Warprize

Chapter 10

In an instant Rafe and Prest stood beside me, weapons drawn. Marcus shifted as well, standing at Keir’s side. I sat frozen, not understanding how everything could change in an instant.

Simus spoke softly, turned slightly to look at Keir. “Do you think he’s behind—”

Keir responded in the same tone. “I don’t know.” He stayed seated, raising a voice that held a clear disdain for the man before him. “I’ve made no secret of my intent, Iften. I will bind these lands together, weave new patterns from our ways and theirs.” His voice carried with no difficulty. The watching warriors had their eyes on him, and few stirred. There was only the soft breeze and the fires of the torches that moved and crackled. Keir continued. “We will be stronger for it. Take back your flawed challenge. You swore an oath for all the elements to see that you would follow me. I hold you to your oath.”

“Their ways are foul and tainted. I cry challenge now, before you destroy us all.”

Marcus snorted. “His wits have been scattered by the winds.” Keir grunted but didn’t turn his head.

“Where is the singer?” Iften shouted out. “Where is Joden?”

Joden emerged from the press of bodies off to the side, his broad face unhappy. “I’m here, Iften.”

Iften raised his sword and shield, almost as if he were offering them. “What says our singer to my challenge?”

Joden took two steps out and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “I have not heard your protests in senel, Iften. I have not heard you raise these truths with Keir’s token in your hand. I hear only your challenge, out of season, and against your oaths. I’m not yet a Singer.” Joden continued, his voice resonant and firm. “But were I the Singer of singers and standing at the Heart of the Plains, still I would call you Oathbreaker.”

The crowd responded to those words with a buzz. To my eyes it seemed that Iften shrank a little when he heard Joden’s words. Still, he remained standing at the center of the field.

Keir stood. The crowd grew silent. “A new pattern is hard to dance, and we are all in need of practice. There have been mistakes made, and I acknowledge that. This is also a mistake, Iften. Withdraw your challenge. These matters can be discussed in senel, and if your concerns cannot be satisfied, I will release your oath in the spring.” Keir shifted his stance slightly, taking a more threatening posture. “Or repeat your challenge without my token and die.”

Iften seemed to freeze, as if he couldn’t make a decision.

“Hell of a way to ruin a dance.” Simus grumbled, just loud enough to be heard by those closest to us. Laughter started and continued, as his words were passed on. The tension released, like water pouring out of a bowl.

Iften stood for another moment, but he had lost and he knew it. “I withdraw the challenge.” With a sullen look, he sheathed his sword and slung his shield on his back. A young man raced out and handed him the wooden bowl, and he started the ritual to begin the dance. Keir and Simus returned to their stumps. Rafe and Prest faded back to their original positions.

Marcus held a mug of kavage in front of me. “Drink this, Warprize. You are as white as snow.”

I took the mug and sipped. Keir turned, and looked at me with concern. “Are you well, Warprize?”

“He threatened to kill you.”

Simus snorted, accepting kavage from Marcus. “Iften always speaks before he thinks.”

“Still,” Keir watched the dancers as if he had no other concerns. “He did speak. There may be others that agree with him.”

Simus rumbled in agreement. “And where did he get that courage, I wonder?”

Keir shrugged, and both focused on the dance.

I watched as well, although I couldn’t remember the colors that danced or their patterns. I waited for my heart to stop racing in my chest. Everyone acted as if nothing had happened, as if having someone challenge a warlord to fight to the death were something that happened every day. I sat, trying to understand it all as the last dance ended and Iften performed some ceremony to bring things to a close. Keir was next to me before I could even stand. With a simple gesture, Rafe and Prest were called to my side.

“Take her to my tent, and guard her well.” Keir spoke in low tones. “Stay with her until I return. I’m going to walk the camp. Simus?”

Simus stood, and I noticed his hesitation. “He can’t. He’s been on that leg far too long.”

I stood, pulling up the cloak. “I’d better look at it.”

Simus wrinkled his nose, but nodded. “She’s right.”

“Take them to Simus’s tent. When she’s finished, escort her to mine. Marcus can send Gils to her.” Keir glared at them. “Don’t leave her for an instant.”

