Warsworn

Chapter 6

My father loved to dance. On impulse, he’d command the musicians to play, and would join the lords and ladies in cavorting around the throne room, anything from a stately promenade to a sprightly jig. One of his favorite dances was where everyone held position when the music stopped unexpectedly. It reduced his normally stuffy court to giggles and guffaws when they tried to keep still until the music started again. Due to Father’s illness, and my less than popular position at court under my brother’s rule, I hadn’t seen that dance in years. But that was the memory that swirled in my head when we all froze as Jo-den’s words sunk in.

Keir was the first to react, sweeping up his swords and strapping on the harnesses. “Horses?”

“Outside.” Joden stepped further into the tent. “Enough for all.”

“We’ll go.” Keir jerked a blanket from his bedroll and moved to my side. He snapped the blanket out, and wrapped it around my shoulders. I stared at him, numbed at the idea that this might have made its way to the camp, but he gave me no chance to speak.

“I’s got the supplies.” Gils started packing even as Marcus moved toward the babe.

Keir had me bundled up and in his arms before I could say a word. I wrapped my arms around his neck and used them to pull myself higher so that I could look over his shoulder. “Isdra?”

As if my voice had cut off the music, everyone froze again.

Isdra stood in the center of the tent, weaponless, looking naked and vulnerable. I’d never seen such pain as I did on her face. She was torn right in two, longing pulling her in both directions. She hesitated, licking her lips, indecisive for the first time since I had met her. Joden’s face held a puzzled look as his eyes took in the scene, until a brief look around the tent answered his unspoken question. He closed his eyes in pain, and the loss of Epor stabbed at my heart all over again.

In that suspended moment, Keir’s lips brushed my ear with the barest of whispers. “I can’t ask. You can.” He turned slightly so that I faced Isdra.

“Isdra.” I made my voice firm. “I need you. You’ve been through this, can speak of it to the others. I need you to stay. Please.”

The pain was still in her eyes, but the uncertainty vanished. “For now, Warprize.”

As if the music started again, we moved. I tightened my grip as Keir spun for the tent entrance, with Joden right behind. Marcus and Gils scrambled to follow. Isdra calmly stepped into the corner of the tent and grasped Epor’s warclub as the flap fell to cut off my view.

There were seven horses waiting outside. One, a big black horse, neighed a welcome, and advanced to meet us. He was followed closely by my own brown mount, with the scarred chest. Keir handed me to Joden, then swung up into the saddle of the black. I opened my mouth to protest, since there was a horse for me to ride, but one look at Keir’s face and I decided it wasn’t the time to press the issue.

I did take advantage of the slight delay. “Joden, how many are sick?”

“Ten, Warprize. The longest for half a day.”

“Half a day?” Keir growled. “Why wasn’t word sent?” He leaned over to take me.

Joden said nothing until he was sure Keir had me safe in the saddle. “Iften’s orders.”

The black stamped, reacting to Keir’s sudden tensing. Keir shifted in the saddle, easing the beast, adjusting me in his arms, even as his eyes glittered with rage.

Joden stood there, his face bland. “I would have brought others with me, but none could disobey.”

“Except you?” I asked.

“There are benefits to being almost a Singer.” Joden’s teeth flashed as he gave me a rare smile. “Almost the same as being Warprize.”

“Where is Iften?” Keir ground the words out. Even in his fury, his arms cradled me gently.

“In your command tent.” Joden’s face was a polite mask once again, but I knew that his choice of words was deliberate.

I shivered, fearing Keir’s reaction. But he surprised me as he snorted, more amused than offended. He gave me a look, and I caught a glimpse of impish humor lurking in the back of his eyes just as he called out. “Marcus!”

Marcus opened the tent flap. “We’re packing as fast—”

“Leave it. I will send others to aid Isdra and Gils. I need you with me.”

“Eh?”

“Iften set himself up in the command tent.”

Pure rage danced over Marcus’s face. He disappeared, only to pop out a breath later, fully cloaked, heading for a horse, muttering something under his breath. Isdra looked out, even as Joden and Marcus mounted.

“Isdra, I will send others to break this camp. Bring Gils and the babe to the command tent as fast as you can.”

If she replied, it was lost as the black horse surged forward.

The wind whipped around us as we moved at a gallop. The camp was in the distance, spread out by the shores of a small lake, its waters a clear, cold blue. I was glad of the blanket and the warmth of Keir’s strong arms. But he was grim and silent as we rode. Joden and Marcus followed, and to my surprise, my horse was behind them, riderless, but following his herd.

Once we entered the encampment, the warriors about us started to react, calling greetings to Keir, and making those warbling cries. Keir didn’t slow the horse, but he responded to the calls, calling out names, summoning war-leaders. I had glimpses of people scrambling for horses and running off, obeying his commands.

A familiar voice caught my attention, and a smiling

Rafe rode up next to us, seeming almost to dance in his saddle. “Heyla, Warlord!”

“I call you back to duty, Rafe.”

“Good.” Rafe turned in his saddle to look behind. “Prest and I can give Epor and Isdra a rest, yes?”

“Epor is dead.” Keir’s voice was flat, but Rafe’s head whipped back in shock, his eyes wide. “Find Yers, Rafe. Bring him to the command tent.”

Rafe turned his horse off. “I’ll find Prest as well, Warlord.”

