Essa ignored them. He limped to where Wild Winds lay.
As if he’d sensed his presence, Wild Winds pulled away the cloth from his eyes, and blinked up at Essa. They looked at one another for a long time, and then Wild Winds spoke. “All endings are beginnings, old friend.” His words carried over the crowd. “And in turn, all beginnings mark the end of something.”
Essa closed his eyes. Simus couldn’t help but think that the man was trying to block out the truth for but one moment more. But then Essa opened his eyes, and straightened against his pain. “I summon the Council to meet.” He turned, raising his voice, so that the words carried. “I summon it to the nearest winter lodge we can find. Send word to all that we will gather at—” he glanced up at the sky, “—at the nooning.”
“Will there be enough room?” Wild Winds asked. “They’re not designed for large meetings.”
“I fear our numbers won’t be an issue,” Essa said drily. “Not anymore. But it will be safe. All the living will attend, even if they must be carried.”
“I will come,” Wind Winds said.
“Let the word be passed,” Essa commanded, and the warriors around them moved to obey. “The Council meets at the nooning. Let the candidates present themselves, with their Seconds and Token-bearers.” Essa’s gaze met Simus’s. “There let it be decided and done.”
Simus strode back toward his tent, excitement burning through him. Essa’s words had lit a fire within the warriors that had surrounded them, and they’d quickly moved into action. Many had run off, to spread the word to their own Warlords. Others had gathered around Essa, pointing to where the nearest winter lodge was located. Simus waited just long enough to learn its location, before heading back to his camp.
Elois stood naked before her tent, her tanned skin glistening in the sun. She’d clearly already heard the word. “Good,” she said. “This Council is sure to take all the hours left in the day. There’s time to eat more than just the few bites you got this morning, and clean up before we have to appear. Strip.”
“Not sure there’s time—” Simus started, but Elois cut him off with a scowl.
“There’s more than enough time if you don’t waste it,” she said firmly. “No need to make a sorry showing before the Elders and the Eldest Elders.” She raised her voice, looking behind her tent. “Destal, bring your warriors here and get the Warlord’s armor.” She turned back and glared at Simus. “They will clean and oil our leathers, and do what they can for the chain. Strip,” she demanded again, giving him the once over. “And where is your dagger?”
At the mention of Destal, Simus’s interest perked. Snowfall was assigned to her. But he still argued. “There are still things I need to do. They may need help carrying the wounded to the lodge.”
“I’ve seen to that,” Tsor said as he walked into camp. “Between all the warriors here, we will see it done.”
“Strip,” Eloise commanded. “Both of you.”
Tsor obeyed, his hands going to his belt. Simus followed suit. They each peeled out of the armor, handing off various parts to the young warriors who appeared. They took the gear, and then disappeared behind the tent. Simus heard Destal lecturing one on how to clean chain properly.
“Food next,” Elois commanded. Simus and Tsor sat on the gurtle pads she had set out. Simus raised his eyebrows at the meal, which included roasted tubers and boar.
Elois settled on the pad next to him, and a young warrior approached with water and towels for the washing ritual. Simus murmured his thanks to the elements, then dried his hands.
“My thanks for your efforts,” Simus said to Elois before helping himself. Tsor nodded enthusiastically around his mouthful.
Elois smiled, clearly pleased with the praise, but then she grew serious. “I am your Token-bearer, am I not?”
Simus paused in mid-bite. “I haven’t named either of you formally, have I?”
“No,” Elois said. “You have not.” Tsor nodded, but didn’t stop eating.
“I do so now,” Simus said. “Elois of the Horse, you are my choice for Token-bearer. Tsor of the Bear, you are my choice for my Second.”
“Our thanks, Warlord.” Elois looked off to the side, and gave a nod.
Snowfall came forward with kavage and cups.
Simus grinned up at her as he took the drink from her hands. Snowfall’s face was calm and serene, as usual. But her fingers brushed against his as he took the mug.
Tsor swallowed, and spoke. “Word on the wind is that there may not be enough Warlord candidates.”
