Warprize

Chapter 8

I awoke screaming, sitting up in the bed and covered in sweat. My heart thundered in my chest.

Keir’s arms gathered me close. As my vision cleared, I could make out the tent, with Marcus standing not far from the edge of the bed, holding a small lamp. The flame flickered, weak and feeble, and the shadows danced with it. I turned, fumbling at Keir’s chest, checking the wound. I had to stop the bleeding, Goddess please, I had to stop the…

Keir kept his arms around me, but gave me the room I needed as my hands fumbled over his chest, the skin supple, the scars old and healed. Frantically, I checked, then raised my eyes to his. “There was blood, so much blood. I couldn’t stop it.”

“A night horror. Just a night horror.” His strong arms enfolded me, and I allowed myself to be pulled into his embrace. I felt Keir gesture for Marcus to return to his bed, and then tensed as the light receded. “ Marcus,” Keir called softly. “Leave the lamp.”

The light remained, even as Marcus left. We stayed that way, as my breathing and heart slowed. Finally, I pushed back a little, pulling my hair off my sweaty forehead with shaky hands, and croaked out a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. I am acting the fool.”

Keir pulled me down under the furs, refusing to release his hold. “It’s not a foolish thing. Night horrors are very real.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling heavy and tired. “When I was very small, Anna would hold me when I had one. She would hug me, kiss my forehead, and stay with me til I slept.”

Keir chuckled softly. “Go back to sleep.” He brushed his lips against my forehead.

Comforted, I closed my eyes.

At some point I found myself awake, lying in the dark. There was enough light to see Keir lying next to me, on his back, close enough to touch. I closed my eyes and listened to his regular breaths and reveled in the sheer comfort that it brought. The nightmare had been so real, so terrible. I wanted to believe that my fears in the dream had been for the peace between our people, but concern for the man had been there as well.

Keir murmured and shifted his weight slightly. I opened my eyes, studying his face, trying to gauge his age. He was no youngster, but it was hard to tell. Older than Xymund. Not so old as Warren. I yawned, letting my eyes drift closed. Caring for broken and ill bodies doesn’t teach the joy of shared warmth under covers. So far, that seemed the only use for a warprize.

“WHERE’S HIS TOKEN!”

I jolted up, clutching the blankets, to find Keir half out of bed, sword in hand. There were sounds of many men outside and grunts, as if they were carrying a heavy load. “MARCUS!” The voice bellowed again. “WHERE IS THAT FOOL OF A WARLORD?“ The very walls of the tent seemed to tremble.

Keir collapsed back on the bed, still clutching his sword, his face twisted in a grimace. “Simus must have talked to Joden.”

“SILENCE!” I jumped again as Marcus called out, his voice loud enough to rival Simus’s. “I’d no sleep last night and none this morn, thanks to your bellowing!”

I flushed, and looked at Keir. “I’m sorry about last night.”

He turned his head and gave me that impish smile. “I’m not. Since it means that you were in my arms most of the night.”

More heat flooded my face.

“Get me in this tent, and bring me his damned-by-the-snows token,” Simus bellowed again. “I’ve a few choice truths to tell.”

Keir stood, and shouted back. “You’ve not bothered to use my token in years, why start now?” Keir grabbed up a tunic and belted on his sword.

“Easy! Be careful, I’m a wounded man, not a dead deer!”

A man backed in through the flap, carrying Simus on a cot. Simus was sprawled on his stomach, holding on to the sides. There were four men carrying him, but they only seemed to be getting in each other’s way. “Here,” Simus directed. “Put me down here.” The cot was dropped, and before Simus could complain, the men were gone. Simus growled, since he was half in, half out, with the flap laying on the small of his back. He fixed his glare on Keir. “What, your brain was in your sword last night?”

Marcus appeared from the other entrance and thumped a pitcher of kavage on the table, along with mugs. “I suppose you’ll be wanting food, now that you’ve frightened the herds with your cries?”

“I’ll need it to keep up my strength so that I can beat sense into this one’s head.” Simus adopted an air of injured dignity. I clutched at the blankets, and ran my hand through my hair, trying not to give into hysterical laughter.

Marcus snarled and clucked like an old chicken as he turned to go. “Body can’t get any rest, what with the screaming and the crying out all night.” He stomped out of the tent.

Keir poured kavage, handing a mug to Simus. “I had good reason—”

“To gut one of them? In their own throne room?” Simus rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you insulted their poor excuse of a king as well?” When I frowned, Simus glared at me. “I’m voicing truths here, Warprize, and you’ll pardon me if I don’t fear your blade.”

“How’s your leg, Simus?” Keir asked pointedly, as he handed me a full mug.

