Essa closed his eyes and rubbed the corner of his eye. “What in the name of the elements does this mean?”
“Nothing,” Ultie said. “We are gathering for the Trials as we always have and always will.”
“Nothing?” Essa gave the man a hard look. “Ultie, the Council was sundered and now the warrior-priests are—”
“You have trusted Wild Winds in the past,” Ultie said. “Trust him now.”
Essa sighed, shaking his head, but remained silent, giving Simus his chance. He leaned forward, intent to know the answer to the question that had nagged at him since this strange meal began. “Why do you not trust Joden?”
Essa shrugged at Simus’s question. “Joden supported Antas against the Warprize until he changed his mind. If he were to become Singer, what is to prevent them from killing me and making Joden Eldest Elder, with Antas’s backing?”
“No,” Simus shook his head. “Joden opposed the Warprize when he faced the devastation that was the ‘plague’. Antas used Joden’s doubts to support his own claims.”
Essa raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. But Joden’s acknowledgment of the Warprize came at a convenient time, didn’t it? When Antas seemed to have gone too far?”
“You twist his actions—” Simus replied hotly.
“All I know,” Essa overrode him, “is that Joden was all you say before he followed Keir of the Cat to Xy. But since that time, he has broken with our ways, and his truth seems—”
“You hold my token, Eldest Elder Singer.” Simus glared at the man. “But I will not sit and listen to you insult Joden of the Hawk.”
“I will share these same truths with him, face to face,” Essa said calmly. “For he will approach me to become Singer, will he not?”
“Of course he will,” Simus said. “All who know him know his intent.”
“Even I know it,” Ultie muttered.
“Joden of the Hawk is an honorable warrior,” Simus continued. “He is not treacherous. He would not—”
“If you had told me that Antas would attack the Council, I would have laughed and called you fool,” Essa said. “This wind of change you would bring blows the seeds of our destruction as a people.”
Simus would have protested, but Ultie raised a hand and stopped his words. “Essa, who do you think sent warriors and warrior-priests after you?” Ultie asked.
“I have no proof,” Essa said, shrugging. “But Antas seems likely.”
“I doubt that Antas will appear here,” Ultie said. “Too many hold his actions against him. You are here now. You can call the Council of Elders together. Reness will arrive at the last moment; she always does. Nires is here, who was named Eldest Elder Warrior to replace Antas.”
“That was a temporary measure for the Outcasting.” Essa frowned. “And that needs doing as well. It’s the warriors gathered that will name the next Eldest Elder Warrior.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“No,” Ultie said. “It’s simple. You will shelter here with me for a time, regain your strength. You will sing at the dances, and replenish your gear. You will gather the Singers and would-be Singers to you, and then you will sort things out.”
Essa gave him an exasperated look. “Ultie, it’s not that easy.”
“Yes, it is.” Ultie reached over and plucked the brooch off Essa’s knee and tossed it to Simus. “We thank you for your truths.”
A clear and simple dismissal.
The spicy gurtle meat didn’t sit easy as Simus made his way back toward his camp.
The sun was lower now, the camps finishing their challenges and meals, and preparing the night’s dancing. The scents of fry bread and kavage floated on the air, along with various bits of talk. Simus ignored it all as he strode along, thinking on Essa’s words. Dreading having to tell Joden of this talk.
And as if he’d heard Simus’s thought, Joden appeared beside him as he walked, matching him step-for-step, his broad face smiling. “You look as if you are planning a battle. Why so grim?”
“Later,” Simus muttered. “And under the bells.”
Joden glanced at him, but thankfully didn’t press. “You missed a good match,” he said. “Osa was challenged by a warrior barely out of the thea camp.” He laughed. “He challenged with sword and shield. Osa chose her whip.”
“And the arrogant pup cowered behind that shield most of the fight?” Simus asked.