As we raced closer, I could see more and more tents around us. Keir had split the army, leaving about half of his troops in Water’s Fall with Simus, but he still had a large number of warriors with him. If the plague had truly reached the camp, the deaths here would make the village seem like nothing. I swallowed hard as the horse came to a stop in front of the command tent.

Joden and Marcus rode up behind us as Keir dismounted. He wouldn’t let me walk the few steps to the tent, lifting me without even asking permission. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Save your strength for what lies ahead.”

The guards at the entrance held back the flaps, and Keir strode into the main room of the tent. Without stopping, he headed for the sleeping area. As he pushed through that flap, I heard an odd grunting sound. I caught my breath at the sight of Iften bare-assed and plowing a woman in our bed.

Our bed!

Thankfully, the glimpse was brief. Keir spun on his heel, taking me back into the meeting area even as I let out an exclamation. Marcus, on the other hand, stepped right into the smaller room and I heard voices raised in anger. I peeked over Keir’s shoulder to see a woman warrior leaving the tent, her gear in hand, naked as a babe.

Keir seated me on the platform. I glared at him, but he used his body to shield me from view, and placed a finger over my lips. In the background, I could hear Marcus yelling at the top of his lungs. A few more warleaders had entered the tent, listened and smirked. There was anger in Keir’s eyes, but there was also a glint of humor there. I gave him a questioning look. He leaned a bit closer. “Marcus does with words what I’d use a sword to accomplish.”

Marcus’s voice was sharp as a dagger and Iften’s defensive. Iften was trying to justify his actions without much success. Of course, Marcus was giving him no quarter, no chance to put in a word edgewise.

I snorted softly, but then reason reasserted itself as I remembered our situation.

Keir sensed the change. Even though I was already wrapped in a blanket, he pulled off his cloak and swirled it out and over my shoulders. It settled on me gently, wrapping me in his warmth. I reached to pull the edges closed, but Keir knelt and did it for me. His head was close to mine, his breath warm on my cheek.

I clutched at him. “Keir, I—” I couldn’t continue for the fear that clogged my throat.

He gathered my cold hands in his strong warm ones. “What happened in the village will not happen here.”

I swallowed hard, and stared at him, unable to speak.

Keir kept his voice low. “You lived, Lara. Isdra and the child never sickened. Take hope from that.”

Marcus was bellowing at the top of his lungs, something about Iften using his cooking pots. The meeting tent was still filling with warleaders, much amused by the scene. I took advantage of the distraction to lean into

Keir’s arms, hugging him in return. He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, holding me like something precious. I drew a deep breath of leather and the scent of his skin, seeking a small comfort before facing what lay ahead.

Keir waited, seemingly willing to sit there all day if necessary. But I pulled back, and he released me. “There’s so much to do, Keir. I need—”

“First things first.” With that Keir stood and called out over the noise. “Marcus. Enough.”

Marcus got in the last word. “Clothe yourself. The Warprize will be offended by your naked ass.”

Iften emerged, still struggling into his trous, carrying a sheathed sword, his face red with anger. But everyone’s attention was now drawn to Keir.

“The enemy is in the camp. We must take action before it claims lives.” Keir stood at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “The village is dead, leaving only one survivor. Epor has fallen as well.” The response to this was immediate, with warriors stiffening all over the room. Keir didn’t pause. He turned slightly. “Joden. Where are the sick?”

“Spread out in camp.” Joden replied.

“We will gather them here. Set up the Warprize’s still-tent, and—”

“Why?” Iften stood, some of the red fading from his face. “They are afflicted. Let them crawl off, or better still, let us leave this accursed place and return to the Plains.” Wesren was standing next to him, and nodded his agreement.

“They’ll die without treatment.” I pointed out.

“So?” Iften looked at me, honest surprise on his face. “This is our way, Warprize.”

“Then our dead will dribble behind us, as water from a leaking skin.” A voice spoke from the tent entrance and we all looked to see Isdra standing there, with Gils behind her holding the babe’s basket in one hand, satchel of healing supplies on his hip.

From the look on Gils’s face, he hadn’t known of the meeting. To his credit, he didn’t pause for long. He stepped past Isdra and walked through their midst to stand by my side. The babe was kicking at her blankets, waving her arms around happily.

What astonished me was the reaction of the warlead-ers. Even Iften’s face seemed to soften at the sight of the child, kicking and cooing. “Is that the only survivor?” Tsor asked softly, craning his neck to get a better look.

“Yes.” Keir smiled at the basket as Gils set it down next to me. “The babe and Isdra did not sicken. The Warprize became ill, but she survived.”

Isdra had followed Gils, to stand next to me. Without their speaking, I could see the various warleaders considering her with long looks. Was it because she lived? Or because of Epor’s war club, still strapped to her back.

Iften’s eyes narrowed. “Why have you not joined your bonded, Isdra of the Fox?”

Isdra’s eyes were dark and cold and something in my stomach clenched. But she merely stood straight and still, tilting her head up a bit to look Iften in the eye, and responded in low tones. “Be wary, Warleader. For you do not hold my token, and I might take offense.”

Marcus chose that moment to emerge from the sleeping area, his arms full of weapons and armor. He moved next to Iften, and dumped it at his feet. Before the blond could react, Marcus had ducked back under the tent flap. Iften had a snarl on his face, and took a step as if to con-front Marcus, but Keir stopped him. “There is no time for this.” Keir’s voice cut through us all. “This is no senel, and no truths will be addressed. The old ways of dealing with,” he hesitated slightly, “of dealing with the sick will not work, for all of us have been exposed to the enemy. Alone, we will all die. Together, we will defeat this enemy. This is battle and I will be obeyed.”