Simus ignored him. “And your reasons, oh great Warlord of the Plains? For throwing rocks at rutting ehats?”

I frowned. What was an ‘ehat’?

“The man gave insult to the warprize,” Keir responded. “He called her a whore.” He used the Xyian word.

“Eh?” Marcus was bringing in food. “What’s that?”

I took a long drink of kavage as Keir explained. How did they not have a word for that? What did that mean about these people? That any were free to lay with all? That seemed so barbaric.

“They sell it?” Marcus looked slightly ill, then moved away, muttering something about water for bathing.

Simus said nothing, merely drinking from his kavage.

Keir sighed, and sat down on the corner of the bed nearest Simus. “I knew I’d made a mistake even as he slid off my blade.”

Simus remained quiet.

“How can I ask my warriors to change their ways when I couldn’t change mine in that instant?” Keir ran a hand through his hair.

“Change is easy to talk of, hard to do.” Simus’s voice dropped, his eyes serious. “You tell them the truth, of course.”

Marcus came in with two buckets, and disappeared into the privy area.

“You tell them that you regret his death, but that all must take heed from this incident.”

“He’s not dead,” I spoke up. “The last we heard, he still lived.”

“He did?” Simus asked, then let his eyes slide over to Keir. “Losing your touch?”

A cry of outrage filled the tent. I grabbed at the blanket, as Keir stood, sword in hand. Simus had two daggers that appeared from nowhere. I looked at the privy entrance, to see Marcus standing there, waving my underthings in his fist and shaking them in the air. “Where did the likes of these come from?”

I jumped up and grabbed for them, but that scarred little man dodged me. “Those are mine!” I made another attempt, darting around the bed. Simus roared out his laughter and Keir got out of the way.

Marcus danced away again. “The Warprize accepts nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” His face was bright red, the scarring a dull white against it.

“Give me those!” I went after him again and this time managed to wrestle the cloth from his hand. Flushed and breathless, I shoved them behind my back and faced down Marcus, toe to toe. “You have no business—”

“Nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” Marcus roared out, spittle flying from his mouth.

“You bragnect! I bought them with his coin!”

Marcus blinked. Apparently it was an effective curse in their language, since it seemed to leave him speechless. His recovery was quick. “Could have asked Hisself or 1.”

I rolled my eyes, just imagining that conversation.

“No more than she could tell us about the dress, apparently.”

My turn to lose my tongue. Keir’s tone was mild, but his look sharp. Simus was watchful, his two daggers gone, and the kavage back in his hand. “Tell us, Warprize. Tell us what you did not tell us yesterday.”

Marcus scowled, eye darting between the two of us. “Dress? What was wrong with the dress?”

“We don’t have cloth like yours, with the colors so strong, so bright.” I ran my free hand through my hair, pulling it back.

Marcus snorted. “City folk all dress like drab, dull geese, waddling about, squawking at—”

Keir had seated himself at the table and was filling his plate. “They acted as if I had branded you, marked you somehow.” He tilted his head. “Did I?”

Marcus snorted, turning to Keir. I took the opportunity to tuck my underthings under one of the pillows on the bed. “It’s a fine dress, the color of flame, it honored her. How is that a problem?”

“For us, it is an honor.” He pinned me with his eyes. “For you?”

I sighed. “In Water’s Fall, only a whore wears red.”

Marcus’s eyebrow shot up, and he glanced at Keir before he looked at me. “A whore? That insult?” I nodded. Marcus turned to face Keir, placing both hands on his hips. “Do you hear this? We do not have such a word, thanks to the skies.” He threw his hands up in the air. “This will never work. Bringing together their ways and ours, it cannot hope to—”

Keir slapped the table with his open palm, rattling the dishes. Marcus and I both jumped. “It will work.” Keir stood there, grim and determined. “I will weave a new pattern between these ways.” He glanced at Simus. “I will use my mistake as an example for my people.” His eyes flashed at Marcus, who stood, radiating disapproval. “We will learn of our differences, ask questions when needed.” His glare centered on me now. “Offer information freely, with no fear.” I flushed and looked away. “Am I understood?”

Simus and Marcus both bowed their heads. “Yes, Warlord.”

I did the same, biting my lip.

Keir settled at the table and reached for bread. “Simus, have your men return you to your tent. Marcus, the kavage needs warming.” Marcus retreated. Keir didn’t look at me. “If you wish to bathe before eating, you may.”

I fled to the privy.

Keir and Simus were gone when I emerged. Marcus wasn’t there either, but I could hear him rattling dishes beyond the tent walls. I rummaged in the saddlebags, and put a touch of vanilla oil on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the warm fragrance. Just for a moment, I was back in Anna’s kitchen as a child, hearing her laughter and the jingle of her keys, surrounded by those I loved. The tightness in my shoulders eased. I took a few deep breaths before sitting at the table.