“For all of a few breaths,” Joden snickered. “First time he lifted his head to see where she was, she lashed out and caught his forehead. He stood there, blinking through the blood, like a dazed ehat. An easy enough challenge to judge, that is certain.”
Simus tried to laugh at the image, but it sounded forced even to his ears.
It was much later that night and far too soon for Simus when he found himself alone with Joden again. They sat together in his tent, after the dancing had ended and the camp had gone quiet. Joden sat across from him, with a pitcher of hot kavage between them and bells woven into the tent flap ties.
“What troubles you so?” Joden asked, pouring kavage for both of them.
Simus played with the cat brooch between them, the light from the glowing braziers glinting off its shiny black surface.
Joden waited, as patient as always.
Simus heaved a sigh, and told him.
Joden listened, truly listened, until Simus ran out of words and reassurances. The silence seemed to echo around him as he took in Joden’s face. “You’re not surprised,” Simus said, rubbing his thigh, feeling the scar even through the leather.
“Are you?” Joden asked mildly. “I made my decisions in the moment,” he continued. “And they were my honest choices. I would not call them back.” He gestured toward Simus’s thigh. “Any of them. I spoke my truth as I saw them at the time, and admitted my mistakes when I saw the flaw in my truth. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences for me.”
Simus stirred, frowning. “But you were punished for it, back in Xy.”
Joden rolled his eyes. “Being asked to sing of my decision not to grant you mercy is not a true punishment, Simus.”
“But you will sing of it,” Simus pressed.
“I will,” Joden nodded.
“I do not like to think my life has come at a cost to you,” Simus growled feeling the press of guilt. “That you might not become a Singer because—”
“Simus, did Essa refuse to consider me as a candidate for Singer?” Joden asked.
“No,” Simus said slowly.
“Essa is the Eldest Elder Singer,” Joden said. “A candidate for Singer must pass through Trials as the Warlords do. They must let me try,” he continued. “And if I pass through the Trials, then I will face their judgement.” Joden shrugged his shoulders. “It is a challenge, and I will confront it in my time.”
Simus sighed. “Challenges are so much easier when you can swing a sword at them.”
“True enough,” Joden agreed with a heart-felt sigh. “True enough.”
Chapter Fifteen
Some nights later Simus woke when the night-watch whispered his name through the tent flaps. “Warlord, a messenger from Xy.”
Simus rolled out, pulled on trous and boots, and grabbed his sword and dagger. He went out into the main tent to find the watch standing there, a woman warrior in their midst.
“Elois, it is good to see you,” he said as one of them stoked up the coals of a brazier. “Come from Xy?”
“Aye, Warlord,” Elois went to one knee before him then rose when he gestured her up. “I bring word from Warlord Keir of the Cat and the Warprize.”
Elois had the look of one too long alone with only the herds. She stood tall and straight, but her eyes held a bright, dazed sheen. Simus knew that look all too well, as did the watch. It took time to adjust back to normal after days and days in the saddle. They softened their voices and gave her respectful space.
“When did you leave Xy?” Simus asked, trying to determine how much he could ask of her.
“T
he morning after the night of the pillar of light,” Elois responded.
“You made good time.” Simus was impressed.
“Once I had decent horses,” she said ruefully, swaying slightly. “But I bear truths you must hear, Warlord.”
“Should I waken Joden?” one of the watch asked.
“No, let him sleep,” Simus said. “Give me the meat of it, Elois. I’ll hear the whole tale once you’ve rested and slept.” He could not stop his own eagerness. “How does the Warprize?”
“Well,” Elois’s face lit up. “She has borne twins, and all were well and healthy when I left.”
Simus crowed a soft laugh as the other warriors slapped each other on the back. “Two,” he laughed. “Well, done, Little Healer! Keir and Reness must have burst with pride.”
Elois smiled and nodded, but then the joy drained from her face. “But there is grief as well, Warlord.”
His joy fled in a breath. “Tell me,” Simus demanded.