That was that for most of the warleaders, although Iften scowled and a few others looked uncertain. But all focused on Keir’s commands.

“All who are ill are to be brought here, to the shore. The lake will be used to cool the fevers.”

“Ortis, pull the scouts in. Set a guard within the camp, with no warrior alone. The rest of the scouts, send to the Warprize, to learn the signs and treatment of this illness. They will spread the word in the camp so that all learn the enemy.”

“Food, Warlord.” Sal spoke up, grim and anxious. “How can I send out hunting parties if they may die at any moment?”

Isdra spoke up. “The village had animals. We released those we found outside the walls. And there were herds beyond the walls, to the south. Cows, sheep and goats.”

“There’d be pigs in the woods as well.” I added.

“That will work well.” Sal relaxed slightly. “But I’ll save a milk goat for the babe, eh?”

There were a few brief smiles at that statement. But the smiles faded and faces grew grim when Isdra spoke, her voice flat and hollow. “Some must gather wood. There will be a need for pyres.” No one drew a breath in the silence after her words. Isdra continued, relentless in her honesty. “The village still smolders. We can burn the dead there.”

“That is as may be.” Keir looked at her with understanding, not offended by her comment. “We will start by teaching everyone what Gils and the Warprize have learned about this illness. Set up the Warprize’s stilltent as quickly as possible. Until then, use this area. Fill the tent with messengers to learn from them and spread the word.” Keir continued speaking, issuing orders to all, but I was already considering what had to be done. It was only when he took my cold hands into his that I realized he was kneeling before me, and the tent had cleared of all but us and Marcus.

His eyes were clear and grave, the blue of the early morning sky. “I must go, Lara. There will be trouble over this, and I must be seen and heard to counter the rumors that will be spread.”

“See to the army.” Marcus placed a hand on my shoulder. “We will see to her.”

Keir cupped my face in his warm hand, letting his thumb stroke my cheek, feather-soft and gentle. With a swirl of his cloak, he was up and gone.

Within moments of Keir’s exit, warriors crammed into the command tent to listen as Gils and I explained how to treat the ill, what to watch for, and what to expect. We sent them out all over the camp to repeat our words. Thank the Goddess for their memories. That, and then-strict obedience to Keir’s authority.

As the messengers left, more warriors filled the tent. Gils and I started them on the hunt for willow bark, as much as they could gather. Luckily, the army had cut down a number of willows to make their camp. I sent warriors off to strip bark from all the firewood and tem-porary tables and chairs. A small army of warriors would stir pots and pots of the stuff, boiling it down for fever’s foe. We’d need every jar we could fill.

Again the tent filled. I sipped some kavage that Marcus forced on me, then Gils and I started the herb lessons. I already knew that the supply of lotus wouldn’t be big enough to serve the entire camp. We needed alternatives, such as sleepease, tree butter, or comfrey. So these warriors became the gatherers. We held up the herbs we were seeking, and gave examples to them so that they knew what to look for. Rahel may have had a healing garden outside the walls, so I set them to searching for whatever they could find.

When gathering herbs the general rule is that you never strip an area of all of the plants that you are gathering. You try to leave enough that the spring will bring new growth and renew the area. But I didn’t have the luxury of leaving anything behind. I told them to bring me everything they could find. Should I pass this way again, I’d re-seed the area myself, to make up for the damage. But we needed those herbs and we needed them now.

Within hours we had a hundred sick. By the end of the day the number tripled. Men and women fell dead as the wheat falls before the scythe. It struck with the sweat, the headache, and the stench as it had in the village.

The fever was the worst. Using the cold waters of the stream or the lake only seemed to work if the fever had built to its highest point. Too soon, and the fever returned, prolonging the illness and exhausting the patient. Gils ran himself ragged, helping to make the decision of when a patient was ready to be immersed. He gained far too much skill over a very short period of time.

Outside, the shores of the lake filled with people using its cold waters to bring down the raging heat of fever. And the sick kept coming as more and more fell victim. I could see no reason to its effects, either. One would be sick for days or hours, each with as likely a chance of dying as the other. But we learned, Gils and I, that if the person made it through the initial fever, his chances of survival were much higher. Once past the coughing stage, the individual recovered strength fairly quickly.

I’d enough strength to manage supplies, and train warriors to tend the sick. So I commanded from the stilltent, checking the quality of the fever’s foe and using the gathered herbs to make an alternative to the lotus. One of the draughts, the one based on sleepease, was milder than the lotus, and seemed to work better, so I concentrated on making that mixture. The familiar scents and surroundings of my stilltent were a comfort in those dark hours.

Poor Gils was the one to actually tend the sick, wearing himself to the bone with the patients, making sure that the right doses were given, that the fevers were brought down, that the drumming on their backs was done on a regular basis. His was the hardest task, for since he was out and about, everyone turned to him for advice, or when a patient took a turn for the worst. He’d return to my stilltent frequently, to ask questions, and restock his satchel, and then he’d be off again.