Marcus entered, placing a heaping plate down before me. “Warlord’s gone to send a messenger to the castle.” He poured kavage in my mug, hesitating before setting it down. “I meant no offense, Warprize.” I looked at him, puzzled. “The dress. I meant no insult.”

I stared at my plate. “I should have said something, Marcus. You were just so proud for having found it, I just couldn’t—”

He shook his head and grimaced. “Not the first time my pride got in the way, won’t be the last.”

“Marcus—” I pushed the food around on my plate. “Marcus, do you support Keir in this peace? Does the army?”

“We’re a people who’ve known nothing but battle and raiding. Conquering and holding land, the blending of our ways with yours is a new idea. And one Hisself is bent on.” Marcus’s eye was lost in the distance, and his fingers drummed on the pitcher. “All knew of his plans for this place, and followed in that understanding, but there’s miles between knowing and doing.” He wrinkled his nose as he focused on me. “Hisself holds the reins, but there’s always someone that frets at the traces. Iften would gladly see Hisself fall off this horse.”

Marcus sat on one of the stumps, slumping. “Then there’s you.”

“Me?”

“Aye. A warprize must be taken to the Heart of the Plains. That’s a month of travel at the start of the snows. You, who’s never lived beyond stone walls for all her days.” Marcus shook his head. “Hisself is a good man to follow, to trust with your life, but the risks on this path are far greater than the one’s he’s taken in battle. As I’ve followed him in war, who am I to refuse to follow him in this?”

“But you don’t think it will work.” I breathed, my heart sinking.

He stood quickly, scowling at me. “You should see to Atira. Eat now, Rafe and Prest will be here soon, and the food does no good to the plate.”

Try as I might, I could get no more from him.

With Gils’s help, the morning flew swiftly, what with washing, bandaging and the like. I was amazed how quickly Gils learned. He would recite things back that I had told him, word for word, but even with his memory, hands on learning was necessary. It’s one thing to be able to recite how to clean a wound. It’s another to have a living patient who wiggles and complains as you do it. Halfway through the process, I heard noises coming from outside the tent, as of men working. I looked over but Rafe and Prest showed no signs of concern, so I ignored it.

My patients were progressing well, and there were only two left, including Atira. She was also coming along nicely, although she was uncomfortable when I adjusted the tension on her leg. The ache seemed to ease once she was settled again, with her weapons arranged in proper order. Privately, I conceded that having one’s patients naked under the blankets was a time-saver, but not one that I’d be able to introduce to my Xyian patients.

That thought brought me up short. I’d lost myself in the comforting routine of caring for people, forgetting that I’d never have Xyian patients again. A wave of homesickness came over me, and I had to bite my lip to prevent tears. I felt lost and alone and—

I wrenched my thoughts back to the moment, and concentrated on the tasks at hand.

I desperately wanted to ask Atira questions, about the Heart of the Plains and her life there, and what she thought of the Warlord’s plans, but she had her planning board out, and was moving stones around. Besides, there were listening ears all about us. I was afraid that Marcus was right, that Keir’s plans to unite our peoples and learn each others ways was doomed from the start. What would happen to Keir if he failed? What would happen to me? I flushed, feeling sheepish. Later, I’d ask, when Gils was gone and everyone was drowsy. I’d ask for Atira’s token.

Once all were settled, I pulled out The Epic of Xyson. I’d managed to hide it from Marcus and smuggle it down to the healing tent with no one the wiser. “I have a surprise for you all.” I smiled as I opened the book. “I thought I would read this to you. It’s a story of one of my ancestors—”

There was a crash. Startled, I looked up. Gils had dropped the pitcher. Everyone was staring at me. Atira, propped up on her elbows, was pale and wide-eyed. “Warprize, you keep your songs on paper?”

I nodded and turned the book so they could see the writing.

Gils looked at it carefully. The other patient came over, straining to see. Even Rafe and Prest left their positions by the door for a closer look.

“I have heard of this, but the sky as my witness, I thought it a fable told to children.” Rafe frowned. “ How can the marks hold your songs?”

“Listen.” Returning the book to my lap, I read out loud, “Hear now the tale of Xyson, Warrior King, and his defeat of the barbarians of the southern lands. Xyson, tall and strong as the mountain had led his people well for ten years before the barbarians fell upon the villages and raided his people.” I paused, suddenly unsure. It occurred to me that the barbarians the book talked about were Keir’s own people.

Prest snorted. “How old?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“The story is almost four hundred years old. Xyson is my father’s father’s father back some nine generations.”