Elois hissed in a breath. Simus stopped mid-bite. “Truth?” he asked.
Tsor shook his head. “No one claims such, but all repeat the words.”
Simus exchanged a long look with Snowfall. He chewed slowly, thinking. “This is not good news.”
“Isn’t it?” Tsor asked. “Won’t they have to make you Warlord?”
Simus shook his head. “Even if they do, that means the armies will be thinly spread. I suspect those Warlords named will try to go for richer targets, which means higher risk of the loss of warriors.”
“Or choose lower risk ones,” Elois said. “That yield less.”
Simus sighed. “I do not know.”
They finished the rest of the meal in silence.
When the food was gone, Elois stood, brushing crumbs from her thighs. “Tsor, you need to bathe. I will check on the cleaning process.”
“Destal knows the ways, she’ll not let the young ones slack,” Tsor rumbled. “Come and bathe with me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You can make sure I get every spot.”
“None of that, now,” Elois growled, scowling and sounding so much like Marcus that Simus had to laugh. Tsor joined in, and Elois grinned.
Snowfall looked confused, but shrugged. “I can clean this,” she offered, gesturing to the bowls and cups.
“No.” Elois shook her head. “Take the Warlord off, and trim his hair for him, less he cut himself and shame us all.”
“There’s bloodmoss,” Simus reminded her, but looked at Snowfall. “But I would not decline the help.”
Tsor and Elois both snorted. “Off with you,” Elois said, and gestured them off.
Simus reached for Snowfall’s hand and pulled her away, out of sight of the young ones and anyone else who might be watching.
As soon as they were out of sight of the others, Snowfall threw down the gurtle pad she’d grabbed. “Kneel,” she commanded.
Simus knelt as she drew the dagger at her side. “Is that my dagger?” he asked as she ran her hand over his close-cropped hair.
“It was shockingly dull,” Snowfall said, scratching at his scalp gently with her nails. “You don’t need much of a trim, really.”
Simus hummed, leaning in close, and pressed his face to the bare skin between her trous and her corselet. “You smell so sweet,” he said as he rubbed his nose lightly against her.
“Do that again, and you might lose an ear,” Snowfall scolded. His touch warmed her, made her tingle, but she didn’t move away.
Simus just hummed again under his breath, then frowned. “Have you noticed,” he said, lowering his voice. “Have you noticed the despair of some of the warriors?” he asked. “It was only at Essa’s summons that they started to move. Started to think.”
Snowfall scraped at the hair around his ear. “I did,” she said. “Stay still.”
“But not so much my people,” Simus said. “I wonder if being exposed to Xy, to new ways of thinking, make them better able to cope with the new and different.”
“Not to add to your arrogance, my Warlord,” Snowfall said, “but I think it is you. Your people reflect your strength, your decisiveness, your courage.” She ran her hand over his scalp, brushing loose hairs away.
Simus brought his arms up to wrap around her hips, and looked up into her eyes. “I want nothing more than to peel these trous right off your long legs and—”
“Your unwavering attention to the duties and obligations of a War
lord are unparalleled,” Snowfall said drily. But then she smiled at him, letting her admiration shine. “They trust you to see them through. As do I.” She took a step back, eyeing him critically, and with satisfaction. “There,” she said. “As befits a Warlord.”
“Done?” Simus asked. At her nod he rose to his feet and put his hands on her hips with a sigh. “I wish you were going to be beside me in that tent,” Simus said. “Perhaps if you aided Wild Winds?”
Snowfall shook her head. “My oaths are to you now, and my absence at his side makes that clear. In truth, enough tradition has been broken today.” She sheathed the dagger at her belt. “But I would not deny you a kiss for luck, my Simus.”
“Your Simus?” he grinned.
That lovely red flared in her cheeks. But she didn’t contradict him. Joy flared in his heart, not appropriate for the day, but still there. Between them.
Simus pulled her in, and kissed her, relishing her taste, the softness of her lips, the way her strong body felt against his, her willing response. He pulled her close, wanting—
“Warlord,” Elois was calling, and sounded like she was not to be ignored.