The raving seemed less of a problem than it had been in the village. Perhaps because of our use of the lake waters to bring down the fever, perhaps due to the use of the other sleeping draught. Or maybe it was the presence of warriors at the bedsides, well able to subdue any crazed by the fever. Still, I insisted that those who were ill not sleep with their weapons. This was resisted strongly, not that they’d disobey exactly. It was as if I had attacked their pride, that their weapons be taken from them. There was disagreement as to how far away the weapons were put, but it only took two incidents for them to start obeying me.

In many ways, I felt disoriented during those hours, since I had limited contact with the patients. Gils and Jo-den would report to me regularly, or other warriors would appear with questions, or asking for supplies.

It was a heady feeling, to have such power, to see my commands obeyed, a feeling that I wasn’t used to. I’d never commanded a large staff, and had only truly been Queen for a few hours before I followed Keir. This was a new experience for me, to be obeyed absolutely.

Yet, it had its drawbacks as well. They did exactly as they were told. I’d set a group of them looking for a weed, and they’d bring me all the weed they could find. But they didn’t have the ability to tell me if there were other plants in the area that I could have used as well. So I went through a range of about ten plants and herbs that I could use, trying to insure that I covered every possibility.

Keir was absent during these long hours, moving about the huge camp, explaining, issuing orders, sending us information about the state of the warriors. His presence insured that the ill were helped and that supplies were distributed where needed. He was the calm at the center of the storm, and the reason the warriors didn’t mount their horses and head for the plains. But I feared for him, exposed to all and sundry, and working tirelessly among his warriors. I’d tried to have him wear a ginger mask, but he pointed out that it hadn’t worked for Epor and I. Worse, I didn’t have enough ginger to mask the entire camp. Keir refused a protection that wasn’t available for everyone. Since he was absent more often then naught, I

took to sleeping in the stilltent, to be quickly available to any that needed me.

Marcus was everywhere, aiding where needed, and somehow keeping us fed. He and Isdra shared the. care of the baby, trading off when necessary. What amazed me was the ease with which the warriors dealt with her, for there was no shortage of volunteers. The rare smiles I saw were at the antics of the babe, who kicked and cooed and laughed, the one sound of joy in a camp filled with despair.

For there was little joy in our hearts. There were so many deaths, regardless of the care we took or the medicines we doled out. The darkest moments came when the ill outnumbered the healthy. At that point, we were all exhausted. Whenever I emerged from the tent, I tried not to look at the horizon where the smoke rose from the pyres. Instead, I tried to focus on the living.

Goddess love him, Marcus still found time to make sure that I ate. One morning, during the time when the days blurred together, he was coaxing the morning meal into me when we looked up to see Prest standing just inside the tent, his face grim.

“Prest?” I put my bowl aside and stood.

“Please come, Warprize.”

“Who’s ill?”

“Rafe.”

Prest led the way, and I followed. Marcus came behind, carrying a basket of my supplies, refusing to let me carry anything. I protested, until the walk itself left me breathless. My strength was still not fully returned.

A few of the smaller tents had been cleverly fastened together to form a larger shelter. Prest held the flap as I bent to enter. The tent was filled with people, but my eyes went to young Rafe first.

He lay on a pallet, already covered in sweat, his black hair plastered to his forehead. His face was pale, far paler than normal, and his eyes were huge and glittering as he looked at me. His lips moved and I heard a faint “Warprize.”

This caught the attention of the other people in the tent and they turned to look at me with wide eyes. Four girls, well, warriors… but girls to my eyes. They couldn’t be that much older than Gils. Their surprise was only for a moment, then the one closest to Rafe’s head wrung out a cloth, and placed it on his forehead. She gave me a veiled look of mistrust, bright green eyes flashing through long black hair.

The girl closest to me was dressed in brown leather armor, with her brown curly hair cut very short. She inclined her head. “Warprize, I am Lasa of the Horse. We are tending to Rafe.” She straightened, a confident look in her clear brown eyes. “We have talked to Gils, and we know what we must do.”

“And we will do it well.” The honey-blonde girl kneeling by Rafe’s shoulder pounded a stake in the ground with a fierce blow. But she looked up with hazel eyes flecked with fear.

“I am sure that you will.” I smiled, trying to reassure her. “But Rafe is one of my guards, and I’d like to check him myself. Would that be acceptable?”

The hazel gaze flicked over to Lasa, but she must have gotten approval. “Of course, Warprize.” She got to her feet. “I am Soar of the Deer.”

Marcus handed the basket to me, but remained outside with Prest, given the crash. The girls arranged themselves carefully, leaving me to kneel by Rafe’s head. He gave me a weak smile as I put my hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Warprize.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Rafe.” He was warm alright, the fever flushing his face. “How long have you been ill?”

He blinked, looking at me, lost and uncertain. As he had looked the first time I met him, in the healing tent in the castle gardens. His head injury had been bleeding, and he’d been the first of the prisoners that had let me treat their wounds. He’d talked to me in a form of trade talk that our people had in common. It had taken time to win his confidence, but Rafe had been the one to ask me to treat Simus, and had reassured Joden of my skills. “Never you mind. Sleep, Rafe.”

He closed his eyes, and relaxed. The scar from that old wound stood out, thin and sharp against his skin. The green-eyed girl wet her cloth and began to stroke his face and chest. “He’s been ill for a few hours now, Warprize.” Her gaze flashed at me again. “Gils has told us all that we need to know.”

“Fylin!” Lasa scolded. “Earth’s sake, you have no courtesy!”

The green gaze disappeared, as Fylin bowed her head. “Forgive me, Warprize.” The tone was sullen. “I am Fylin of the Snake.”

