“We thank the skies for witnessing our truths.”
And without prompting, all joined in the last shout of “HEYLA!” followed by laughter, clapping of hands, and pounding of feet.
“I declare myself a candidate for Warlord,” Simus proclaimed, and walked back to his tent entrance where the challenge pole stood. He raised his banner swiftly, a long streamer of red against the sky, cracking against the wind. “Red for the flame that is a Warlord,” Simus recited.
Destal stepped forward. “I request permission to contest for Token-bearer,” she said, and at Simus’s nod hung her banner below his. “Brown,” she said. “For the earth that is a Token-bearer.”
“I request permission to contest for Second,” Yers said, and when Simus gave him the nod, he attached his banner below Destal’s. “White for the air that is a Second.”
“And I for Third.” Tsor stepped forward, and at Simus’s nod, attached his blue banner to stream out with the rest. “Blue for the water that is a Third.”
His warriors, still clustered about, were laughing and smiling. Simus stood in their midst and shared their joy, admiring the banners for just a moment. But he was also very aware of the risks they were taking, tying their success to his. If he failed, they’d have to seek service with another Warlord, losing rank and status. Or worse, return to a thea camp to wait out the season.
But they gathered and stood, smiling and confident, and his heart swelled at the sight.
“Now the hard part,” Destal said after a moment. “The waiting.”
Sighs and groans, and the other warriors started to wander off to see to their duties.
Destal sighed as well. “I’ve a belt to re-stitch.” She settled on a gurtle pad beneath the challenge pole.
Yers shrugged. “I’m off to make the rounds of the Tenths, and see if I can talk to some that have not yet sworn their oaths. Summon me if a challenger appears.”
Tsor placed his pad by Simus’s weapons rack and pulled out a whet stone, clearly intent on sharpening his sword.
Other camps were starting to form around them, but for now few warriors wandered freely. It would be some time before challengers appeared. Simus resigned himself, retreated back into his tent, seated himself on the platform in all his finery, and decided to brood. Majestically. Powerfully. As a Warlord should.
He did not fear the Trials. But waiting was not something he did well.
The dancing the night before had been sparsely attended, but that had not been unexpected. Most of the others had barely picked their sites, much less erected their tents. Simus and his people had danced and chanted until they were tired enough to sleep. Tonight he hoped for more warriors to attend.
Destal had set watches, and Simus couldn’t fault her there. It was not the traditional way, but he’d rather break tradition than not keep his warriors safe.
And then again, tradition didn’t plan for change, did it? Warrior-priests all dead, yet their powers increased?
So much could go wrong. Othur and he had planned for a supply caravan to arrive in Xy during the Trials. He’d hoped they’d arrive soon, but only the winds knew when or if they would come safely. Then there was Antas and his plots, and that was concern enough for any warrior.
Voices rose from outside the tent, and Galid stepped within. Simus gave him a nod.
“I wish to challenge for Token-bearer, Warlord,” Galid said, his white teeth flashing against skin the color of dried grass long under the sun. “And would ask your permission.”
“Given,” Simus said, and Galid wasted no time stepping back outside. He could hear Destal’s voice as they moved off toward the fighting ring, and soon he heard the clash of swords.
“Fretting, I see.” Joden emerged from one of the side chambers, kavage in hand. They had agreed that he wouldn’t take part in the opening of the challenge circle. Even Simus saw that it would violate any sense of neutrality on Joden’s part.
“Warlords do not fret,” Simus pointed out, straightening and lifting his chin. “We brood.”
“Ah,” Joden went to the main entrance and lifted the flap to look out. He shook his head. “I see Destal is in fine form this morning. Her challenger is already offering his dagger in surrender.” He dropped the flap and took a seat next to Simus. “And just what are you brooding about?”
“The other Warlord candidates,” Simus sighed. “Who supports, who might oppose. If I can persuade them to aid us. What tactics or even treachery they might use against us.”
“And?” Joden asked.