Snowfall broke the kiss, and would have stepped back, but Simus held her a second longer. He hesitated, suddenly fearful. ‘My Snowfall’, he thought to say, but he changed his words.
“Your Simus,” he whispered, a promise in her ear.
His reward was her gentle smile in those warm grey eyes, and another kiss. Simus held her close, and tugged at her hips, wanting to draw her down, to lie in the grass and warm sun and—
“None of that, now.” Elois stalked up to them like an encroaching storm. “Time’s a’ wasting. Get back here and put on your armor.”
Chapter Forty
The winter lodge wasn’t even close to full.
These ancient underground dwellings, used in the worst of the Plains winters, had been dug deep within the earth. No one knew when or how they had been created, and Simus knew of none that had been built in recent times.
The winter lodges were low-ceilinged, and most adult and young warriors walked stooped over within. But the sleeping chambers were warm even when the Plains grew frigid and the snows came. Each lodge had the same pattern. Multiple sleeping chambers off one large gathering place, the floor hard-packed dirt, with rough stone walls covered in faded stylized paintings and support pillars evenly placed.
The air vents had been opened, and all the torches lit. Simus sighed as he walked in, hunched over to avoid hitting his head. As a child, he’d enjoyed the darkness and warmth; as an adult he’d disliked the confinement, especially when crammed with warriors. But then again, he’d welcomed their warmth when the winter winds blew and the snows came.
Essa stood, the top of his head touching the ceiling. The Singer had placed himself at the far end of the gathering place, opposite the main entrance, where all could see him. Essa had his arms crossed over his chest, clearly waiting as the room filled with latecomers. Simus was pleased to see that the man had cleaned up, and was armored, his weapons at his side.
No silken robes for this meeting.
Wild Winds had insisted on walking in, and looked like he regretted it. He seated himself to Essa’s left. Haya sat to Essa’s right, her familiar scowl firmly in place.
All of the Elders were seated before them, and with them, all of the Warlord candidates, their Seconds and Token-bearers. Simus caught a glimpse of Osa seated not far from him; he could hear Ultie’s rumble in the back. Ietha had also survived, as well as Nires, Loual, and Reht, Simus’s opposition all seated together.
Tsor was right, there were too few candidates remaining for the traditional four Warlords for each of the four elements. Simus drew a breath, and wondered what Essa would do if—
“I am Essa, Eldest Elder Singer of the Plains,” Essa said, his words rolling against the stone walls. “Draw close and heed my words. I summon this Spring Council into session and I call this Council to order.”
Clothing rustled as everyone sat, all eyes on Essa.
“The Council of Elders has always been presided over by the four Eldest of the Elders,” Essa said. “I am the Eldest Elder of the Singers, and Wild Winds is the Eldest Elder of the Warrior-Priests. Haya of the Snake is here to serve as the Eldest Elder of the Theas. That leaves the Warriors.” Essa turned and looked over to the side. “Nires of the Boar. You are an Elder of the Warriors. At the last Council meeting held before the snows, you agreed to serve as the Eldest Elder of the Warriors. Would you again take up the responsibility?”
Nires rose, and stood, hunched to avoid the ceiling. “I would.”
“Do any offer objection to this?” Essa asked as Nires moved to sit at Wild Winds’s side.
Silence was the only answer.
Simus briefly considered offering to serve, but he’d already tried that once before, when the Warprize had faced the Council. He wouldn’t try it now. But in the future...he smiled to himself. Elois gave him a questioning glance, but when he shook his head at her she accepted his decision and looked away.
“That done,” Essa continued, “let us speak of the beasts that have attacked us, and driven us from the Heart. I would share what knowledge the Singers have, which is none. Wild Winds? Nires?”
“None,” Wild Winds said as Nires also shook his head in the negative.
“Haya? Do the Theas have any knowledge of these creatures?”
“If we had,” Haya said drily, “we would have mentioned it before this.”
