WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(2)

Once his group was well away, Eloix came up beside Simus. Her skin still had that pale winter look, but she’d already a touch of redness on her cheeks. Her blue eyes reflected her fierce frown as she glanced back behind them. “Simus, they disappeared back into the grasses as the last of us rode away.”

Simus grunted, letting his rage cool. He waited until they were a few rises beyond to turn to Joden. “What do you make of it?”

Joden urged his horse forward until he was even with Simus. Eloix slowed her horse, politely dropping back.

Joden shook his head, his face reflecting his confusion. “I know not. But that was a rare display of power for a warrior-priest. Every time I convince myself that their powers are false, they do something like this.”

“Truth,” Simus said. “Whatever they are doing, it must be important.”

“And I do not know the name ‘Hail Storm’ either,” Joden added.

Simus grunted. “Wild Winds was Eldest Elder when the Council sundered. That was but a season ago.”

“It feels like a lifetime,” Joden said.

Simus really looked at his friend then, seeing the lines of pain about the man’s eyes. Joden bore the grief of having lived through sickness and death, strange to those of the Plains. ‘Plague,’ the Warprize had called it, and even her great powers had no cure.

“You keep your sorrow within,” Simus said abruptly. “You need to sing of it.”

“When I have the words,” Joden said, and there really was no more to say to that.

Simus knew that the plague had caused Joden to doubt Keir, and he’d spoken his truths openly, making no secret of them. He’d come to see the truth of Xylara as Warprize, and had supported her before the Council. Simus trusted Joden’s truth and honor. But that did not mean that Joden would support every change Keir and Simus were working toward.

“Riders!” Eloix called a warning to them.

Simus looked and saw two riders coming over a ridge, headed directly for them.

“That’s Osa.” Joden recognized her before Simus did. Odd to hear him use her name without the title of Warlord, but such was the tradition of the Spring. ‘Warlord’ had to be re-earned, each and every year. A warrior did not use it unless their oaths had already been sworn.

Joden continued with a tone of resignation. “And that’s Ultie with her.”

Simus kept his face bland but grimaced within. He lowered his voice, meeting Joden’s gaze. “What was it Lara called him?”

“The arrogant, loud-mouth, over-bearing, obnoxious, bad-breathed Warlord Ultie,” Joden said, his face bland, a smile dancing in his eyes.

“A woman of insight, our Warprize,” Simus muttered, but then he couldn’t stop from laughing out loud, letting his voice roll over the grasses. He and Joden shared a quick smile, but Simus sobered his face as the riders drew closer.

“Greetings, Osa. Greetings, Ultie,” Simus called and urged his horse forward.

Osa and Ultie had both been Warlords in the previous seasons. Now they were his rivals, and if he survived the Trials, his equals. Simus felt no qualm in treating them as such.

What he wasn’t sure of was their positions as to Keir’s plans. Keir had made no secret of his plans for Xy. Nor had he concealed his hatred of the warrior-priests, and his desire to break their hold on the People.

But neither Osa or Ultie had expressed more than a passing interest in Keir’s schemes, although both of them had courted the Warprize before her confirmation.

Before she’d formally chosen Keir as her Warlord.

Osa was the first to approach, looking ravishing as she always did, her hair like flame and her pale skin contrasting with the browns of her leather armor. Her whip was at her waist, her slight smile reflected her eyes. “Simus.” She nodded. “You have come for the Trials then?”

“If these warrior-priests ever allow it.” Ultie scowled, glancing off in the direction of the Heart.

“You were driven off as well?” Simus asked.

“They’ve prevented anyone from raising their standard,” Osa said. “Of the few that intend to.”

“What?” Simus asked sharply.

Osa raised an eyebrow in the direction of his warriors, and reached back into her saddlebags for a strip of bells. “We’d have private words, Simus. With Joden of the Hawk as well, if he is willing.”

Simus gave a nod, and looked over at Eloix, summoning her closer. “Set camp,” he instructed. “A temporary one, for the night. Let’s not have those warrior-priests thinking we will wait patiently.”

“Another rise or so to the north and you should be far enough off for the damned warrior-priests,” Ultie said. The big man’s weathered skin hadn’t lost its tan over the winter months; his brown hair and beard were still long and shaggy.

“I’ll see to it.” Eloix nodded respectfully to all of them, and lead the warriors off.

Osa leaned forward and tied the bells in her horse’s mane. All four of them drew their horses close, and cast a wary eye on the grasses around them.

“Who knows if the elements-forsaken warrior-priests would even honor the privacy of the bells,” Ultie growled. “They shift like winds, and are not to be trusted.”

Osa shrugged. “I mislike this, but they are the warrior-priests. It is within their rights.”