“Whether Eloix has reached Keir,” Simus admitted. “Whether she encountered the supplies caravan. Whether the supplies will arrive intact, timely—”
“There’s no way to know,” Joden interrupted. “Unless the warrior-priests have ways of divining such answers that we know nothing of.”
“Then there is that, too.” Simus frowned. “The whole issue of warrior-priests, with almost all dead, and those that remain wielding powers beyond imagining who appear to have a change of heart and then disappear with no word.” If he also thought on that woman, Snowfall, he’d not mention it to Joden.
Joden shrugged. “As to Eloix, it’s unlikely she’s reached Keir. I doubt she’s even at the border.”
“She’s fast,” Simus argued. “She might be—” He stopped his own words. “Perhaps I do fret,” he admitted.
“Chess.” Joden settled on the seat beside him. “I’ll take city-dwellers.”
“I rise to your challenge.” Simus settled back. “Let us prepare for battle.”
Every morning Eloix rose with the dawn, saddled a fresh horse, and moved off at a run. She’d done long rides like this in the past, and fell into the familiar trance of the pounding of the horse’s hooves and the movement of its muscles under her. Day and night passed swiftly; it was times like these that Eloix felt as one with the elements, for all that existed was the horse, the land, her heartbeat, and the distant mountains of Xy on the horizon.
She was lucky enough to encounter herds where she could release the horses she’d ridden, and summon fresh ones to her side. She’d always check those that had run with her, but they were hale and hearty, and while ready to return to grazing with a herd, unharmed for their travels.
She saw a few groups of warriors in the distance, headed for the Heart. But they didn’t attempt to greet her, and she rode on and past without incident. But one nooning, as the sun rode high in the sky, she saw a lone rider headed toward the Heart, and something in the warrior’s posture gave her pause. She blinked against the sun, shaded her eyes and stared, uncertain if she recognized the rider. But if it were true...
She warbled one greeting, and then another from her days in the thea camp, and held her breath.
The rider swerved toward her, coming on at a gallop, returning the warble with a high, joyous call of her own.
“Heyla,” Eloix called and laughed when she saw it was indeed Elois who’d answered her greeting. Their horses slowed to a trot, and they drew close enough to hug from horseback, pounding each other’s backs.
“Eloix.” Elois was flushed and weary but clearly glad to see her tentmate. “Do you come from Simus? Do you bear truths for Keir?”
“I do.” Eloix grinned as their horses danced around each other. “I’m charged with messages from Simus for Liam and Keir, and the Warprize. You came on that errand?” she asked hopefully. “Return with me to Xy, and I will share my news.”
Elois shook her head, her face falling. “No, there is a truth I must carry to Simus. Othur, the Warder of Xy, is dead. Slain on the night of the fire-needle, at the hand of Lord Durst.”
Eloix shook her head in sorrow, then focused on Elois’s last words. “You saw it from Xy? The lance of fire?”
Elois nodded. “And heard it. You?”
“Oh yes,” Eloix said. “And carry word of its cause from Wild Winds himself.”
Elois whistled low. “When did you leave?”
“The day after,” Eloix said.
/>
“You made better time than I,” Elois huffed.
“Better horses,” Eloix said, with a smirk.
“Truth,” Elois agreed. “Are the Trials over?”
“No,” Eloix said, and didn’t hide her regret.
Elois lit up. “Then maybe there is time for me to challenge as Token-bearer. In your stead,” she added slyly.
“Don’t gloat,” Eloix chided. “But defeat Destal for me.”
“I will,” Elois said, humor in her voice. “And we’ve no time to waste, if we are to carry our truths. The skies go with you.”
“And with you as well,” Eloix called out as she turned her horse toward Xy and urged him on.
And so it went, night following day, following night again, until at last she spotted the outpost at the border of Xy.
She slowed then, not eager to give an impression of frantic importance that might attract the wrong attentions. Various scouting groups saw her and hailed her, but she did little more than return their greetings. One group she did stop, since she recognized a few of the warriors. They assured her that Warlord Liam was at the outpost. One laughed, and warned her to ‘mind the crush within’ as they waved her on.
