“Yet, you were the lone voice,” Wild Winds said. “Just as a WarKing would do.”
A chill passed over Simus’s skin.
“It’s true that a WarKing doesn’t have to be a warrior of our people,” Essa said. “And in truth, I am not sure I trust any of you to preserve our people or our ways.” He paused, then gave Simus a very neutral look. “But I can see no way back. You and Keir have put things into motion better left alone.”
“Who’s to say?” Simus said, keeping his voice as neutral as Essa’s.
“The Fall Council,” Essa said.
Simus narrowed his eyes. This was not a challenge he had foreseen.
“But that is an issue for the Council in the Fall,” Essa said. “If we can summon one. If the armies bring back enough to keep our people alive. If the wyverns haven’t destroyed the Heart.” He shrugged. “We will see what we see when that time comes.” Essa turned to Wild Winds, and his voice grew considerably warmer. “It appears we must part, old friend. I must go, for I have work that needs doing.”
“Joden?” Simus asked.
“Not that it is any business of yours, Warlord,” Essa said, frowning. “But if you must know, I go to administer the Singer Trials to all candidates.” He focused on Wild Winds. “Come with me, at least until you are healed.”
Wild Winds started to shake his head, then winced. “No,” he said. “I must return to Lightning Strike and the young ones. They need my teaching.” He faced Simus. “I would take Hanstau, and the warrior that translates for him, with your permission. The healer should get training.”
Simus nodded. “If he agrees, and I think he will. For Lara’s sake.”
“For all our sakes,” Wild Winds said.
“You could come with us,” Simus suggested.
Wild Winds shook his head. “No. I do not yet trust that Keir wouldn’t kill us all. But maybe, in the future. Snowfall knows how to reach me, should the need arise.”
Essa’s warrior escort came up with their horses. “The elements go with you, Wild Winds.” Essa mounted and took up the reins. “I will see you in the Fall.”
“As the elements decree,” Wild Winds said.
Essa raised his hand in salute, and urged his horse on.
“I will go with you, to fetch Hanstau.” Simus said.
Wild Winds looked behind him, to where Snowfall stood waiting with Simus’s warriors.
“You know I will burn you to ash if Keir hurts her,” Wild Winds said.
“He won’t,” Simus said. “Trust me.”
Simus felt an even deeper sense of satisfaction once they’d seen Wild Winds off with Hanstau and Cadr. His warriors moved around him, their horses saddled and ready to ride.
“Haya is ready.” Tsor pulled himself into his saddle. “There’s time to gather her camp and still reach our army before sunset.”
“That’s well,” Simus started to mount his horse, but Destal came up, Snowfall following behind, leading their horses.
“Warlord.” Destal’s voice was dry. “Let’s not play this game any longer. Snowfall is a full adult warrior, with enough experience that she need not be under my command. She should be at your side, advising you and out of my hair.”
“I should earn my place,” Snowfall said firmly.
“Your dung collecting skills have been proven,” Destal snorted. “The best place for you is at our Warlord’s side.”
“If that is your judgment, Destal,” Simus said. “Snowfall will take duties under Elois.”
Elois snorted. “I can’t wait to see Keir’s face when he hears this tale.”
Tsor laughed. “I can’t wait to see Marcus’s.”
“Mount up,” Simus ordered, and pulled himself up into the saddle. His horse danced a bit, stamping its hooves, eager to be off.
“Have Cimor and his scouts been pulled away from the Heart?” Simus asked.
“Not until I warble,” Tsor said. “I wanted eyes on those monsters at all times.”
“Then let’s be about it,” Simus said.
Tsor lifted his head and warbled a cry that was echoed around them by the scouts.
“Lead the way,” Simus said.
Tsor started off, and the others followed, with Simus at the center.
Snowfall moved her horse up beside Simus, looking cool and collected and content. She favored him with a glance from under her dark lashes.
His heart swelled with the joy of the moment. To have her at his side, to be Warlord, to have survived to reach this time, this moment...
Only one thing remained for perfection.
“Elois,” Simus bellowed. “Let it be known that I would trade with any in my army for the finest gold wire, beads, and small gems. The finest, mind.”
“As you say, Warlord,” Elois said. “But you’d find those things easier in Xy.”
“No, no,” Simus said. “For I would weave a bonding in the ear of Snowfall of the Plains long before we reach Xy.”
The looks of shock and horror around him made his happiness complete. But none more than that of Snowfall, stunned, her mouth hanging open.
Simus smiled.
“You,” Snowfall sputtered, her usual calm countenance alive with outrage and anger.