“Lord Othur, Seneschal and Warder of Xy was slain by one of the Xyian nobles.” Elois drew a shaky breath. “He died speaking peace, with no weapon in his hand, and they killed him for it.”
Simus felt the words like a blow to the chest. He stood for a moment, not fully understanding. “Dead?’
“Dead,” Elois said. “He died with his bonded, the Warprize, and Heath of Xy by his side.”
Simus rubbed his face with one hand.
“There is more, but that is the meat of it, Warlord.” Elois drew a deep breath but Simus cut her off with his hand.
“In the morning,” Simus repeated. “Bed down here, in one of the chambers. Do not stray from me, for I would hear all the truths you have.”
Elois nodded, her exhaustion starting to show. “I was sent to ask for word of the needle of light, but I saw Eloix on the way here, and I know you have sent word. The Warlord bid me obey you in all things, but he also freed me to take oath with you if I remained.”
Simus nodded. “My thanks, Elois.”
“Just one more thing, Warlord.” Elois yawned, then caught herself. “Forgive me, but you mentioned the Eldest Elder Thea.”
“Reness?” Simus asked. “What of her?”
“She was not present at the Warprize’s birthing.” Elois blinked at him, her tiredness clear. “She is not in Xy.”
“Where is she?” Simus demanded.
“Best I know, she got word at the border that had her turning back,” Elois yawned again, and blinked at him as she rocked on her feet. “So far as I know, she never left the Plains.”
“Let’s see to you,” Simus took her elbow. “We’ll sleep on this news.”
Except Simus couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his pallet, looking at the roof of his tent until all went back to stillness. The watch was in place, it was quiet and dark, and yet sleep eluded him like the swiftest prey.
Othur dead? It seemed so wrong to even think those words. Othur was a city-dweller, in a home of stone, surrounded by guards who were skilled enough...how could this be?
And yet, death comes in an instant. Even to city-dwellers, it seemed.
The words of that truth stuck in his throat, and he rose from his bed, dressed and armed himself quietly, and stepping out into the cooler night air.
The night was clear and dark, with the stars ablaze in the skies.
The watch stirred, and rose to their feet, but he shook his head. “I need to walk about,” Simus murmured as they settled back. “Alone.”
“As you will, Warlord,” they replied, although one sharp-eyed woman gave him a look of understanding.
“At least give us a direction, and a time,” she said crisply. “So we are not wandering about as if looking for a lost gurtle from the herd.”
Simus snorted softly, but she had a point. “To the Heart,” he said. “No more than an hour’s time.”
He strode off, walking through the grass that had yet to be trampled down by warriors and horses. As was traditional, none made their camps close to the Heart of the Plains, and no tent touched its border. Not at least until the Council was summoned and its massive tent raised.
Simus tried to think of nothing but the scent of crushed grasses below his boots and the brilliant skies above him. But the pain flooded in as memories of Othur appeared before his eyes. Laughing that great laugh of his, sitting in the warm kitchen eating the fine cooking of his Lady Wife, his pride in his Castle and his Kingdom. Of the morning he’d—
Simus stopped dead, the memory was so strong. Of standing in the middle of the hot baths, with water to his waist. He’d smiled at Othur. “We’ve yet another Council today.”
“Yes.” Othur had nodded with a bemused look on his face. “I fear that in many ways the Warlord and Xylara have left us with a heavy task, trying to bring our people together. To work in harmony. In peace.”
Simus felt his grief well up. He resumed his steps.
The Heart was the same cool, grey stone it had always been, and his boots rang on the surface as he strode to the middle. The only sound here was the rustle of grasses, and the far noises of the various camps that ringed the Heart. The water in the lake next to it lapped at the shore, but only softly.
“He died speaking peace, with no weapon in his hand.”
Simus shook his head in regret. A city-dweller, perhaps, but in his own way a warrior for his people.
The stars hung above him, seeming to sparkle with the beat of his own heart.