“Will you call a senel?” Simus asked, as we moved off the platform.

“We’ll talk after I’ve tasted the mood of the warriors.” He strode off into the growing darkness.

***

Simus’s tent glowed with warmth when we arrived. He eased down onto his bed with Marcus’s assistance. Once his trous and the bandages were off, I could see that the wound was healing well. “You’ ve just pushed it too hard, Simus.”

“Perhaps, little healer.” He sank back “But how could I miss a dance?” His smile grew wide, and his eyes gleamed. “And such a dance!”

Joden entered the tent in time to hear his words. “Aye, Iften is a fool.”

Simus laughed. “Iften is a good warrior, but he fears change. Keir makes sweeping changes. You’re surprised that they clash?”

“Shall I fetch Gils?” Marcus asked me quietly.

I dug through the supplies by the bed. “No, I have what I need here.”

Joden sat on a stool out of the way. “A surprise that he would call challenge.”

“That’s a truth voiced.” Simus stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “Where did he find the nerve?”

“I don’t understand what he thought he was doing.” I worked as 1 spoke. “He threatened Keir with death. According to our laws, that would make him an outlaw.”

Simus grimaced slightly at my touch. “We only give positions of power to those who’ve earned them. Challenge is a part of determining who will lead.”

I blinked at him. “Xymund rules by right of blood, as confirmed by the gods.”

“It’s not because of his skill as a warrior.” Marcus commented.

“That’s why he has men such as Warren,” I snapped, stung more by the criticism of my people than in defense of my half-brother. I looked at Simus. “So Xymund, as King, would have to face challenges to stay on the throne.”

Joden chuckled. “It’s not that easy, Warprize. One must qualify to give challenge. Iften has the right to challenge Keir, but no one may challenge on campaign.”

The silence that descended was a thoughtful one. I concentrated on re-bandaging the wound, and dosing Simus with fever’s foe. I offered lotus as well, to help him sleep, but he declined. As soon as I finished, Marcus hustled me out.

Once outside, I resisted. “I want to check Atira’s leg.”

“None of that.” Marcus barred my path. “Hisself said ‘to the tent’ and off to the tent we go.”

Rafe coughed to draw my attention and spoke once he had my eye. “It’s the Warlord’s command.”

I would’ve argued, but my arm was throbbing. We returned to Keir’s tent, only to engage in a heated discussion of just how Rafe and Prest were going to guard me. They interpreted their instructions literally, and intended to sit and watch me sleep. After some heated discussion, Rafe and Prest took up positions outside, and Marcus and I went in alone.

I folded up the cloak and laid it on one of the benches, careful not to use my arm too much. “Marcus, do challenges happen often?”

“Of course, Warprize. Before the armies are gathered, the challenges are fought to determine ranks. But that is for the early spring. No one issues challenge on campaign.”

“Iften did.”

“Iften is a fool.” Marcus chuckled softly. “Hisself took care of him without raising a sword.”

“Could someone challenge Simus? While he is hurt?”

“That’s not done, Warprize. Another would take his place while he healed. Iften in fact, since he stands third in rank.” Marcus fussed with the brazier. “Although few heal from such a wound.” He frowned into the coals, then turned, regarding me. “It’s off to bed with you. Hisself won’t be in until late, if I know him. ”

I lay awake for quite some time, wondering about a world where a warrior held his rank and title by merit instead of class or birth. My dreams were filled with the images of Xy-mund fighting Warren for the crown when I slipped into sleep.

I awoke to a warm embrace, a frowning countenance, and Keir’s voice in my ear.

“You are not to leave this bed today.”

The day deteriorated from there.

Marcus was cranky from lack of sleep. Keir was wound tighter then he had been the night before, if that were possible. I was upset because my arm ached, Marcus was cranky, and Keir was impossible.

He ordered me to stay in bed.

I refused.

He ordered me to stay in the tent.

I refused.

He ordered me to accept an escort of my guards, Rafe and ten more men to the tents, have my assistants check my arm, and return to his tent.

I refused. I asked to go into the city with him to see Warren.