“And I am Ksand of the Cat, Warprize.” The new girl knelt and held out a half-full jar of fever’s foe for my inspection, her brown hair in a braid. “Gils has dosed him with the sleepease. And left this fever’s foe for us to use.”

“We have taken his weapons, and removed ours as well. We are ready to bind him when the raving begins.”

Soar sounded almost eager. I heard a snort from outside the tent, and knew that Prest was listening.

I suppressed my own smile. “You are ready for the battle, then. Let me give you another jar of fever’s foe, just in case.” I rummaged in my basket. It seemed that Rafe would be well taken care of by his friends. I wanted to stay, but I knew that I didn’t have the strength, and that I was needed in the stilltent. Besides, I would insult the honor of these women if I tried to take their duties from them. “I know that Rafe is in good hands, and that you will see him through this.”

I heard a grunt from outside, and knew that Marcus approved.

The women seemed pleased at my response, and even Fylin unbent enough to reassure me. “We will send for Gils if we have any doubts or questions, Warprize.”

I nodded, and bent down to brush the hair from Rafe’s forehead. “May the skies be with you, Rafe.”

His eyes opened then, and cleared, truly seeing me. “You must take another guard, Lara.”

All four girls went wide-eyed and sucked in their breaths, clearly impressed.

“No, Rafe. I am safe. Prest and Isdra will see to me until you can return to your duties.”

“I will return as soon as I…” He sighed, and his eyes drifted close.

“Win this battle, Rafe.” I stood, and left the tent before he could see my tears.

Outside, Marcus and Prest waited for me, their faces grim. We walked in silence for a moment, as I got my emotions under control. When I felt I could, I turned and looked at Prest. “Four women?”

Prest smirked.

Marcus gave a dry chuckle. “Rafe has always been popular. A charmer, that one. To rival Simus.”

I smiled at the comparison. But my smile was short lived as I lifted my head and saw the black smoke still rising from the pyres that burned where a village used to be.

“Rafe was right, we need another to ward you.” Marcus spoke from behind me.

I looked down at the ground as I continued to walk, wishing for the security and comfort of my stilltent. “No, Marcus, don’t disturb Keir. I have Prest and Isdra, and that’s enough.” I felt the disapproval radiate from him and cut him off before he could speak. “The healthy care for the sick. The sick try to reclaim their health. Who has time or the strength to threaten me?”

We returned to the stilltent in silence.

The next day a slight noise outside my tent caused me to peek through the flap to see Marcus working his familiar magic on yet another warleader. This time his victim was Joden, being told in no uncertain terms to sit down and eat. Poor Joden looked drained of all his strength as he plopped down onto the stump.

Marcus returned to shove the baby into Joden’s arms, wrapped in a blanket and fussing loudly. “Make yourself useful and see to her.”

Startled, Joden took the wriggling handful as Marcus stalked off. The babe was kicking and crying as Joden started to make funny noises, trying to distract her. But I could see her tiny feet moving and knew that she was not to be soothed by such a trick.

So that clever, exhausted man patiently reached into his pouch and brought out a strip of privacy bells. At the sound, tiny hands reached out of the blankets and clutched them tight. The fussing changed to happy laughter; a happiness reflected in Joden’s face. A happiness that I had seen in the faces of others that Marcus had played this trick on, using one tiny baby to restore their hearts. I turned back to my pots with a lighter heart.

When Marcus returned with soup and kavage, Joden was relaxed, singing a quiet song to the babe. I emerged from the tent as Joden put the babe back in her basket. When he tugged at the bells, she let out a squall, and tugged right back, putting the leather strap in her mouth and gurgling with joy.

“A warrior’s grip, Warprize.” Joden accepted the food from Marcus. “What have the elements named her?”

I pushed my hair back behind my ear as the wind caught it. “Her name was lost, Joden. We found her next to her dead mother. Her thea.”

Joden drank soup, and studied the child. “A serious thing, to lose a name.” Isdra walked up with a load of firewood as he continued. “We listen to the elements to find a child’s name. She is young yet, the loss will not harm her. We should have a naming ceremony for her.”

Isdra brushed her hands off. “She is of Xy. We should follow their ways in this.”

Joden looked at me.

“We name our children for their ancestors, or we choose a name that we like. Rahel said her mother’s name was Meara.”

“Name her for her thea then,” Isdra knelt by the basket.

“Meara, it is.” Joden reached out to tickle a waving foot. “She should be marked. Stained.”

I had a sudden vision of Anna’s face on seeing this child with a tattoo, no matter how temporary the mark. “We can see to that later.” I stated firmly.

Joden sighed and picked up his kavage. “It is good that she is named.”

Meara shook the bells and laughed, letting us share a rare smile as well.

Her laughter reminded me of something else. “Joden, I forgot to tell you, Simus sent a letter for you. He asked that I read it to you, so that you had his words for your song.”

I expected a positive response, but Joden didn’t even look at me. He stared at the babe, his face grim, “Joden?”

“I do not think I can craft that song, Warprize.”

Puzzled, I studied his broad face, trying to figure out what he meant. “Of course. You’re tired. Now’s not the time to create a song. I will save the letter, Joden. For later.”

Joden ignored me, addressing Marcus instead. “My thanks, Marcus. I have the strength to continue in my task.”

“No need of thanks, Singer.” Marcus gave him an odd look, but didn’t press the matter.