Simus drew a deep breath, and faced north toward Xy. He spread his hands, and lifted his face to the stars. “Othur.” His voice cracked as it echoed against the stone.
The whisper in the grass was the only answer.
Simus faced to the west, and cried out to the night. “Othur of Xy.”
And again, he turned south, and let his tears flow. “Othur of Xy, hear me.”
And then, turning east, a final plea. “Othur, Seneschal of the Castle at Water’s Fall, Warder of Xy, my friend, please.”
The skies and stars were silent.
Simus dropped his head and his arms, letting his grief flow through him. “One day, my friend, I’ll hope to see you beyond the snows.”
He stood there for a moment, letting the wind take his tears, letting his breathing settle. Then he turned back, to head for camp.
Joden stood waiting, just beyond the stone. “They told me,” he said as Simus drew near. He fell in step with him. “You knew him longer than I did.”
“A good man,” Simus said shortly. “Poor Lara, for such joy and such sorrow all in the same day. And Keir has lost an advisor of great worth.” Simus looked north. “I wish I knew what was happening there.”
“They wish the same,” Joden said. “And we’ll know more when Elois wakes. If I know her, that won’t be long after sunrise.” He sighed. “But I had another reason to seek you out. Late last night I learned that the last of the candidates has established a camp, and the bulk of the warriors have arrived. The mood is changing, and the challenges will be more serious from here on.”
“That was to be expected,” Simus said calmly, but his heart sped up as he headed back to his tent. “The next few days will tell the tale.”
Eloix saw clear field beyond the trees and sighed with relief. She’d caught glimpses of the towers of Water’s Fall as they rode, but she’d be glad just to be out from under the forest. Once in the open, she’d be able to breathe. She didn’t like the way the trees hung over her and blotted out the skies and sunlight. It felt unnatural.
The horse’s ears perked up, and she felt it quicken its pace. No doubt the animal saw the walls, and was ready for its stall in a barn. Strange Xyian customs, that went against the elements in every way. But it was what the horse was used to, and that she could understand.
She’d be just as glad to be off its back, that was certain.
Her two escorts, both Xyian warriors, had been friendly enough. The road had been good, and they’d made decent time for Xyian horses. But she’d be glad to see
the Warprize and Warlord and finish her task. And Lady Anna’s bread, so different from the Plains. Fluffy and white and good. Eloix’s stomach rumbled at the thought.
They were half way up the road when horns sounded from the walls. “They’re hailing us,” one of the escort said.
Eloix looked at the walls, to see the warriors there, waving their arms, and calling out. “That looks more like a warn—”
A huge shadow moved over them, blotting out the sun. There was a sudden gust of wind, bringing the smell of rotting meat.
Eloix’s horse laid its ears flat, and jumped into a gallop. Eloix kept her seat and looked back, over her shoulder.
A monster flew in the sky behind her, a huge beast with wings outspread, clawed feet reaching for her horse’s rump. It was dark and leathery, with cruel eyes in a head topped by two wicked, spiraled horns. It had missed its target, hissing with frustration. It beat its wings to climb higher into the sky, raising a cloud of dust and debris.
Her escort was shouting now, one galloping off the road. Horrified, Eloix watched as a second beast tore that warrior from his saddle, and pulled him into the air. Its tail was long, arching over its body. It stung the man, who screamed again and again.
Arrows and bolts arched over her head, from the walls. Eloix went flat against her horse’s neck, and urged it on, thinking only of shelter.
The shadow drew closer, coming at her across the grass. Eloix snarled and reached for one of her lances, determined to strike a—
Pain ripped through her shoulders as the sun was blotted out; the sound of hissing filled her ears. She flung herself to the side, hoping to tumble off. There was the road, and then grass, and then...blackness.
Chapter Sixteen
Simus acknowledged that Joden was right. The tone of the challenges had changed. It was in the winds that blew warmer, in the rising sun that shone hotter, in flowering grasses where the petals were falling away. In the sounds of the camps, and the talk of the warriors...