He refused.

During our discussion, we bathed, dressed, and ate. And discussed the matter at the top of our lungs.

Finally, Marcus emerged from his area and roared “Enough!” We both stopped talking, and turned to glare at him.

Marcus glared right back. “You.” He said, pointing at Keir. “Go to the city with some men and find out what Warren has learned.” He turned and pointed at me. “You. Go to the tents with your guards.” He glared at both of us. “Damned fools.” He stomped off. “And don’t come back ‘til after my nap!” he yelled from the back.

Keir grabbed up his cloak and sword, and stomped out. I glared at the tent wall as I finished my kavage, then grabbed up my cloak and stomped out. Epor and Isdra were waiting outside, and they eyed me with trepidation as I walked past them. They fell into step behind me, and were smart enough to stay quiet as we walked.

I strode to Simus’s tent, wanting to check his wound, but Joden was emerging as I walked up. “He’s sleeping, Warprize. He and Keir were up late, talking.”

“I’ll let him sleep.”

“I’ll walk with you, if I may. I wish to talk to Atira.” Joden fell in step next to me. Epor and Isdra followed.

“For your song?”

Joden nodded. “1 wish to see what happened through her eyes.”

“Will you sing of what happened last night? Iften’s challenge?”

Joden snorted. “No, Warprize. The songs I create now must be great songs of great events, songs that will aid me in earning the title of Singer. I will not sing of fools.”

Gils awaited us at the healing tent, smiling next to a pile of bandages and a pot of fever’s foe. Atira was the only patient, propped up on her cot; they both looked up eagerly when we walked in. Epor and Isdra arranged themselves by the tent flap, sitting on stumps. Isdra flipped her long braid back and pulled out some leather work. Epor had some oil that he seemed to be rubbing into the wooden handle of his war club.

“You must tell me what happened!” Atira threw up her hands in disgust. “They brought me back here last night, and I only heard this morning. Is it true? Did Iften challenge?”

Joden snorted. Gils guided me to a cot close to Atira and started to help me pull off my tunic. Joden pulled up a stool next to Atira’s cot. “He did challenge. Would you hear my words?”

Atira’s eyes widened. “Please, Joden.”

Joden started speaking in his warm voice as Gils unwrapped my arm. He spoke plainly, with no embellishments, but his tone of voice left no doubt as to his opinion. Gils worked as Joden spoke, although he seemed flustered by the fact that I kept the tunic on and kept myself covered as best I could. Keir’s people may be casual with their bodies, but I was more comfortable with my own ways. I looked around, but everything had been cleaned up and set right. You couldn’t tell that there’d been an attack in this tent at all, other than the new exit at the rear of the tent where Simus had cut his way in. It had been finished off and was now tied shut.

Gils sat back, examining the exposed wounds. They looked good, but I stared at them and scowled. It would scar, I was sure of it. Two puckered parallel lines on my upper arm. Gils re-wrapped and tied off the bandage, as Joden concluded his tale.

Atira exclaimed, and I focused back on their conversation. “It’s only field discipline that saved his life.”

Joden nodded. “Aye, he’d be dead otherwise.”

“Field discipline?” I asked, struggling back into my tunic.

“All’s well?” Joden asked, looking at my arm.

“On campaign, we are under a different rule than on the plains,” Atira explained. “The Warlord was generous. Maybe overly so.”

“The elements will judge.” Joden eyed Atira, and she subsided, but I had the distinct impression that she had her own opinion in the matter. Which reminded me of something I’d meant to ask.

“Marcus said something to me last night. Something about offending the skies.” I bent to check the leather on Atira’s leg, so it took a moment for me to realize that there had been no response. I looked up into puzzled faces.

“He’d offend the skies, Warprize, to show his disfigurement,” Joden responded. Gils and Atira nodded.

“But—” I suddenly understood why Marcus stayed in the tent almost all the time. “Those are honorable scars—”

I stopped when Atira shook her head. “No. There is a difference between an honorable scar and being no longer whole.”

“So everyone who is crippled or severely injured goes cloaked?”

