WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(26)

“Did you recognize any of them?” Haya demanded.

“No, dea-mine—” Tenna stopped, and gulped, her eyes going wide.

Haya let herself smile and reached out to brush back a lock of Tenna’s hair. “You’re an adult now, warrior. Such childish names are not for you anymore.”

Tenna blushed. “Yes, Elder.”

“A hard habit to break,” Seo chimed in.

“Yes, Weaponsmaster,” Tenna responded.

Haya watched with pride as Tenna took a breath to continue. “No, Elder Thea, I did not recognize any of his warriors.” Tenna met her gaze. “We were attacked by warrior-priests, and there were none in with his warriors. Even if there had been,” she added, her truth in her eyes, “I am not sure I would have been able to recognize them.”

“Fair enough.” Haya sighed, and gestured to the basket. “See to those later. Join Arbon and the others, and tell them we will be there shortly. We will mourn El and Cosanna this night.”

Tenna’s eyes glistened, but she gave a silent nod in response and left them.

Haya sighed, and lowered her voice so that only Seo and Quartis could hear her. “I’d thought I’d moved our camp far enough that we couldn’t be found easily. Yet Antas found us, and I fear the next time his request will be a demand.”

“Where can we go?” Seo asked. “To keep the young ones safe?”

“Where else? The Heart.”

Both Quartis and Seo stared at her as if her wits were gone with the winds.

“The young do not go to the Heart in the Spring, during the Trials. That is not done.” Seo glared at her. “The camps do not mingle except in the Fall, to gather for the final Council of Elders. Young ones underfoot of warriors preparing for war? That is not done,” he repeated.

“We know things that the Council will need to know,” Haya said. She turned to look at the horizon, her knowledge of the Heart’s location unerring.

“So, too, I need to find Essa,” Quartis said. “The Eldest Elder Singer must know as well.”

“But this is not done,” Seo protested again. “Thea camps do not mingle with—”

“Seasons change,” Haya said grimly. “So must we.”




Simus paused to wipe his brow with his forearm. His skin was gritty with sweat and dirt.

“I’ll thank the skies if this is the last,” he muttered to Joden as he reached for a large roll of sod and packed it back into the earth to cover the mass grave.

“It is.” Joden paused himself, raising his head to look around at the others.

Simus grunted, pressing the grass roots down harder than really needed. It had taken far longer to clear the Heart of the dead then he’d expected. Hours of digging so that the bodies could be returned to the earth; there was no way so many could be given to the air, water, or fire. Then too, there was the sorting out of supplies and gear, distributed equally among those who worked. No item would be allowed to go to waste. It wasn’t so much the time it took, but the work itself that dragged down the hearts and minds of the warriors around him.

Simus rose to his feet, dusting off his hands, then paused.

Someone was watching him.

“Something?” Joden asked softly, still pushing the sod into place.

Simus stretched, turning about, scanning the grasses, but all he could see were his own people, busy at their tasks. No one was staring, or trying to get his attention.

“Felt eyes on the back of my neck,” Simus admitted.

“A threat?” Joden stretched as well. “I don’t see—”

“Eh,” Simus said, brushing it off. “I’m weary. So are they.” He looked around, taking in his warriors. “You’d think they’d been defeated in battle,” Simus said.

Joden rose to his feet as well, cracking his back. “We of the Plains raid, Simus. We gallop in, wage the battle, and ride away. We are not used to dealing with the aftermath. The only other time we’ve had to deal with this...” Joden’s words trailed off, his eyes distant.

Simus knew well enough that Joden was in the past, burying the dead from the plague.

“Enough,” Simus put his hand on Joden’s shoulder, calling him back. “Enough, my friend. We’ll eat and rest and in the morning we’ll start fresh, and raise our tents for the Trials.”





Chapter Eleven


Snowfall had ridden as close to the Heart as she dared, using her powers to mask her presence and protect her from prying eyes.

She’d released her horse back to the herds and cached her bedroll, gear, and saddle before she’d gone to watch Simus of the Hawk. She’d crept in close, an easy task given that there were few warriors and fewer camps established.

She’d watched, and as the sun had set, she’d returned and made a small, cold camp. Wrapped in her blankets, she looked up into the endless sky full of stars and thought on what she had seen, trying to ignore her nervousness.

Fireflies appeared, dancing in the air around her. Snowfall smiled to see them, remembering chasing them as a child in the thea camps.

On impulse, she worked a hand free of her blankets and called the power to her. She concentrated, trying to re-create the tiny bits of light in the air.

She wasn’t completely successful. Golden glitters just fell from her fingers and didn’t float like the living bugs. But as she waved her hand, it left a trail of bright light, like a ribbon that hung in the air before settling to the ground.