Prest looked impressed. Atira lay back against her blankets. “A song so old. You do us honor, Warprize.”

“Don’t be so quick to say that.” I smiled at her and the others settling around us. “You haven’t heard it yet.”

I read for about a half hour. My audience hung on every word, even though the tale talked about numbers of troops, supplies, and the appointing of a Warden for the kingdom.

Dull as the story was, it forced me to learn new words as I translated. Rafe and Prest took their positions back at the entrance, but when I saw them straining to hear, I raised my voice slightly. There was silence when I finally stopped and closed the book. Atira cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what your custom is, Warprize. Normally we would give thanks to the singer.”

“Thanks is good.” I stood and stretched. “I’m glad to share it with you. But now I am hungry. Is the nooning close?”

Gils jumped up. “I’s be checking.” He darted out the door and ran into someone coming in. “Sorry, Warlord!”

“Watch where you’re going, boy,” came the gruff response. Rafe and Prest stood as Keir entered the tent. His face was clear of the anger he had shown this morning. “How goes it with—” He stopped abruptly when he saw the book in my hands.

It was time to confess. “I bought this with your coin yesterday.” I smoothed one hand over its cover nervously. “It’s an old story called The Epic of Xyson. I thought it would distract—”

“You’re reading to my people?” The surprise in his voice was clear.

I nodded. “I also bought a primer. A teaching tool. So that I could teach Gils to read my book on herbs.” I chanced a glance at his face.

Keir looked very satisfied. “You would teach him?” He moved over to gaze down at Atira. “Could she learn as well?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “If she is willing.”

Atira’s eyes got even bigger. “Warlord, at your command, I’ll try.”

Keir narrowed his eyes, nodding. “That is all I ask, Warrior. This is no easy horse to master, but it would please me for you to learn.”

She nodded her acceptance of the charge.

Keir arched an eyebrow. “I’ve announced a pattern dance for tomorrow night.”

Atira brightened, but her face fell quickly. “I’ll miss the dancing, but it’s my pattern they’ll be weaving.” There was pride mixed with the disappointment.

Keir smiled. “If Simus can be carried to the senel, why not you?”

I frowned, considering. Keir watched me, focused on my face. “Explain to her, Warrior. Tell her why it is important to you.”

“Warprize, it’s an honor to be asked to design the pattern.” Atira pleaded with voice and eyes. “To not see my first pattern woven, it’s like a dagger thrust here.” She put her hand over her heart.

“The leather has dried and hardened. If we are careful, and if you swear that you will not move, and let yourself be carried…”

“All that, all that, I swear, Warprize.”

Atira was so serious, so earnest, that I had to smile.

“Well then, if all is well here, I have something to show you.” Keir tugged on my sleeve and pulled me toward the entrance. Prest and Rafe were also standing there, grinning like fools.

I gave them a narrow look. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” The reply was in unison. My skepticism must have been obvious, because they all laughed.

The day had turned overcast, and held the promise of rain. Keir took me by the shoulders and turned me to walk around the corner of the tent. Prest and Rafe were slightly ahead of us.

There was a second, smaller tent there, that had been put up recently. I looked at Keir, who smiled. Prest and Rafe stood next to the tent flap. “Look!” said Rafe as he pulled the flap aside. Keir gave me a light push and I entered the tent. They followed.

I stood there, stunned.

There were all the supplies that I had requested, crates of them, everything that I had asked for, and…

Stillroom equipment. I moved forward, eyes open in wonder. There were flasks, and bowls, and mortar and pestle, and small braziers, and jars and bottles. They covered the three tables in the tent. I turned and stared at Keir. He was smiling, looking back at me. Prest and Rafe were laughing.

“When did you do this?”

Keir grinned. “Last night and this morning. When you told me of a ‘stillroom’ and what it contained, I sent Sal to your friend Remn. They gathered what I wanted and what was needed. Now, you have a ‘ stilltent’, yes?” His smile faded as he looked around. “I had not thought… these items are fragile. We will need a way to carry it when we move.” He moved around the small tent as he thought. “I will talk to Sal and see what she thinks.”

I stood there, a tangle of emotions. Joy at the gift. Fear at the idea of leaving. I laid a shaking hand on Keir’s arm. “Thank you.”

He smiled down at me. “I would help, but Warren is coming for the nooning with some of his men. He has sent a messenger to confirm that he will come, and to tell me that Durst still clings to life with the aid of Eln the Healer.”

I caught my breath. “Eln is very skilled. I apprenticed to him.”

Keir cocked his head. “Skilled with porcupine quills?”

I smiled. “Yes, that too.”