Joden’s face was grim. “No. They ask for mercy.”

There was no answer to that. I checked Atira’s leg. The swelling had gone down, and the leather was loose. With all of them watching closely 1 checked the placement of the leg, but it was still set and straight. I sat back on my heels, and considered. “New leather, I think. It needs to be tighter, to allow the stones to work.”

Gils shifted his weight nervously. “I’s want to help, Warprize but I’s due at weapons practice.”

“Go.” I stood up and arranged Atira’s bedding. “We’ll do it after the nooning, when you can return.”

“So Joden and I can talk now?” Atira asked.

“When one talks to a Singer, it’s usual to be private,” Joden explained. “So that the singer can focus on your words alone, and no one can influence your words.”

“That’s fine.” I smiled. “I’ve work to do in the other tent.”

Epor and Isdra rose and followed as Gils walked out with me. “Warprize, I’s be upset when I looked for things to tend you with. The stilltent isn’t as neat as you left it.” The red of his cheeks matched his red hair.

I glared at him. “How bad is it?”

He gulped. “I’s be happy to stay and help.”

“And miss practice and get us both in trouble? I think not.” I waved him off.

“You’ll be careful of the arm?”

I rolled my eyes, and he laughed as he sprinted off toward the practice grounds.

Standing in the center of the stilltent, it was easy to assess the damages. It wasn’t that bad, really, just some mess from where Gils had rifled through stuff, looking for supplies. While I got things back where I liked them, I organized my head for what I wanted to accomplish. A few jugs of liniment might be helpful. I liked having a few bottles of that available, and it would aid the bruising on my own neck. I also had the ingredients for a potion that worked well with the flux. Have one case of flux, and there’d be ten cases of flux. I lit the braziers, and started to ready ingredients. Epor and Isdra were kind enough to help me with any lifting, and soon the tent was filled with the smells of brewing elixirs and steeping ointments.

I wrote with pleasure, enjoying the scratch of the pen on the page. The work was soothing. Once again, I spread out my papers and books so I could make notes on everything I did, so that I could recall what worked and what didn’t. It was all so familiar, so much like home that I lost myself in it. Until the tent wall slapped in the breeze and brought me back. One thing I made sure to do was brew a tea from willow bark. Not as strong as the fever’s foe, still it helped with my aching arm. I sipped some as I worked.

The tea helped a little, but the truth was that a pall had been cast over the day. It all seemed so strange and disturbing. These people were so different, saw the world through different eyes, had such dissimilar standards. Yet, they bled, hurt, and healed the same way we did. Yet they were so harsh. Offend the skies? Was that any reason for a warrior, injured in service, to kill themselves? Yet an honorable scar brought admiration and praise.

Keir wanted to bind the lands together, but I didn’t see how. Xymund surely had not known of Keir’s plans. I wondered if he knew now? What he and the Council must think of that idea. Of course, no one had thought of a Daughter of Xy as a tribute, and yet here I was.

But what exactly was I? Keir seemed interested in me physically, but talked of honoring our traditions. Certainly, I seemed to have no real slave duties, other than to sleep in the same tent. Which was just as well. While I brewed an excellent elixir, Anna had despaired of ever teaching me to cook a meal. Marcus had mentioned that I had to be taken to the Heart of the Plains, but had not explained further. My imagination ran riot with ideas and images, none of them good.

I sat and stirred the flux potion, staring at the tent wall.

The sound of thunder drew me out of my trance, and I moved the pot off the fire to go outside. Epor and Isdra stood as a large group of horsemen rode up, Keir in the lead. They milled around as Keir swung down from his horse, and stalked over to me. He wore armor, helm and his black cape, and looked damned impressive, gleaming in the sun as he walked toward me. I lost myself in his blue eyes as he came to stand very close to me.

“I couldn’t leave without…” he paused. “This morning, I…” He looked away, then looked back at me.

I nodded. “I feel the same. It spoiled the day, didn’t it?”

The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled. “Yes. It did.” He leaned in and gently kissed me. Just a touching of lips. “I’m looking for Joden.”

Joden emerged from the healing tent. “Warlord?”