Essa nodded. “Nothing then, from the knowledge of the Plains. I would have us share any truths that have been gathered.”
There was a stir, but no one spoke. Simus rose to his knees. “I will share what truths I have.” He spoke of Hanstau’s tale, and then shared the observations of his scouts. “The beasts seem concentrated around the lake for now,” Simus concluded. “It will take time to learn more.”
“Interesting,” Ietha drawled. “That Xyians have a name for the monsters, but gave no warning.”
“Your truth, Ietha?” Essa asked.
Ietha mimicked Simus, and rose to her knees. “What should be clear to all of us. The creatures were sent to destroy us. They came from the north, out of the mountains of Xy, and laid waste at the exact moment the Elders were gathered. At the exact moment that Simus and his people were not within the tent—were, in fact, nowhere to be seen.” Ietha glared at Simus. “Keir and his city-dwelling bragnects—”
“Silence,” Essa said sharply.
Ietha pressed her lips together, breathing hard. She glared at Essa for a long moment, then obeyed and sat back down. Simus sat as well.
“A Council of the Elders is called and presided over by the four Eldest of each branch,” Essa recited in what Simus thought of as a ‘Singer’s voice’. The very tone seemed to calm the room. “A Council names the Warlords, make major decisions on behalf of all the Tribes.” Essa paused, scanning the room. “There are decisions we must make, prey we must pull down, at this Council,” Essa said. “But as we speak our warriors and armies are at risk. There are also our thea camps, each of which must be warned.” He looked out over all of them. “So I will cut short the hunt. We’ve not enough candidates for all the Warlord positions. All here are worthy. All here have met their Trials.” His face grew stern. “I will not waste breath or time. Here is the heart of the matter: Should Simus of the Hawk be named as a Warlord of the Plains?”
Simus’s tongue dried in his mouth.
“How is this fair?” Elois hissed, but he placed his hand on her knee. Thankfully, the anger that erupted around them covered her outburst. Anger from both sides, to Simus’s shock, from friends and foes and in-betweens.
Tsor said nothing, but shifted slightly to take in more of the room, so that he could watch Simus’s back.
“We have always debated,” Ultie said loudly. “You’d silence our truths?”
“Our people are at risk,” Essa’s anger flared, cutting through the noise. “They are exposed,
and in need of guidance. Would you leave them in harm’s way?”
Haya spoke up. “The supplies for the Tribes must be gathered. We can’t delay the raiding season any further.”
The muttering subsided.
“If the tent were raised, if our skies were clear, we could exchange truths and argue for hours, days.” Essa folded his arms over his chest. “But I will deal with what is, and if in doing so I make the choices necessary for all, so be it. We have time for little else. I would call for a vote. Here. Now. Raise your hands in support of Simus of the Hawk as Warlord of the North.”
Simus had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping.
He wasn’t alone. Wild Winds was staring at Essa like he’d never seen him before, but then he raised his hand.
Haya’s hand shot up beside him.
Simus glanced around as hands were raised for him. Some anticipated, some a surprise. The hands not raised were not unexpected. Nires of the Boar. Ietha.
But the vote was divided equally. The look of satisfaction on Ietha’s face grated.
Simus watched as Essa drew a long breath, and lifted his chin as if still counting, but Simus knew the result. Essa’s bold move had not resolved the issue, but there was still hope. Now there would be debate and division. Simus resigned himself to—
Loual’s splinted hand slowly rose in the air.
“What?’ Ietha exploded. “Why?”
Loual lowered his hand and rose to his knees. “Because of what I have witnessed,” he said. “A city-dweller caring for me and my people.” He gestured to Mirro. “Because of what I have been told by Mirro, who was my Third, and now serves as my Second. He tells me of an unarmed city-dweller, a healer, who charged forward to render aid where no warrior would go.”
“You favor them,” Ietha accused.
“Do I?” Loual raised an eyebrow. “Sending Simus and his people north? To where the monsters came from? To where they and their get will likely return?” He gestured to Simus. “It will be their problem. Let them deal with the havoc they have wrought.”