“You arrogant, stupid, insufferable—”
“One usually asks one’s bonded first,” Elois noted. “Usually under the bells.”
“There is no ‘usual’ with Simus,” Tsor pointed out.
“You and I shall be bonded,” Simus said to Snowfall. “You are the flame of my heart, Snowfall.”
“Your wits never existed,” Snowfall yelled. “Much less having been taken by the winds. Warrior-priests do not bond. Warlords do not bond while—”
“Yes, they do,” Simus said, smiling at her. “We will bond, Snowfall of the Plains, and you will be my star, my flame, my night wind, and my morning sun. You and I—” Simus moved his horse in closer, and swept Snowfall from her saddle.
She didn’t resist. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him settle her in his arms. “You arrogant, foolish—”
“Say ‘yes,’” Simus said.
Snowfall huffed. “As if I’d agree to bind myself to—”
Simus laughed. “Yes, you will, my heart’s delight.”
“And why would I do that?” Snowfall leaned back to look him in the eye.
“No one else makes your heart pound as I do,” Simus said simply. “No one else makes your mouth go dry with desire. No one else makes you laugh as I do.” He paused, and then grew serious. “As you do for me. Bond with me, Snowfall of the Plains.”
She looked away, and Simus’s heart sank. He’d acted without thinking, but it was his truth and—
The tattoos on her shoulders started to move, and flowers appeared. Red, blue, yellow, all the colors of the Plains in springtime.
He lifted his eyes to find Snowfall giving him a warm look with grey eyes that sparkled.
“What do you say?” Simus asked, daring to hope.
“We will bond, Simus of the Hawk, Warlord of the Plains.” Snowfall pressed her forehead to his. “And you will be my star, my flame, my night wind, and my morning sun.”
Simus blinked away tears, and kissed her, softly at first, then—
“None of that now.” Elois rode closer and rolled her eyes. “You will fall off the horse, and then where will we be?’
Simus roared out his laughter. “Truth,” he said. He helped Snowfall regain her saddle, then looked around at his warriors, all grinning at him.
“There’s work to be done,” he called out. “To Xy!”
Epilogue
Hanstau just knew that his buttocks would be sore for days if he ever got off this godsforsaken horse.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to ride; he’d been taught the basics, and ridden in his younger years when he’d served as healer to the army. But that had been many years ago, before his marriage, before obtaining his Mastery. The Lords and Ladies of Xy rode horses. Craftsmen
like him walked, or took pony carts.
He smiled despite his misery. How horrified his wife would have been to see him riding on the Plains, following a Firelander warrior-priestess, surrounded by Firelander warriors.
But she’d have been proud and pleased as well at the bargain he’d struck. Their children were now well placed, in good apprenticeships, holding promise for their futures. A practical woman, Fleure had been. For all that their marriage had been an arranged one, they’d done well together.
It still hurt to think of her death, of the lump in her breast, and her wasting away. He’d been helpless, and Master Healer Eln as well, though they’d tried every remedy they had. All to no avail.
Hanstau looked ahead, where Wild Winds rode, keeping them at a swift pace. If there was any chance that he might be able to learn to heal magically...the very idea took his breath. It was worth it, this discomfort, if there was any hope....Besides, Wild Winds had to be hurting as well, what with that wound to his head.
The horse under Hanstau’s legs huffed out a breath, apparently as tired of Hanstau as Hanstau was tired of it. Oh, for his oxen cart, or the pony carts he rode in Xy, or just to be able to get off and walk for a while. Was there really this need to rush?
Cadr rode next to him, and gave him a grin. “Straighten your legs,” he called, showing by example. All fine and well for him, Hanstau groaned. But there was only so long that he could hold that pose, and they’d been riding for what felt like hours.
He was just promising himself at least three cups of willow-bark tea as soon as they camped, when a buzzing noise went past his head.
“What?” was all Hanstau had time for. Cadr reached over, grabbed his arm, and yanked him from his saddle.
Hanstau clung to Cadr’s arm, hanging for a long moment before Cadr dropped him to the ground. Harder to fall off then he’d thought; he lost his breath and his wits as he hit the ground.
The horses continued on, but Hanstau followed his instructions to stay down, and hidden.
He hunched in the grasses for long moments, breathing hard, listening to the sudden sounds of combat. There were shouts, and horses neighing, and the clang of sword on sword. It took a moment for him to realize they were being attacked.
He raised his head slowly.