“We’re going to the castle, to learn firsthand what is known of the attack. I want you with us.”

Joden headed for the spare horse that Simus was leading. I frowned to see Simus mounted. “Is your leg well enough for this?” I asked Simus, as Keir mounted his horse.

Simus shrugged. “It will have to be, little healer.” He flashed a smile. “Someone has to make sure that Keir doesn’t rage through the city, slaughtering everyone in his path.”

Keir glared at Simus, as the rest of the group chuckled. I smiled, even though I could sense that to some degree Simus was serious. Keir pulled his horse around, and they headed out, the horses’ hooves churning up the dirt. I took two steps around the tent, standing where I could see Water’s Fall in the distance, and the road that led to the main gates. Epor shifted with me, watching my back.

The city walls and the castle gleamed in the sun. The scattered greenery on the mountain held the first faint traces of yellow. Soon the first snows would come, the water falls would freeze, and for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t be here to see it. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

The wind caught my hair, whipping it into my eyes. With a last look, I returned to my work.

“I have given up expecting you to remember the nooning.” I looked up as Marcus entered the tent with food and drink.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I lost track of time.”

“Sorry, sorry, that doesn’t fill a body.” He shed his cloak and fussed, clearing space for his load. “And what is that awful smell?”

“A potion for the—” I frowned, not knowing the right words. “For an illness of the bowels.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Eat. If you can.”

I dug in and smiled at him. His face remained stem, but his eye twinkled. “You are in a better mood, eh?”

“So are you.”

He mock-glared at me. “I managed a nice nap, thank you kindly.”

“Has Keir returned?”

Marcus shook his head. “Hisself is probably making them miserable up there, poking and prodding for answers. Don’t be worried for him.” He moved off toward the tent entrance. “See that you bring the dishes back with you this evening.”

I kept working, cooling the potion and storing it away. The liniment took more mixing then anything, and I made up multiple bottles, including one for myself. I rubbed it on my throat, feeling the warmth as it worked into the tender flesh.

I contented myself with smaller tasks until Gils returned. Atira was more than ready for a bath, and we made quite a mess between getting her clean and soaking the leather. Gils and I were tired when all was done, and I sent him to fetch some kavage for us from the cook tent. Horsemen came thundering by as he returned.

“The Warlord’s be back,” Gils reported as he served. “Looking awful mad.”

Someone had brought Atira a bunch of daggers to sharpen to keep her busy. She and Gils both worked on them as I read to them from the Epic, translating as I went. Atira and Gils were fascinated, by both the story and by the oddity of the written word. The poem was entering the planning part of the expedition, and while I was bored to death with the number of bales and pack mules, my audience was absorbed in the telling. I’d reached the part where Xyson was expelling the evil creatures from Xy when the sound of an approaching horseman interrupted us. Someone had come up to the tent and was speaking to the guards.

I closed the book. “Enough for one day.”

Atira nodded. “Maybe tomorrow we can start reading?” She used the Xyian word.

I nodded, stood, and stretched. Joden stuck his head in. “Warprize, may I talk to you?”

Gils objected. “The bandage’s be needing changed, Warprize.”

I sat back down. “I’m at the mercy of my healer, Joden.” He smiled, his face unreadable. I gestured toward one of the stumps, as Gils helped me with the tunic.

But Joden shook his head. “I’ll wait for you in the other tent.”

I stared after him, wondering, as Gils bandaged my arm.

“Is there any news?” I asked as I entered the stilltent.

Joden sighed. “Durst does well. Xymund denies any knowledge of Arneath’s actions. He claims that there is a faction of the city that is unhappy about the peace. Warren hasn’t found any hint of a conspiracy. Keir questioned many people, but we could find no trace of…” he paused, an unhappy look on his face.

“No trace of Xymund’s involvement.” I finished calmly.

Joden nodded, sitting heavily on a stool. “Simus has taken him to the practice grounds to work out his frustrations.” Joden held up a hand to stave me off. “Simus said to tell you that he will only sit on the sidelines and yell insults.” He heaved a sigh. “It will do them both good.”