Keir lifted his chin, a gleam of humor in his eyes. “We will review battles and tell lies about our bravery. Do you wish to attend?”

I looked around the tent. “There’s so much to do here. Do you mind?”

“No.” His lips twitched. “Although you are missing Simus at his best, full of food and drink and tales of his prowess.” Keir shook his head. “Prest and Rafe have asked to be there. I will send someone to relieve them.”

I shrugged and smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

Keir frowned. “No. They will be relieved. I’ll have food brought to you as well.” He reached up, cradled my head in his hand, and kissed me. His lips lingered on my mouth. “I will be thinking about you.” He lowered his voice. “And about this morning.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “And about tonight.” He stood and smiled at my blush.

“Maybe there will be night horrors again tonight?” He chuckled as he left the tent.

I threw myself into the work, rather then try to think about anything else. Prest and Rafe helped me arrange the tables, with the crates below. It took a while to sort through everything and to get the heavy crates maneuvered into position.

At last, we were down to one unopened crate. Prest had found something to pry off the top. He and Rafe were wrestling with it when their relief arrived, hailing from outside the tent. With one last heave, Prest pried the lid off. They both scrambled to their feet, eager to go.

Rafe pulled the new guards inside. “Warprize, this is Epor and Isdra. They will guard while we are gone.” Prest and Rafe turned and left with my thanks floating behind them.

I smiled at the older man and woman, the same that were with us in the castle. I remembered him for his bright gold hair and beard that shown like the sun. He had a warm, easy smile, and was big, like the paintings of the sun god in the temple. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the slight silver at his temples told me that he was older than most Fire-landers that I had met. He was different too, in that he had a long club strapped to his back, the top jutting up like the hilts of Keir’s swords.

Epor smiled back and nodded. “I am Epor, Warprize. This is Isdra. Let us know if you need help. We’ll be outside if you need us, if Isdra can stop gaping.”

The woman, who was almost his height but thinner, had a long braid of silver hair that hung down her back. Her skin had a yellow tint to it, and her eyes were oddly slanted. She wore a shield on her back, and a sword and dagger at her side. She’d been busy looking around at all the things in the tent. She seemed a bit more reserved to me but at Epor’s words, she whipped her head around, flinging the braid and glared at Epor with her grey eyes flashing. Epor just laughed, and pulled at her braid as they left the tent. I noticed that they each had some kind of metal wire laced along the outer rim of their left ears. It glittered in the light as Isdra turned her head. I’d have to ask Atira what it meant.

I watched as Epor and Isdra took up stations outside the flap. It still seemed so strange to me, to see women dressed in armor, with weapons she clearly knew how to use. All of the women that I’d seen were so strong, confident of her abilities and secure in her position. I envied them to a degree, having so freely what I had to fight to achieve.

I turned back to my work and lifted the lid of the last crate.

I sat down. Hard. And stared.

It was filled with paper. Ink. Blank journals.

In one wonderful, horrible moment I knew that I was lost. Keir, Warlord, had taken me, claimed me, made me his warprize. But somewhere, somehow, he had managed to find a way into my heart as well.

How had this happened? I’d given myself to a barbarian, a ravaging, crazed warlord, expecting little more than abuse and dishonor at his hands. But this man had offered nothing but kindness and respect to me, his property. I knew this gift was by his hand, I’d not spoken to Sal about paper or ink, and she’d not understand its importance.

Could he care so much that he paid attention to this tiny detail?

Did he want me to be happy?

I clutched one of the journals to my chest as my emotions overwhelmed me. Joy and confusion warred with one another. My mouth went dry, and I closed my eyes. What would happen when we returned to his home? Such a warrior as Keir had other… conquests. At least five. Of that I was certain. The image of him in another’s arms came to me and I felt sick. I closed my eyes and let the nausea pass through me.

Keir moved his hand, running his fingers through my hair, spreading it out over the fur. His eyes flared blue light. “Want to know the best part of being a warlord?” I just looked up and nodded. Keir grinned. “I always get what I want.”

I put my head down. The pain threatened to overwhelm me. Please Goddess, let him want me. Let him want me forever.

Enough. I sat up and scrubbed at my face with my sleeve. I had work to do.

I returned to the tent to check on my patients. The man was well; drowsy after eating. Atira was awake, though, and gestured me over when she saw me. I waved Gils off, since I knew he had other duties, and moved to sit by her side.

“Warprize.” Atira looked deeply concerned. “Warprize, may I have your token?” She looked anxious and worried.

I reached for one of her stones and handed it to her. “You hold my token, Atira. What truths would you voice?”

She hesitated, looking at me closely. “I have heard a rumor in the camp about you, and I would ask you if it is true, and voice a truth if it is indeed true.” I had to think for a minute. “A rumor? About me?”