“What are you doing, Joden?” I asked.

“I am seeing to the dead, Lara. Someone must sing for them, even if just a snatch of song.” Joden straightened his back and stood. “Give me some good word, one that I can carry in my heart.”

“It’s slowing, Joden.” I answered. “The number of newly ill is falling off.”

He took a deep breath, nodding. “That is good, Warprize. I will take that with me.” He looked down at the child, still shaking the bells. “The Warlord was right to hold us all here. I can’t imagine this horror in the Plains.”

“Among the children and theas.” Marcus’s voice was hushed. “It would destroy them.”

“Destroy the very future of the tribes.” Joden spoke with a cold voice. “With a city-dweller affliction.”

“Joden?” His tone puzzled me. But Joden only gave me a curt nod, and then turned and left.

So the hours flowed, with no real sense of time. Warriors came and warriors died, and jars of fever’s foe and sleep-ease passed through my hands. I worked, slept when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and ate when Marcus put food in front of me. There was an occasional glimpse of Keir, as he worked to keep his army together. Which is why I cannot say when Marcus appeared at the entrance to the stilltent, babe in hand, his face mottled and pale.

“Lara? She won’t eat.”

“Perhaps she’s finally noticed just how bad gurt tastes.” I kept my voice light as I moved to his side.

“I thought she was sleeping. I checked on her regularly, but she slept on. I didn’t think to touch her.”

I placed my hand on the babe’s forehead. The heat of her skin burned my fingertips. She didn’t open her eyes at my touch, just whimpered slightly.

“Goddess. The lake, Marcus. Now.”

Marcus turned and ran into the sunlight.

I grabbed a jar of fever’s foe and followed, gasping for air as I ran behind him. My legs trembled, but I forced them to move. Others raised their heads as we passed, curious.

Marcus never stopped. He splashed right into the lake, up to the waist, submerging himself and the babe in his arms. He was balancing her on one arm, stripping away her blanket and swaddles, letting them sink as I entered the water. I ran to him, the cold water pulling at my legs. The little one kept her eyes closed as the cold water hit her skin, but there was no cry, just a slight whimper. Hands trembling, I got a dab of the dark brown paste on my finger, and placed it in the babe’s mouth.

Those dark eyes opened, and hope blossomed in my chest. She looked so sad, but I held my breath, waiting for her to protest the taste of the medicine.

Instead, she hiccupped once and closed her eyes.

A crowd had gathered on the shore as word spread that the babe was ill. Marcus continued to bathe her, cupping water in his free hand and pouring it over her head. He held her carefully, keeping her eyes and nose above the waterline.

The sound of running feet brought my head up, and Is-dra burst through the crowd, splashing into the water. “Meara?” She asked as she came close.

“She’s sick.” Those were the only words I could force out. The babe lay so limp in Marcus’s arms, her entire body flushed, as if burned by the sun. Isdra, breathing hard, held her cold, wet hands to Meara’s cheeks. “She’s on fire.”

“Lotus?” Marcus asked.

I shook my head. “Not for babes. Too dangerous.”

I’d brought the feeding cup, and Isdra filled it with water, trying to get her to drink. But the little lips were limp, and she did not swallow.

“Here, let me try.” Marcus switched Meara into Isdra’s arms. The wet tip of Isdra’s braid, Meara’s favorite toy, brushed against her cheek. Meara opened her eyes to look at Isdra. The woman warrior crooned to her. “You’ll be fine, little one.”

Meara closed her eyes, hiccuped and drew a last breath.

I knew, oh Goddess, I knew. One so small, so tiny. I reached out and grabbed Marcus’s arm as he lifted the feeding cup. He looked up startled, staring into my face as I shook my head, unable to speak the words. Then he knew as well, and the pain tore though him. “Skies, no.” He raised his head, and let out an anguished cry.

Isdra threw her head back as well, wailing to the skies.

An answering lament rose from the shore. The crowd that had gathered raised their voices as one, sending a mournful cry like I had never heard into the air. For all the warriors that had died, I’d seen no outward grief. But for a tiny baby of a Xyian village, these hardened warriors raised their voices in sorrow, tears in their eyes.

But the sight of Marcus’s head thrown back, his neck taut, his pain raw filled my soul with rage. I snatched Meara from Isdra’s arms and flipped her over, cradling her chest in one hand. “No, no, no.” I denied this was happening even as I slapped my hand down on her tiny back. This can’t happen, I won’t let it happen, Goddess, please, Skies, please.

I struck her again, and again, turning as Marcus reached to stop me, calling out to any power that would hear, begging—

Meara took a breath.

I froze as I felt the movement of her chest, holding my own breath as I waited for more, turning again to avoid Isdra, hoping—

Meara took another breath, and then my heart leapt as a cry, a wonderful, angry cry filled the air.

Isdra and Marcus were beside me, and helped me lift

Meara up onto my shoulder, crying and coughing and spitting her outrage.

Joyous voices rose from the beach, and we staggered back through the water, supporting each other. Many hands reached out to help us as we drew near, pulling us onto the shore, taking great care not to disturb the crying babe in my arms. As one, we sank to our knees, as those around us knelt as well. I lay my head on Isdra’s shoulder, crying, as Meara’s keening continued and the crowd swirled around us.