I moved to one of the tables and started rearranging the items there. “Joden, as far as I know, everyone wants peace between your people and mine.” I shrugged. “There may have been members of the Guard that were upset by it.” I gave him a wry glance. “There may be members of this army that are upset, since Keir had them on alert the other night, for no good reason.”

Joden looked at me, puzzled. “That is not so, Warprize. You are treasured.”

Treasured. I tightened the cork on a bottle, then made a decision. Whatever the answer, whatever my status, I needed to know.

“Joden.” I kept my eyes on the bottle, turning it in my hands. “Has Keir ever sold a warprize?”

I heard a slight choking sound behind me, but I lacked the courage to turn around. “I mean, I think I could learn to share him with the other warprizes.” I gulped against the lump in my throat. “But to never see him again, I don’t think I could do that. I mean, I know that I am his slave, but I…” I shut my mouth before I babbled any more. The silence from behind me seemed to confirm all my fears. My shoulders slumped, the weight of my pain pulling them down. Goddess.

“Lara?”

I caught my breath, hearing my name spoken like that. As if I were a person, not a slave, or a thing, or a warlord’s prize. Joden was using my name as if I was a person he valued. Someone who mattered. I hadn’t realized how important that was to me until I’d heard it again, spoken in a caring voice. Tears flooded into my eyes as I turned, to see Joden pat the crate next to him. I stumbled over and sat, wiping my eyes. I couldn’t quite bring myself to meet his gaze.

“Let us just be Lara and Joden for this moment, alone, in this tent.” His voice was sympathetic. “You used a word… ‘slave’… what does that mean?” I flushed, embarrassed. Joden put his hand on my shoulder. “Please, favor me. Tell me what it means.”

“It means a person who is owned as one would own a horse or a knife. A slave is absolutely subject to the will of his or her master.”

Joden leaned toward me, and I knew that he listened intently to my words. “A slave has no rights?” he asked. “No status?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes down.

He sat back, and took a deep breath. “No voice in his or her life?”

I nodded again, trying to control my tears.

“Lara, you believe yourself to be Keir’s slave, yes? Who told you this?”

I looked up at that. His face held only care and concern. “Xymund. Before the ceremony.”

Joden nodded again, frowning a little. “I would like to think the error unintentional, but I have doubts.” He shook his head. “And I think we are partly to blame, maybe because you seemed to learn our language so fast and so well.” He looked over my head, as if thinking, and came to some deci-sion. “ Lara, please listen to me carefully. And if I use a word you do not understand, ask me to explain it. Do not assume you know the meaning. Yes?” I nodded, and he leaned back a little, his hands on his knees.

“Among our people, warlords are warriors with experience in battle, enough so that they inspire men to follow them. A warlord does not get his army from his father, nor pass it to his child. It is earned by his own deeds. A warlord uses his or her skill to challenge for the right to gather men into armies, and use their armies to raid and pillage for the gain of all. So it is and so it has always been.”

I made as if to speak, but Joden held up a hand. “Now, our traditions tell us that there is yet another treasure that a warlord can obtain in battle. That is a warprize. A warprize must be discovered during the course of a battle, or on or near a battlefield. A warprize must render aid to the warlord or his men.” Joden lifted a finger. “Most important, a warprize must be attractive to a warlord, must spark feelings of desire.” He grinned slyly. “It is said that the attraction between warlord and warprize is as the heat of the sun that shines in the height of summer.”

I sat, my eyes wide, and listened.

“Now, once a warlord recognizes a potential warprize, he stops the fighting and enters into talks with the leaders of the land. He must negotiate for the warprize, making the best deal that he can.” Joden leaned back a little and chuckled. “Keir did well there.” He sobered and looked at me. “Having done that, a warprize must submit willingly to the warlord, before witnesses of both their peoples. Then a warprize is displayed to the warlord’s army. Upon their return to our lands, the confirmation ceremony is held before the Council of Elders.”

Joden reached for a flask of kavage that Marcus had brought and two cups, and poured for both of us. “ But even these ceremonies do not create a true warprize.”