Warriors had surrounded Wild Winds and his people, and the fighting was intense. Hanstau jerked back down, but he caught a glimpse of a downed warrior near him, groaning.
Hanstau started crawling.
The warrior was dead by the time he got to her, but there was another close by. Cursing at the waste, Hanstau crawled over.
A thigh wound, a bad one, cut right through the leather. Hanstau got to his knees and spread the edges open further. A clean wound. He took out a small bit of bloodmoss and got to work. The warrior never roused, but he was breathing evenly.
The fighting continued, joined with flashes of fire, and the smell of burning flesh. Hanstau refused to be distracted, concentrating on his patient until the wound was sealed. He dropped the bloodmoss, now pale green. It would grow and sprout for the future, with any luck.
But there was another warrior, moaning, well within reach. Hanstau crawled over, and flipped the warrior over.
It was Cadr, white and pale, his limp, bloody hands sliding away from his neck.
Hanstau reacted without thinking. He clapped bloodmoss over the cut, regardless of its state. It was the boy’s only chance. He slapped a bandage over that, which quickly soaked with blood. “Aid him, God of the Sun,” Hanstau prayed, knowing the wound was beyond anything he could close. He’d done what he could. Hanstau looked at the lad’s pale face with deep regret, then moved on.
The noise around him had subsided, but there was another warrior down nearby. Hanstau crawled again, focused on saving what wounded he could.
But when he turned her, the chest wound was too frightful to close. And the life had already faded from her open eyes.
“Have mercy on her, Goddess of the Moon and Stars,” Hanstau whispered, and reached to close her eyes.
Except a large, gloved hand reached down and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it away and up.
The hand forced Hanstau up onto to his knees. A warrior towered above him, a bloody sword in his other hand. Hanstau blinked into the sun at the large, solid man looked down at him, his blond hair and beard glowing in the light.
“Antas,” a voice called, and only then did Hanstau realize that the sounds of fighting had stopped.
“Here,” the blond called out.
“Wild Winds is dead.” Another warrior approached. “We couldn’t take him alive.”
“No matter,” the blond above him said, his eyes never leaving Hanstau’s. “I’ve found something better.”
Hanstau jerked his wrist, trying to free himself, but the warrior...Antas...just laughed. His white teeth gleamed against his tanned skin, as he leaned down and spoke.
Hanstau’s blood went cold. He knew that word.
“Warprize.”
About THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Vaughan is the USA Today Bestselling author of Warprize, the first volume of The Chronicles of the Warlands. She’s always loved fantasy and science fiction, and has been a fantasy role-player since 1981. By day, Beth’s secret identity is that of a lawyer, practicing in the area of bankruptcy, a role she has maintained since 1985. More information can be found at her website, WriteandRepeat.com.
Beth is owned by incredibly spoiled cats, and lives in the Northwest Territory, on the outskirts of the Black Swamp, along Mad Anthony’s Trail on the banks of the Maumee River.
Acknowledgments
No one writes a book without major support from friends and family. I can’t name all of you, but know that I am grateful for your love and support.
But there are some special people who must be thanked:
As always, my writer’s group: Helen Kourous, Spencer Luster, and Marc Tassin.
To Mary Gustafson, for her help with my lovely and yet disgusting wyverns.
To Carolyn Wielinski, my dance advisor, who said ‘let me show you’ and twirled me around the salon like I was a princess.
To Dylan Birtolo, my knight in shining armor. Literally. A member of the Seattle Knights, Dylan was willing to answer questions about prolonged periods of combat with different opponents.
To Elizabeth Candler, Beth Cogley, Stephanie Loree, Denise Lynn, Patricia Merritt and Molly Reed, all victims of various versions of the book, and willing to give comments to a needy writer.
To Maurice Broaddus, Gay Mercer, and Jewel Strahan, who patiently answered any question I asked.
To my editor, Anna Genoese and my copy editor, Katherine Crighton for all their efforts to make me a better writer.
Finally, to Kathie McMillan. Really sorry about that night at gaming when I rolled that critical greater cleave into your paladin’s body. They were using you as a shield and I honestly thought you were already dead.
Works by Elizabeth Vaughan
Warprize
Warsworn
Warlord
Dagger-Star
White Star
Destiny's Star
Warcry
Wardance
Copyright ©2016 by Elizabeth Vaughan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Elizabeth Vaughan at
[email protected].
Cover art by Craig White. Used by permission.
Cover design by Shawn King. Used by permission.
/> Visit Elizabeth Vaughan on the World Wide Web at:
www.writeandrepeat.com
Elizabeth Vaughan, WarDance
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