Puzzled, Eloix pushed on through the foothills, and the winding path that led to the building on the top of a sheer rise. As she emerged from the final stand of trees, she gasped out loud.
The last she’d seen the place, it had been a ruin, long abandoned by the Xyians. But now the stones were restored, and she could see within the walls a large yard filled with warriors, horses, oxen and wagons loaded with packs, all milling about in chaos. She pulled her horse to a stop just at the gates and gawked at the sight. So many laden animals, wagons, and warriors.
“Something to see, eh?” A Xyian guard stood there, pike in hand.
Eloix nodded, then dismounted. “I bear messages from the Plains for the Warlord Liam.”
The guard glanced at the sun above and gave a nod. “He’ll be in the Great Hall, most like. You been here before?”
Eloix shook her head. “Last I saw the place, it was scattered stone and vines.”
“Aye, the trades have been hard at it,” the guard said with a grin. “By order of the Warder of Xy.” He whistled and a young lad came running up. “Take this warrior to the Warlord,” the guard ordered him, then turned back to Eloix. “We’ll see to your horse and gear.”
Eloix followed the lad, although walking felt odd for the first few strides, as if her body had forgotten exactly how to do it. Still, she pushed on as the lad skirted along the wall to avoid the confusion, and led her through two large doors into a shadowed hall, cool and dark.
Warlord Liam, tall and regal, sat at the end of the hall, facing a small crowd of Xyians and Plains warriors, all of whom seemed agitated. One in particular, a small balding man with a paunch, argued loudly with a taller warrior, who looked ready to pull a blade.
Eloix thought it best to hold herself back, but Liam spotted her over their heads. With a look of relief, he gestured her forward. “Are you from Keir or Simus?” he demanded, silencing the group before him with a gesture. “I’ve been expecting a messenger.”
“Simus, Warlord.” Eloix advanced and would have gone to one knee, but Liam shook his head and rose to his feet.
“Warrior, I know the look of one who has had nothing but kavage and gurt for days on end.” Liam walked through the crowd. “You and I will talk in the kitchens. As to the rest of you, settle these issues among yourselves before you depart for the Plains on the morrow. If I make the decision, no one will be pleased.” Liam stepped away, and gestured to Eloix. “Come.”
He strode off, and she followed with some trepidation. Eloix had served under her share of Warlords. Some good, some bad, but they almost all could be unpredictable at times, until one knew their ways. She’d not served under Liam, but had heard good things for the most part. She followed as he walked, and flicked her glance to his ear, which was woven with wires and gems that caught the light. She hurriedly dropped her gaze, not wanting to be caught staring. Most of the talk about Liam was of his broken bonding with Marcus, Keir’s Token-bearer, and that was in hushed tones under bells.
They entered through a large arched doorway, and Eloix walked into a room filled with people, warmth, and the smell of bread and roasting meats. Her mouth started watering, and her stomach gave a mighty rumble.
Liam strode past the large spits covered in roasting birds, and the grand ovens where the servants were working. Xyian cooks from the look of things, and her stomach grumbled again at the scents of spices and meat.
Liam called for food as Eloix trotted to keep up with his long legs. She found herself seated at a table in a kitchen that reminded her of the one at the Castle of Water’s Fall. As she sat on the bench, adjusting her sword and dagger, a large platter with a loaf of warm, fresh bread was placed in front of her by a serving maid, with a crock of butter and a knife for spreading.
“Eat,” Liam commanded, seating himself opposite her.
Eloix tore off a piece off the loaf, made good use of the butter, and crammed it in her mouth.
“I’ve barely arrived from Water’s Fall, but it seems they’ve stored up all their disputes for me to resolve. That chaos in the outer yard—” Liam tore off a hunk of bread for himself. “That chaos is the supplies that Othur has sent to Simus.”
Eloix’s mouth was full, but she raised a questioning eyebrow, then leaned back to let the girl place a plate of roasted fowl before her.