“About your people.” She nodded “And you.” She rubbed the stone between her fingers. “Is it true that you are untouched? That your people do not mate until they bond?”

I reared back, physically. Consciously or not, Atira did so as well, keeping a tight grip on the token and holding it up between us. It took me a minute to gather my wits. “Atira, who told you—”

“Skies above, it’s true,” she whispered, staring at me in utter horror. “You bind when young and sleep only with your bonded?”

I managed a nod, my face so hot it hurt. “Who teaches you then? Who instructs… ?” Her voice trailed off as she looked at my eyes. “No one? You are both left to fumble about?” She collapsed back on the cot in silence.

I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my cheeks to try to cool them.

“None told me, Warprize. I listened to the stories of your people, and the Warlord’s intent to follow your ways, and made a guess. But I must say this. Stupid. That is so stupid, Warprize.”

I looked at her, puzzled. “What is that word? Stupid?”

“Dull-witted. Foolish. Ignorant.” Her angry face glowered at me. “We have initiators. Teachers. Joden is one. He would be an excellent choice. You should request him.” She sounded like a parent recommending a Master to study under.

I choked up, laughter and tears both in my throat, trying to find the words. “Atira, we believe that two people should come to the bonding… untouched… and learn together.”

She shook her head, and held up the token. “The Warlord said to learn and respect different ways. But that is barbaric and stupid.” She held the stone out to me, frowning as she did so.

I took the stone. “I thank you for your truth, Atira. As you say, our ways are very different.”

“All I ask is that you think on my words, Warprize. Keir is experienced, but he is not an initiator. You have no thea to advise you in your choice, but come to me after you have thought on this and we will talk. I will mention this to no one.”

I fled to the stilltent to throw myself into a frenzy of the familiar.

As I had so often in the past, I lost myself in my work. Soon, I had various pots simmering and bubbling on the tables. A double batch of fever’s foe was cooling in some jars on the far table. I had a jug of my rose hip tea steeping in the corner. There were papers set out on every available surface as I tried to reconstruct my recipes for the various salves and lotions that I had made over the years. I had no marvelous memory to rely on and I found it hard going. It would be easier when I started mixing, since my nose would remember the smells as I worked. At least, that was my hope.

I also hoped that the warmth that lingered on my cheeks was from the effort, and not from the discussion. Dearest Goddess, initiators? Would I be called on to bear five children? And what if Keir couldn’t father five children on me? Would I be required to ‘use’ someone else?

There was a noise at the entrance, and I looked up to see Marcus wrapped in a cloak, carrying a large basket. He fixed me with that one eye. “As Hisself thought. Past the nooning, and you with no food in or near you.” He tsk’ed at the look on my face. “Aye, lost in your work, as I expected. Well then that one of us has the common sense the elements gave all creatures.” He looked around. “Already? No space for food or drink?” I laughed and we pulled out some crates to sit on. He pulled out some dishes and a flask from his basket. I dug in, suddenly starved. Marcus was wandering around and sniffing my concoctions.

“Is Warren still here?” I asked around a mouthful of food.

“Aye.” Marcus sniffed the fever’s foe. “They’re swilling kavage and telling old war tales.” He rolled his eye. “From the sound, one would think that they were fighting all the battles over again.”

“Marcus?”

“Aye?” He replied, still poking around.

I cleared my throat. “What happened to you?”

He turned swiftly and stared at me. I thought I might have offended him, but he snorted. “Healers.” He laughed quietly, “I figured you’d ask eventually.” He pulled up a crate and sat down. “All right then, ‘tis simple enough. Ever hear of fiery pitch?” He gestured for me to keep eating, so I just shook my head.

“Thought not.” He sighed. “Nasty stuff. It’s flung against an enemy. It’s a substance that burns when fired and sticks to whatever it touches.” He studied his feet. “I was in such a battle, and was stupid enough to have my head up when a shot landed nearby. I caught just the edge of it, but’t‘was enough.” He sighed. “ It coated me and burned and burned. I’d thought better to die, but a young warrior, barely dry behind the ears, would not listen to my plea for mercy.” He looked up, serious. “Hisself would not do it. He would not let me go. Through the pain and fear of the days that followed, he would not let me go.”

Marcus stood. “When it was done, and I was healed, well… my days of battle were over. I would not last on the field for long with a blind side.” His hands flexed at his sides, and he rubbed his face and head with them. “The sorrow of that loss hurt worse then the burns.” His hands lowered and his one eye looked off in the distance. “Hisself cursed me for a fool, and made me his bearer.” Marcus shrugged. “I have served him ever since.”