Joden took a sip from his mug. “Lara, a true warprize is a rare thing. We value them, for our people have found that the warprize brings a new way of thinking, of doing things. It makes us better, stronger, when we are exposed to new ways and new ideas. You cannot fake a true warprize, nor pick one, nor force one. They happen maybe once in five generations, and we see it as a benediction from the elements themselves, even for the upheaval that they bring.”

I sat there, trying to make sense of his words.

“Our people started as tribes, tribes based on our totem animals. Keir is of the Cat, Simus is of the Hawk, as am I. There was a time when the tribes fought among themselves. It was the first warprize, long ago, that created that change, that united the tribes.” Joden rubbed his hand on his knees. “Why did you submit to Keir, if you thought you would be a slave?”

I had to swallow before I could answer, my mouth was so dry. “To save my people.”

Joden smiled slightly. “Lara, there are no other warprizes. When you submitted to Keir, you were submitting to give him a chance to court you, a chance to show you what you could and do mean to him.” He frowned again. “And this was explained to your king, probably privately, during the talks.”

He tilted his head, looking at me as if I was a child at my lessons. “Do you understand? You are not a ‘ slave’. You are a mate, a consort. You are second only to Keir in this camp. If you demand your freedom and leave this camp no one, including Keir,” he emphasized, “would lift a finger to stop you. By our laws and by our ways, you cannot be held here. Your presence in our camp is a gift to your people and our people and we acknowledge that gift.”

I blinked. “The bracelets…”

Joden smiled. “Keir had the bracelets crafted in hope. They are not a symbol of your…” He stumbled on the word. “… slavery. They are symbols of your potential bond.”

I still didn’t believe. “The token. Keir said that the token was not for me to use.”

Joden quirked his mouth. “How does it look if the woman you are courting feels she needs its protections?”

I just stared at him.

He met my eyes calmly. “You are not property. If you choose to leave, no one will stop you.”

I stood.

He stayed seated and watched me walk out of the tent.

Isdra looked up. “Need help with a pot, Warprize?”

I looked at her oddly, hearing ‘Warprize’ as a title, not a label or a thing.

My silence attracted Epor’s attention. He took up his war club and stood. “Warprize?”

Joden’s horse was outside, cropping at the sparse grass. I moved forward and grabbed the reins. Epor moved as if to follow me. “No. Stay here.”

Epor stopped dead. Isdra came to stand next to him. “Warprize,” she spoke quickly. “We are commanded to guard you—”

“I wish to leave camp.” I gave them a narrow glance.

Epor sucked in a breath. “If that is the case, we cannot stop you. But Warprize, please, let us get horses and escort you back to your people. Let us at least assure your safety.”

“No.”

Epor swallowed hard. Isdra went as white as her hair. Joden had followed me out of the tent and stood there looking at me. Isdra appealed to him. “Singer, please tell her that it’s for her own safety. The attempts on her life…”

I waited.

“She is the warprize, yes? And to be obeyed?” Joden asked.

Epor and Isdra both nodded. I swung myself up into the saddle.

Joden’s face did not change its expression as he looked up at me. “You are free, Lara. The only restraints on you are those of your own choosing.”

I turned the horse, jammed my toes into its belly, and it sprang down the road toward the camp’s main gate.

Through the camp we plunged, the horse’s mane and my hair streaming in the wind. The horse was willing, and I could feel its muscles move under me as its hooves pounded into the earth. I leaned forward, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

There was no outcry behind us, no one tried to stop me.

Some saw me and waved a hand in acknowledgment, but showed no surprise nor consternation. I plunged headlong between the tents, urging the horse on and on, a rising feeling of excitement in my chest. We pounded through the main gate and out into the field beyond. The guards there seemed only mildly interested, if slightly disapproving of my riding style.

Out the gate and up the rise where the beaten road met the main road that led from the castle gates down into the valley. I pulled the horse to a stop, but it fought me, wanting to run. It danced beneath me, and I wheeled its head about, until at last it was quiet beneath me.

We stood there, the horse blowing and my heart pounding against my ribs.

No one was following, no one was reacting, there was no hue and cry, no chase. I was free. Truly, truly free.