“The Seneschal thought to send a healer with the supplies,” Liam said. “I am not sure that was wise decision. You have met the Warprize?”
Eloix nodded, tearing the leg from the bird, and bit into the succulent meat.
“Well, let us just say, he is not Lara.” Liam grimaced. “Be that as it may, I will hear your news, have you sleep this night within my walls, and then send you on your way with two warriors as escorts as soon as the sun rises.”
“But, there’s no need,” Eloix protested then choked, and reached for kavage. The meat was sweet and tangy, with spices she didn’t know. Good, though.
“Eat,” Liam commanded again. “I know there remains hours of daylight yet, but you will be all the better rested for the journey ahead. You met no opposition on the way here?” At her nod, he shrugged. “That may not be so for the rest of your journey. There has been no word from the Plains since the night of the fire needle that reached into the sky, and sounded the tones that shook us all to our very marrow.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You will tell me what occurred, yes?”
Eloix swallowed and nodded.
“Finish your meal first. Keir has asked that I secure this place for a time, then continue on to the Heart to aid Simus,” Liam continued. “No word has followed me from Water’s Fall. That worries me, but it may be too soon to expect a rider, or it may be that nothing of consequence has occurred.” Liam scowled. “I dislike silence.”
Eloix kept eating, since she was fairly certain he wasn’t talking to her. Not really.
“If nothing else, he promised to let me know if aught threatened anyone within the walls of the City.” Liam shook his head. “Marcus, you foolish old badger...”
His voice trailed off, and Eloix did the smart thing and kept her eyes down and continued eating. Nothing good could come of that topic, and she’d no mind to speak with no token in sight.
Skies, even if he’d had his token there, she’d a mind to stay silent. Her thea didn’t raise a fool.
“At any rate, I have messages that I would have you take to Keir and Lara,” Liam said, then held up a hand before she could stop eating. “Written messages, for there is a Xyian here who takes down my words. When you leave you will take them with you.”
Liam drummed his fingers on the table. At first Eloix thought he was impatient with her, but his eyes were far away and lost in thought. She ate steadily then, finishing the meal with a sigh and a long drink of kavage. She set down the mug, a burp catching he
r by surprise.
But it served to bring the Warlord back from his wanderings. “Done?”
She nodded.
“Then give me your truths,” he commanded.
“On the morning of the night of the pillar of fire,” she began, settling in for a long tale. “The warrior-priests drove us from the Heart...”
Chapter Thirteen
Simus dodged his challenger’s blade with an elaborate spin, bringing his dagger within a hair’s breadth of his opponent’s cheek. But she dodged, shifting just enough to avoid his blade. Simus laughed in pure pleasure as she danced back away from him.
Clearly this Misa of the Cat was wary of his next attack.
The Trials may have gotten off to a slow start, but like a waking sleeper, they were rousing. The Heart of the Plains was beating, growing stronger and faster as warriors gathered around the great circular stone. More warriors arrived every day, adding to the chaos, confusion and growing strength of the Heart.
Simus feigned a charge, holding his sword low, and his dagger high, pulling up short as she darted just at the edge of the circle, trying to get behind him. He laughed out loud as he spun again, daring her to close with him.
She didn’t rise to the lure. She stood, breathing hard, swords at the ready. Her pale brown hair stuck to the sweat on her face.
Simus stilled, watched, and waited.
Fighting with two swords was all well and good, but Simus preferred the sword and dagger. The shorter blade offered strikes one couldn’t achieve with two longer weapons. Not that two swords were a bad choice; Keir preferred that style. His opponent was good with them, there was no doubt of that.
Simus was better with his.
He drew a deeper breath, enjoying the warm looseness of his arms and legs, the sheen of sweat on his face. The past days had been filled with questions and problems as others sought his leadership and guidance. Simus dealt with them all, taking charge of his growing army, worrying about tent placements, organizing rosters and hunts, knowing that this too was the work of a Warlord.