“So he did the same thing Joden did.” I thought for a moment. “Was he punished?”

Marcus had to laugh at that. “No, Warprize, not in the sense that you mean. I was a simple warrior, no second-in-command. Keir’s refusal was not treated well, and caused many a comment, but you’ve seen him fight. There’s none that would challenge. Many took his token and criticized him for the violation of tradition, but he answered to their truths every time.”

He stood and wrapped the cloak about him, covering himself completely. “Nay, Joden’s action was different. His failure to give mercy resulted in Simus being captured and there’s the point, Warprize. While Keir supports him and Simus has thanked him, there will be larger problems with the Council of Elders. Aye, and maybe with the Singers, too.

“How did the healers…”

Marcus grimaced. “I have no idea who did what, or how, and no wish to remember the details. It was long ago, Warprize.” He glared at me and pointed at the plate of food. “Eat. I must return to the tent and see if Hisself requires anything.” He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Simus is telling his tall tales, and those city-dwellers are believing every word. I needs get back and poke holes in the bucket he carries his conceit in.”

I chuckled as he left the tent.

I worked as I ate, jotting down notes as I recalled the recipes. When they were done, I set the pots to cooling. I had time to distill a cough remedy that I remembered, if I could find the ingredients in the crates. I looked to see if I had remembered to get honey. Added, it would sweeten the brew.

Suddenly, there were noises outside, of men and horses. The flap opened, and Isdra stepped in. “ Warprize, there are wounded.”

“Wounded?” I jumped up, removed my last pot from the brazier, tied back my hair, and hurried out.

The healing tent was filled with milling men as the wounded were brought in. The captain of the scouts saw me and hurried over.

“Warprize. There are six wounded men. The worst is a gut wound, we have placed him at the back of the tent. The rest are fairly minor, although there are a number of deep slashes and cuts.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve sent a message to the Warlord.”

I nodded, thinking quickly. The gut wound was my first concern. With Gils at my side, I gathered up water and cloths. I got him started helping the more mobile patients. Atira was awake, but only moved so far as to prop herself up on pillows. I headed toward the back, fearing what I would find.

Two men stood over the man writhing on the cot. The one looked familiar under his helmet, but my eyes were drawn to the wounded man. His bloody hands clutched at the hilt of a dagger that had been driven into his groin. Blood seeped between his fingers. I swallowed hard. Ah, Goddess, it was a bad one.

I knelt by the cot, putting the water and cloths beside me. “I am a healer, let me help you.” I reached over, trying to move his hands from the weapon and get a better look. “Gently, gently.” I pried back the man’s hands and checked with my own.

There was no wound. There was blood, but no injury. The dagger was flat against his belly, up under the armor. Puzzled, I looked up and into eyes I recognized. “Arneath?”

I staggered back. Those eyes held no pain, rather they held a fury I had never seen before. Before I could react, he was off the cot, lunging at me. He had one hand around my throat, the other clutched the dagger. He bore me to the ground, and we fell back. My breath huffed out, his weight falling full on my stomach. The hand at my throat squeezed, cutting off my breath.

Arneath’s companions reacted as well. I caught a brief glimpse as they drew their weapons, yelled and charged the wounded. There were screams and sounds of fighting all around us.

Arneath swung his hand up, dagger flashing. It plunged down just as swiftly. I managed to get my hands up to grab his wrist. But Arneath had his full strength behind it, and the dagger continued toward my heart slowly but surely. Arneath squeezed my throat again, cutting off air and sound. His eyes gleamed with a mad brightness. “Die, traitorous bitch.”

With what strength I had, I fought to deflect the blade. The weapon plunged down, the pain flared up, and the darkness embraced me.

“Open your eyes, little healer.” The whisper was soft, but insistent. Simus’s voice seeped through the blackness and the pain, soft and quiet, with an underlying urgency to the sound.

“Little healer, open your eyes. Wake for me.”

I moved my head toward the sound, but stopped when pain flared up. The air that I pulled in was tainted with the scent of blood and death.

“Thank the skies.” Simus’s voice took on a new urgency, even as he whispered. “Don’t move, little one. Just open your eyes and speak. Keir needs you.”

Keir needed me? I dragged my lids up.

Keir was standing over me, swords in hand. He was splattered with blood, poised as if for battle, on guard against an opponent.

“At last.” Simus’s voice was coming from the side, still soft and low. I turned my head slowly, to see his black face on the ground, pushed under the back wall of the tent. His features were tight, but he flashed a smile at me. “Warprize, Keir is raging. Try to call him back.”

I couldn’t really see, couldn’t tell what had happened. I licked my lips and panted against the pain. “ Keir?” My voice was little more than a whisper itself, my throat in agony.

