WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(11)

“Go now, warrior,” Joden’s voice rang out, the ritual complete. “Beyond the snows and to the stars.” With a swift move, he thrust the blade between the man’s ribs and into his heart.

The silence was sudden and deep.

Joden cleaned his blade on the grasses as the others rose and returned to their mounts. He rose as well, and sheathed his blade.

Yers looked at Simus. “What did he mean, that all of the elements had returned?”

“I do not know.” Simus shook his head. “But I know where we will find an answer.” He looked toward the glow that still lit the horizon, and didn’t let his own fears reflect in his voice as he issued his command. “Mount. We ride to the Heart.”





Chapter Five


Dawn traced the horizon as they approached their goal. They encountered nothing and no one until they reached the area where the warrior-priests had established their camps.

His warriors were silent as they surveyed the chaos. Tents were clearly trampled, with gear strewn and tossed about. Cooking fires were scattered, the embers still burning, the pots and tripods askew, or knocked down altogether. The larger fire pits burned, true enough, but the fires were little more than coals.

And there were bodies everywhere.

All warrior-priests and priestesses.

All dead.

Simus gestured, and some of his people dismounted, checking for survivors. It didn’t take long for them to look up and report.

“Dead,” Yers said in hushed tones. “All dead, and by their own hands.”

“All of them?” Simus asked. It wasn’t possible. There had to have been a full camp here, and if it surrounded the Heart...could all the warrior-priests be dead?

“All,” Joden said from off to the side. “There are no survivors.”

“What in the name of the sacred flames happened here?” Simus wondered out loud.

“Our horses avoid tents unless provoked or stampeded,” Joden said. “They do not bite or kick unless trust is lost. Why would they trample through the camp?”

“The Heart lies just a bit farther,” Tsor said. The big man was subdued. They all were.

Simus urged his horse in that direction, and the others followed.

All around the great stone circle the fire pits were lit and smoldering, as if after a great ceremony. And there in the center the Heart lay, perfectly normal. Cool, grey stone, untouched and eternal. Perfectly circular, large enough to host the huge Council tent and all the Elders of the Plains.

Simus stared down at it, as if it could somehow give answers.

There were none.

Simus swung down from his saddle. “Keep watch,” he ordered as he walked up and onto the stone, striding to the center, looking for a mark, for a chip, for blood, for any sign of the source of that pillar of light.

There were none.

Simus frowned. The stone was perfectly clean. Usually whenever the tribes gathered around the Heart, it had to be swept almost hourly to keep it clear of debris. But the surface was untouched.

Joden knelt at his side, splaying his hand over the surface of the Heart. “I’d thought it would be hot, or...something,” he murmured.

“Spread out,” Simus called. “Look to see if all the camps that surround this place are like the ones we came through. Signal if you find anything, or anyone.”

Joden rose to his feet, surveying the stone. Simus stood there, uneasy, as his warriors turned their horses and rode out. “That light, those sounds,” he said to Joden. “There should be some mark, some sign.”

Joden nodded his silent agreement, walking toward the edge of the stone, circling Simus as they both looked for some answers. The coming dawn made it easier to see that there was no trace of anything to be seen. Which made Simus even more nervous.

A short time later, the warriors returned, all of them reporting the same thing. Tents collapsed, the ground trampled, and the dead everywhere.

“I’d put it in the hundreds,” Eloix said quietly. “I’ve never seen such a thing. Warlord, they were all stripped of their tattoos, and all showed signs of having died at their own hands. None of their staffs had skulls, either.”

“I know where we might find some answers,” Joden said slowly, pointing off into the distance.

“Where?” Simus asked and then turned his gaze to where Joden pointed. On a far rise a handful of tents stood against the horizon, lit with torches, with people and horses milling about.




Simus thanked all the elements that Joden obeyed when Simus ordered him to ride at his side. His friend would have plunged ahead at a gallop, regardless of the risks.

Not that Simus really blamed him. He wanted answers, too.

The scouts took up their positions. All of his warriors regrouped with him, and they rode at a slow pace, and constantly scanned the Plains. But here there were no trampled grasses; the herd had not come this way.

Simus felt his shoulders ease as they circled around to mount the ridge. This camp appeared normal from the looks of it, and as they drew closer he could see that here were mostly young ones.

“They’ve only partial tattoos,” Joden noted.

“Which only adds to the questions,” Simus said. Young warrior-priests were kept isolated and away from the warrior camps until they had earned their full tattoos. It was rare to see even one, and here was a camp filled with them. Simus did a quick count and frowned. Maybe twenty in all, their bare torsos decorated with tattoos in various places, but not covered in them as they would be when they reached full status.