Meara was furious, her eyelashes thick and dark with tears. Someone handed us a drying cloth, and Isdra took the babe to get her dry. I reached to cradle her cold foot in the palm of my hand, trying to warm her perfect little toes, never so happy to hear a baby cry. With one arm around Isdra’s shoulders, I closed my eyes, and we rocked her gently. Just a babe, the last of her village, whose name I’d lost. The scent of lavender still lingered on her skin. So close, so very close.

What’s a babe, amidst all the dead about us? Yet all hovered about, enjoying the miracle of a child almost lost to us. I drew a ragged breath, wishing I could voice my joy. But I was so exhausted, all I could do was lean against Isdra, and try to stifle my sobs.

“So this is what comes, of being accursed.” Iften’s voice cut through my sorrow. He was standing there, outside the mourners, his hands on his hips. “This city-dweller’s filth threatens children.”

Marcus glared at him. “We are not accursed.”

“Cover yourself, cripple.” Iften’s lip curled in a sneer. “You offend the skies, and the very waters of this lake.”

I caught my breath, expecting an explosion. But Mar-cus flinched back, and sagged to the ground, flinging one arm up over his head.

“We are not accursed.” Isdra spat. “It is an illness, as the Warprize has said.”

There was a rustle in the crowd about us, and from nowhere a cloak appeared. Marcus grabbed for it, and was soon wrapped in its folds. He said nothing.

“As the Warprize has said.” Iften scoffed, pointing off in the distance to the smoke rising on the horizon. “Such a comfort, her brave words. But one less body to add to her tally, eh? One more she sickened so she could claim to have healed?”

Marcus struggled to his feet, but I grabbed his arm, holding him back. Isdra glared at Iften, clutching the babe to her shoulder.

“For myself, I will offer to the elements to protect what is left of this army. And leave you to your business.” Iften turned, and stalked off.

Marcus collapsed back onto the ground, and I leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around me, sharing his cloak. We sat in silence for long moments, the crowd about us quiet, as if in shock.

Warm hands touched mine and I turned my head to find Ortis kneeling next to me, that huge, lumbering man with the deep voice. His hands were a warm contrast to mine. “Joden is not here. May I do the honor?”

I didn’t know what he meant, but Marcus and Isdra both nodded, so I did too. Ortis sat back on his heels, and spoke. “The fire warms you.”

The crowd responded, their voice in such unison that it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “We thank the elements.”

“The earth supports you.” Ortis said, his voice a bit louder and stronger.

“We thank the elements.”

“The waters sustain you.”

“We thank the elements.” I joined in, stumbling over the phrase.

“The air fills you.”

“We thank the elements.”

Ortis stood. “We thank the elements, for the life of this child and the power of the Warprize.”

A loud cry of triumph and thanks rose as people stood and somehow made their way to Isdra’s side, to touch the baby’s foot or cheek in farewell. There were no open smiles, but many faces filled with a quiet joy and tears. Many nodded to me as well, although I was too numb to appreciate it. When the crowd was down to just a few, Ortis spoke again. “You are exhausted, Warprize. Let us tend to her.”

“She needs to be upright, Ortis, and her lungs kept clear.” I looked up at him, my tears falling down my face.

Meara’s cries were softer now, and her coughing was mere hiccups. Isdra had her on her shoulder, patting her back gently. Someone provided a warm blanket and Marcus draped it over Meara carefully. My tears spilled as they worked, watching as Isdra made sure her tiny feet were well covered against the cold.

We stood, but when I reached for the babe Marcus put his hand on my arm. “No, Warprize.”

“You have been ill.” Ortis used the Xyian word. “Many hands will care for her, Warprize. It will raise our spirts to tend her.”

Isdra looked over at me, the bundle in her arms. “I’ll make sure she is cared for, Lara.”

I nodded, biting my lip, noting the lines of pain on her face. As she turned I managed to croak out her name, unable to voice my true fear. “Isdra?”

She stopped, but did not turn for a moment. Then she turned her head and gave me a grim smile. “I’ve given you my word, Lara.”

Marcus stood, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she and the others carried Meara away.

“Strip. You need to be out of those wet clothes.” Marcus urged me into the stilltent.

I was so numb it was all I could do to stand there. “You’re just as wet.”

Marcus chuffed at me. “I’ll send for clothes for both of us.” He stepped outside the tent for a moment, calling to someone. I managed to lift my hands to the collar of my tunic, but stopped there, unable to move. Marcus entered, and without a word lifted the tunic off and over my head. “The living need you, Warprize. More than the dead. You should return to the command tent. I’ve cleaned any trace of that fool.”

“I need to be here, Marcus.” I wanted the familiar surroundings of my medicines and herbs, more comforting by far. I shivered, and he pulled a blanket from my pallet and wrapped it around me. The rough blanket warmed quickly against my skin.

Without a word, Marcus reached under the blanket and pulled down my trous, then sat me down on a stump so that he could remove my boots. He didn’t give me time to be embarrassed, just matter-of-factly removed my wet things from around my feet. “Kavage. Kavage, soup and sleep. Best thing for you now.”

I clutched the blanket tight around me, knowing that his fussing covered his own exhaustion. “You’re tired too, Marcus.”

“I have not been ill.” Marcus pulled off my boot. “And have no plans to be, either. What will Hisself be thinking, if he sees you like this?”

Tears filled my eyes at the thought. He’d blame me for the babe, blame me for all of this and rightly so. “We should send word. Tell him what happened before someone else does.”

“I did, Warprize.” Marcus’s voice was soft. “He will be told.”

