WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(10)

The scout to the left signaled silently, and Simus led his warriors toward him.

The scout pointed. A man staggered through the grass, bare of chest, wearing nothing but trous, and leaning on a staff with a leather thong hanging loosely from its top, no skulls to be seen. Simus was willing to swear the man was a warrior-priest. But there was no arrogance now; the man’s breathing was ragged, almost sobbing as he lurched forward, his trembling hand stretched out for the scout’s horse.

But the horse, on its own, was backing away, ears flat to its head.

“What—” Simus started to ask but cut off his own words when the man lunged forward as if to catch the reins. The scout’s horse lashed out with its teeth bared, snapping them shut on thin air as the man yanked his hand back.

“Warlord, I don’t know why, but...” The scout struggled to regain control as the horse continued to back away. “But she’ll have nothing to do with him.”

Simus’s own horse came to a stop, its ears flat. All the horses did, as if they’d caught the scent of something foul.

The man fell to his knees, his face lifted to the sky with a long cry of despair. Simus saw tracks of tears glistening on his face and chest. He looked closer, recognizing the scar that ran along the side of the man’s face, catching the corner of his mouth. “You,” he said, almost questioning his own thought. “You were the warrior-priest that blocked us from the Heart. What happened here?”

“We can’t call them,” the man wept, his voice cracked and wavering as he babbled out the words, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. “They will not answer, will not come.”

Simus urged his horse to step closer, but the animal stamped its foot and would not advance.

The man gasped, tried to catch his breath, then gave the warbling cry used to summon a mount from the herd. None responded, even the remounts that Eloix had brought with her. Not one animal advanced to his side.

Simus looked at the man in horror; all the warriors did.

“Our horses are one with us,” Simus said, his voice thick. “Xyians might name their horses, and think to own them, but we live with them. What have you done, that they would refuse you?”

“What in the name of the elements did you do?” Joden’s voice reflected Simus’s own thought.

“The Sacrifice, the Sacrifice called them and then,” the man collapsed to his hands and knees. “We have offended. We have—” The rest of his words were lost in his weeping.

Joden dismounted and went to the man’s side, kneeling down beside him. He looked up at Simus. “His tattoos are gone,” Joden said.

“Gone?” Simus asked.

“His skin is pale and new, as if the colors had been ripped away.”

“We brought down the wrath of the elements.” The man was choking and gasping out the words. “All of the elements, for it has returned and now I can see it. I can see it, but I cannot touch—cannot feel—cannot use.” The man cried out in anguish, fisting handfuls of grass and earth.

Joden leaned over, whispering questions.

Simus gestured for the others to back the horses off, and they went willingly, keeping watch on the plains around them. But other than the man’s cries, the night was quiet.

Joden finally stood, shaking his head. “His wits are gone,” he said sadly. “Maybe after he calms, he could tell us more, but I have little hope of that.”

“We will move on,” Simus said sharply.

Joden nodded and turned, but the warrior-priest reached up, and grabbed his arm sobbing out a plea. “Mercy. I ask mercy.”

Joden paused, and looked at Simus.

Simus returned the look, and shook his head. “Give him a dagger, Joden. With all that has happened in the past, with whatever has happened now, he does not deserve mercy at our hands.”

But Joden didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

Simus frowned. It mattered little, since a warrior of the Plains who could not summon a mount was as good as dead. “Leave him,” he commanded.

“I cannot,” Joden said. “Any more than I could have left you.”

Simus narrowed his eyes.

Joden returned the stare.

“Singers.” Simus huffed out an exasperated breath and nodded to Joden. “Do it.”

Two of his warriors dismounted, and approached as the trembling warrior-priest stretched himself out on the grasses at Joden’s feet. Joden pulled his dagger and knelt, as the other two pressed down on the warrior-priest’s shoulders and hands.

“The fire warmed you,” Joden began.

“We thank the elements,” came the traditional response from a few throats. The warrior-priest as well, his voice cracking as he bared his throat to the knife.

Simus did not join in the chant. He noted that others felt the same way. The warrior-priests had earned no friends among them. Besides, he knew Joden. He’d go for the heart thrust, a surer and far quicker death than the warrior-priest deserved.

Joden’s voice was a murmur now, the responses softer as the elements of water, air, and earth were invoked and thanked. The man pressed to the earth seemed calmer now, although his breathing still rasped in the night air. His sobs had quieted, and seemed more of relief than anguish.

Simus frowned. The warrior-priest had been strong and arrogant when he’d confronted them earlier. What would drive such a proud warrior to such depths? And they’d offended the elements? The horses? A chill ran down Simus’s spine.