WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(35)

She paused to let a group of warriors leading horses move off before she continued. Their talk was teasing, and light. Scouts, it seemed, about to make their rounds.

Such a difference between this and a warrior-priest camp. The old camps full of warrior-priests had been quiet, stifled, aware of their loss of powers and the secrets they kept. But here? Laughter, work, shared tasks. So very odd, and yet, very welcome.

She waited, patient, until they moved off.

Once she was far enough, she stood, stretched and walked the rest of the distance. She’d moved her camp to a small pond where the alders grew thick. There was nothing but game trails around it, and she deemed it safe enough. She used her power to keep her veil up, though. Just in case.

The sun was high enough that she could set a few snares for rabbits that were as thick as the alders. Once that was done, she walked to the other side of the pond, knelt, dropped the veil, and focused.

The power was there, all around her, golden and bright, moving like water around her. She took a moment to bask in its glow, feeling its presence, slowing her breathing to match its rhythms.

She turned her attention to that sense of dread that lingered under her breasts. It was still there, and yet not there, and as much as she tried to commune with it, there was only apprehension. An underlying fear...no, that was too strong. Worry was a better way to describe it.

But no amount of focus, or probing, provided more information. Snowfall opened her eyes, blew out a breath in frustration, and once again wrapped her veil around herself.

She would keep trying. For now, she needed to move.

She put herself through the paces of fighting an imaginary foe with her knives. The moves were old and familiar, but Snowfall pushed herself to make each form perfect. It wouldn’t do to lose her skills now. Besides, the leather corselet she wore was still uncomfortable, chaffing in places. She was so used to nudity that any cloth on her breasts felt odd. But naked skin offered no protection against a blade. Maybe if she reworked the lacings, the fit might be better.

Once she was done with her forms, sweat dripping into her eyes, she decided that lacings could wait. She stripped down, easing herself into the cold water of the pond, and scrubbing herself with sand. It felt good to be clean. It felt even better when she heard a squeal from one of the snares. She’d caught a fine, fat rabbit for her supper.

She cleaned the meat, wrapped it in wet leaves with some ogden roots, and set it roasting in a small fire pit that she dug. Kavage brewed close by, and her stomach rumbled as she settled in to wait for it to cook.

She pulled the corselet over, and started to work on the laces. But while her fingers picked at the strings, she glanced over her shoulder and considered all that she had seen.

Her mouth had dropped open when Simus had planted the first pole to raise his tent. With his own hands. She shook her head at the wonder of it.

He’d laughed, wrestling with the sides, cursing mistakes that he made, and bellowing with joy even when the pole and tent had collapsed on his head.

Simus strutted, true enough, certainly putting on a display. But there was an openness about him, a joy in living, in breathing, as if he was inviting the elements to admire his prowess in a way that didn’t offer insult to others. Snowfall frowned at the fire as the wet leaves sizzled. It was hard to explain, but certainly his warriors had taken no offense, sharing in his mirth.

Snowfall shook her head, puzzled. She’d not taken offense either, even catching herself laughing with him at one point.

Simus was like no warrior-priest she’d ever met before, and she was fairly certain that he was unlike other Warlords as well, although she’d not dealt with any directly. But Simus had looked every inch a Warlord when he had stepped from his tent to open the challenge circle.

Gleaming armor, his gold rings in his ears glittering in the sun. The smile, so bright, so hopeful.

It would be hard to see that smile dimmed.

Snowfall frowned at herself, and poked at her dinner with a stick. That was not a consideration. Wild Winds had charged her to see for herself, and she needed to stay on task.

She’d never seen the ceremony for the opening of a challenge circle before, although she knew the ritual from her days in the thea camps. She’d known the words, but not the excitement, the pride of the warriors involved. It seemed to her that they’d all felt the power of the man they called Warlord. Simus was charming, handsome, and there was an allure about him that she’d felt brush her own skin.

He was skilled with his weapons as well. She’d watched him meet every challenge, and his fights were a pleasure to watch. For such a big man, he moved with grace and speed. Moreso than she had expected.

Yet, again, he didn’t crow of his victories, or shame his opponents on their loss. He was polite and gracious, and quick to offer aid, as he had offered the bloodmoss.

Snowfall frowned again. It had to be false. Simus was, of course, trying to win hearts and swords, and as such would seek to hide his flaws.

The meat was sizzling, and Snowfall pulled the bundle from the fire, hissing in pain as she pulled back the leaves. A good meal, hot kavage, and she’d sleep well. Tomorrow she’d return and get as close to Simus’s tent as she could.

There were flaws, she thought as she took a bite of the juicy meat. And she would find them.




Ultie’s tent wasn’t quite as large as his own, but Simus frowned when he saw that it had been placed at the center of his warriors’ tents. Not the usual set-up for the Trials. Still, there was a wide pathway, and the usual challenge circles. But as Faela lead the way Simus noted a tension more at place in a camp at war than at the Trials. Instead of preparing to enjoy the evening meal, warriors seemed guarded and alert.