There was a noise at the tent entrance. Marcus intercepted whoever it was quickly. “Here now. Herself has rules about privacy, yes? Don’t come barging in without asking, eh?”

He returned with a bundle of clothes and hot kavage. He poured a cup for me, and placed a bowl of soup close at hand. He watched me take my first sip. I frowned at him, standing there in his leathers, soaked to the skin. “Change, Marcus.”

“Here?” He asked, oddly hesitant.

“ ‘Nothing there I’ve not seen before,’” I quoted to him.

He rolled his eye, and stripped off his tunic to reveal pale skin beneath. It struck me as odd, since all the other warriors, Keir included, were browned by the sun. Marcus was pure white, except were the healed burns mottled his skin. He was whipcord thin, the muscles taut. There were scars too, more than Keir had on his body. The scars of one who has seen many battles.

Marcus reached for his trous and I dropped my eyes. I stared into my kavage instead and tried not to think about anything. But all I could see were those tiny cold toes in the palm of my hand. It was hard to believe that she’d survived. I closed my eyes, and yawned again, my jaw cracking.

“Soup will have to wait.” Marcus pulled the kavage from my hand, and settled me down onto the pallet. I was so tired, so weary that it felt like the softest bed to my aching body. Marcus pulled up the bedding over me, tucking me in carefully.

I blinked up at him and protested even as my body sagged into the warmth of the bedding. “I should check the fever’s foe. And on Rafe, to see how he fares.”

“Rest, Warprize. I’ve been cooking many a year. I can watch a few pots. I’ll send for word on Rafe.”

I blinked at him, my eyes gritty. “But you’re tired too.”

“I’ll sleep as soon as Isdra returns.”

He moved a stump so that he could see the pots through the flap. I blinked a bit and yawned again. “Marcus?”

He turned almost all the way around so that he could see me.

“What does it mean? When you say ‘Beyond the snows’?”

He looked at me for a long moment, then turned back to look at the pots. I thought he wasn’t going to speak, but then he folded his arms over his chest. “We of the Plains believe that our dead travel with us, ride along beside us, unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing. Not… not their bodies, you understand? Their—” He used a word I didn’t understand.

“Their spirits? Souls?” I asked. I used the Xyian words.

Marcus hesitated, then nodded. “Until the longest night, in the winter. You know this night?”

“Solstice.” I snuggled deeper into the blankets. “The shortest day, the longest night.”

“Just so. On that night, we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars.”

I thought about that for a while. For us, the Solstice marked the Grand Wedding of the God and Goddess, the Lord of the Sun and Lady of the Moon and Stars. A long night of bright laughter and celebration. Our people were so different, in so many ways.

I yawned again, my ears popping with the effort. Marcus shifted on his seat, and the light caught his left side, where the ear had been burned away. “Marcus?”

He looked at me again, frowning. “Not yet asleep?”

“You’re not offensive, you know.”

For a moment, he was so sad, then he gave me a slight smile. “In your eyes, Lara. Sleep now.”

I nodded, and closed my eyes. “Please, Marcus, please tell me that in the morning, this will be over. That everything will be all right?”

There was a very long pause, and the despair rose in my throat. Then his voice came, quiet and low. “All I know for certain is that the sun will rise, Warprize. I can offer no more, and no less.”

Oddly enough, it was a comfort. I drew a breath and sought the peace of sleep.

I awoke at dawn when Gils showed up, looking tired and needing a fresh supply of fever’s foe. Yawning, I put my hair up and sent Prest for kavage and food for all of us. “When did you last eat?”

Gils blinked at me, and yawned. “I’s not sure, Warprize.” He dropped his satchel at his feet.

I pushed him down on my pallet. “Well, you are going to at least eat now. Tell me how things are going. And how does Rafe?”

He drew a deep breath, and started talking. First, with the good news that Rafe was doing well. Then he reported on the sick and the dying and those that were recovering. I puttered a bit, to keep my hands busy, arranging the contents of the tables, just listening to his voice get slower and softer. It didn’t take long. By the time Prest returned, Gils was fast asleep on my pallet, oblivious to the world around him.

Marcus entered with Prest, carrying food. He glanced at Gils and nodded as he set the kavage down. “Good for him, to get some rest.” Prest took his food outside, but Marcus handed me a mug of kavage, and a bowl of soup, and pointed to the stump. I sat, and started to eat, looking at Gils sleeping so soundly. He looked even younger, his tousled red curls falling about his face. My gaze wandered about the tent, coming to rest on the large basket under one of the tables.

Meara’s basket.

The soup in my mouth turned to ashes, and I choked it down as I remembered. How could I have forgotten?

Marcus followed my gaze, and sighed when he saw the basket. He reached under the table and pulled it out. “I should have said. She is fine, Warprize.”

“You were just as exhausted, Marcus.”

He grunted, pulling the blankets from the basket. “Eat something, then we will go and check on her.” His tone was gruff, but I noticed that he smiled gently as he folded and smoothed the small blankets as he removed them from the basket. A few pieces of dried lavender fell to the ground, and I gathered the dried flowers up, and held them to my nose. The scent was sweet, and I put them aside. We could use them to freshen the clean swaddles.

A noise made both Marcus and I look at the entrance. Prest was standing just inside the tent, his face grim.

“Prest?”

“You must come, Warprize.”

“Who’s—”

“The Warlord.”