem. Status was a critical part of Firelander life, although I had yet to really understand it.

  Marcus had set two folded blankets at the base of the tree, and had arranged others in a pattern fanning out. He was waiting for me there, his cloak off, and frowning. “Sit here, Warprize. Kavage? Gurt? How are your feet?”

  I sat, folding my legs under me. “Just kavage, Marcus, please. And they’re fine.”

  He nodded, served me and moved off. Epor and Isdra took up positions behind me, but Marcus didn’t offer them anything. I’d learned that they wouldn’t eat or drink while on guard duty. But I noticed for the first time that he never really looked at them at all. Just past them, as if it was too painful to see them standing there. I looked into my cup of kavage and sighed. I’d been so lost in my petty misery. What else had I missed?