Keir’s eyes flickered down, then back up, as if watching for the enemy. His swords were coated with blood.

“Keep trying, little one,” Simus whispered. “He doesn’t know us and won’t let us in the tent. Battle rage, eh? You understand?”

I’d heard of it. Hadn’t someone in the Epic suffered the affliction? I blinked a bit, confused.

Simus spoke again, urgently. “Stay with me, little one. Stay awake.”

“Keir.” I tried to clear my throat and my voice strengthened slightly. “Let them help. They’re friends.” His eyes settled on mine, wary, suspicious, then flicked back to the tent walls. I shifted a bit, trying to get a better look, but that proved a mistake. A cry escaped me as the pain ran over me in a wave. I couldn’t move my shoulder.

“Warprize?” Simus’s worried tone cut through the grey that swamped my vision.

Keir snarled, one sword pointed toward Simus, the other at the entrance. There were others outside, I could hear their voices. The tent walls vibrated when they moved.

I swallowed back my fear and panic. “Simus, get everyone quiet and away from the tent.”

Simus’s face disappeared and there were murmurs outs-ide. Keir tensed, his swords held at the ready, blood running down the tang. I flicked my eyes away from that, and tried to slow my breathing. The quiet seemed to help, for it seemed that Keir’s stance changed slightly.

“Keir.” My voice grew stronger. “Warlord.”

His eyes met mine again, but this time they seemed more puzzled than wary. I smiled at him weakly. “Let Simus come in.” I closed my eyes and took a breath against the pain, afraid that I’d lose consciousness again.

“Simus?” Keir’s voice was rough, almost a growl.

“Friends. Be easy, Keir. They will help us. Simus,” I called. “Take off your weapons, and come in.”

I heard a rustling and movement outside. Simus or someone was slowly cutting the back wall of the tent, making an entrance. Keir spun, placing himself between me and the widening gap.

Simus crawled through, on hands and knees, dragging his wounded leg behind him. Keir tracked his every move with the tips of his swords. Simus stopped just out of reach and lowered himself to lay on the floor. “My Warlord, the enemy is slain and all is secure. What is your command?”

Keir stared at him for a bit, then lowered his swords slowly. “Simus?” His voice was rough and puzzled. “What… ?”

Simus did not raise his head. “Battle rage, Warlord.”

Keir was already looking around, turning this way and that. His eyes fell on me. “Skies.” Through a haze, I saw him drop his swords and kneel by my side. Simus reached over and pulled the weapons to his side. “Get in here and help her!” Keir roared.

I would have laughed, but it hurt too damn much.

Gils appeared beside me, muscling his way in. Joden appeared from nowhere and grabbed at Keir’s shoulders, pulling him hack. “Let the boy work.”

“Warprize, can you hear me?” My vision was graying, but I could make out a shock of red hair and anxious eyes. Gils turned away, then suddenly there was a movement under my nose. A deep breath and suddenly everything was bright and sharp. The scent from the crushed leaves in Gils’s hand cleared my confusion.

“Warprize.” Gils swallowed hard, and continued with a shaky voice. “The dagger went through your upper arm to the hilt. It holds you pinned to the tent floor.” He swallowed a sob. “There’s be a lot of blood.”

Well, that certainly explained a few things. I trembled for a moment, but not from the cold. Images returned, memories of what had happened. “What of the others?” I forced the words out past the pain. “ Atira?”

Keir grunted. Gils spoke quickly. “You’re the worst.”

Simus nodded. “Tell us what to do.”

“Roll me over so that the dagger comes clear. Clean it well, then pull it from my arm.” I took another deep breath. The scent of the leaves was still there. “Gils, you will need to clean and dress the wound. Use boiled skunk cabbage, there is some in the tent.” Another tremble went though my body. It seemed that I was teaching a class from some distance away.

“Get me warm and watch for signs of fever.” The haze was back, the leaves could not stave it off any longer. I could just make out Gils’s nod and worried look. “You’ll do fine,” I whispered. “Simus.”

“Warprize.” Simus was still with Keir.

“Once it’s clean, I want you to pull out the dagger.” Keir started to object, but I didn’t let him continue. “ Warlord.” I managed to lift my other hand. Keir knelt and took it. “Let them do what they must.” I caught his eyes with mine. “I will be fine.”

Simus knelt by my side. Gils knelt next to him, poised with supplies. They shifted me slightly, and I gasped at the sensation. I tried to focus on Keir’s eyes through the haze. They were so blue, so frightened.

Frightened?

Puzzled, I opened my mouth to ask why at the same moment that Simus pulled the dagger out. The pain cut through the haze nicely, revealing the blackness beyond.