WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(27)

Guilt seized her then. It wasn’t proper to waste power on such things, even if the land now glowed with it. She stopped, pulled her hand back into the warmth of her blankets and forced herself to consider what she had seen.

She’d watched as Simus had helped his people clear the dead. Watched him do the actual work, not hover about giving orders to his warriors.

And he’d offered the dead respect, which had caught her by surprise. Simus of the Hawk was known to despise warrior-priests, yet the bodies of the fallen, punished for their offenses to the elements, were picked up and laid in rows, not tossed about like so much dried dung.

Her surprise had been enough that she’d made a mistake. She’d gone too close, stared too long.

Simus had sensed her watching.

A thrill went through her even now, as she lay under warm blankets. The memory sent shivers that went to her toes and made her skin prickle.

Her tattoos had tingled as his eyes had seemed to meet hers. She’d dropped her gaze in that instant, and pressed herself down in the grasses, holding her breath, afraid that he’d seen her. Somehow he’d known he was being watched.

She’d kept her eyes down, concentrating on her veil, on the grass, on her breathing, until he had shrugged and turned back to his duties.

That had never happened before. She vowed silently that it would not happen again. For she intended to keep watching, and listening, if she could get that close. There was something about Simus, something different.

More and more warriors would be pouring into the area around the Heart, and she’d need to have her wits about her if she wished to remain undiscovered. She’d have more care next time.

And there would be a next time.




Simus made it a point to rise early at first light, strike the tents, and with his warriors head to the Heart to choose his camp’s location for the trials. He got there first, much to his satisfaction, and claimed an area both close to the Heart and directly north, placing his tent between the Heart of the Plains and Xy. It put him in a place of prominence, and made clear his intentions. Both were important for the Trials.

He planted the first pole himself, and then his warriors gathered to aid in raising the large structure. Keir had loaned him his tent, looted long ago from one of the fat cities of the East. It was a clever thing, large enough to hold senels, and yet portions could be closed off for sleeping, eating, and private discussions. But they’d had to haul the support poles from Xy, and it was difficult to piece together. He and his people had a grand time, swearing and laughing loudly as it collapsed on top of them more than once.

He was glad of it, for at least among his people spirits were rising. As they should be, for the Spring Trials were a relief from the long, cold days of winter. Now was a time to prepare one’s gear, try one’s skill, and find one’s place within the armies of the Plains, and to dance one’s heart out in the evening revels. Simus grinned to himself as he tightened one of the last ties for the tent and stepped back to admire their handiwork. His warriors stood with him in the sun, smiles bright as they congratulated themselves.

“Let it be said that we were first,” he called out. “Let the Plains remember when we dance this night.” His warriors cheered his words. “But there’s still work to be done,” he reminded them all.

“We’ll start cutting the sod for a challenge circle next,” Yers said. “I’ll pace it out from your tent. About ten paces, I should think.”

Simus laughed his agreement. “Make it wide, so I can run them in circles.” He strode over to where Destal was directing the warriors unloading the packs from the horses, moving the gear into his tent. “We’ll need a hunt,” he said as he bent to pick up two packs.

Destal nodded. “I figured after the camp is established. There’s plenty of daylight left. We’ll put the individual tents behind yours, leaving spaces for cooking fires and the like. The privies are already dug, and the wells uncovered. It’s a good site, no question there.”

“We’ll call for a dance tonight, first at the Heart with our drums and patterns,” Simus said, well satisfied. “I’ll raise my banners at dawn.”

“There’s something to be said for waiting a day or two,” Destal pointed out as they carried the packs into the tent. “Saving your energies, assessing the challengers and watching their weak points...” Her voice trailed off as she studied his face, and then chuckled and lowered her gaze in respect. “And then, of course, there is your way, Warlord.”

Simus laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. “Truth. Do you intend to challenge for Token-bearer?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Then let’s see this finished, so we can spar a bit before the dancing.”

Destal shook her head. “No, Warlord. I’ll set up your weapons rack. You see to your armor and weapons. We’ll deal with the camp.” She flicked him a sly look. “You’ll burn off that energy in the dancing tonight. And after.”

“Fair enough.” Simus grinned as he ducked into the tent, and entered his private chamber.

He’d spent his time in Xy wisely. No more cobbled-together armor pieces plundered during raids. Othur, Seneschal of Water’s Fall and Warder of Xy had taken the time to assist him in ‘commissioning’ new leathers and chain from the craftsmen of Xy. Simus shook his head, contrasting the welcoming faces of the craftsmen to the dead he’d looted in the past.