WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(36)

They watched him pass with less than friendly eyes.

Faela strode right up to the tent and entered without so much as a greeting. Simus followed, to find himself confronted by Ultie, a few Singers, and a thin, bruised man in battered armor.

“Essa?” Simus blinked, uncertain. This was not the proud Eldest Elder Singer that he’d last seen at the Warprize’s confirmation, with his splendid colored robes. The Singer’s tattoo was around his eye, but—

“Simus of the Hawk,” Essa said and there was no mistaking that voice, even if it was filled with anger. “I would ask for your token.”

Simus’s hand was on his brooch before he could gather his thoughts.

“I hold your token, Simus of the Hawk. Are you the one trying to kill me?”





Chapter Fourteen


Essa’s face was a mask of calm, but Simus could see a wildness in his eyes. Essa held the brooch in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword.

The other Singers, clearly Essa’s guards, also had their hands on the hilts of their swords.

“No,” Simus said quickly and firmly, keeping his face still, hiding his shock. Now was not the time to mock this man.

“Hunting us like ehats, attacking both night and day, destroying my tents and supplies, killing my people?” Essa’s voice cracked, but he brought it back under control.

“No,” Simus said. “And if you wish, I will repeat my words for the open skies to see and hear.”

“Told you,” Ultie said to Essa.

Essa stared at Simus hard, but Simus met his glare and didn’t drop his gaze until Essa looked away.

“Well, someone is,” he said. “Someone has.” He ran his free hand over his face. “What was Reness thinking to wander off to Xy? And where is Wild Winds? And what in the name of all the elements was that shaft of light? Ultie says that you witnessed that night and spoke with Wild Winds. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Simus said.

“What did he say?” Essa demanded.

“I will tell you all I know,” Simus said. “Although Joden would tell it better.”

“Why in the name of the elements would I trust Joden?” Essa spat.

“What?” Simus demanded, startled.

“I am not sure I trust any of the Plains at the moment, except those of my tents,” Essa continued. “I came to Ultie because—”

“Because if I wanted you dead, you would be,” Ultie rumbled. “And since you aren’t, I don’t.”

Essa choked out a laugh. “The only certainty left in an uncertain world.”

“Sit,” Ultie commanded, gesturing to the gurtle pads. “We need kavage and food for this talk, and bells on the flaps. Faela, see to the bells, then see to our meal. Essa, return Simus’s token. You will eat, yes? And then we will listen as you speak of what has happened to you.”

Simus settled on the gurtle pad Ultie indicated, arranging his sword and dagger beside him. The other warriors sat as well, except Essa. The man was clearly agitated and started to pace back and forth as Faela wove a strip of bells into the tent flaps.

Ultie himself passed the water and cloths for hand-washing. “Faela has enough to see to, and I want no more warriors within.”

Simus nodded his understanding, and whispered a prayer to the elements as he washed. They all did, except Essa, who continued to move around the tent, muttering under his breath until they all had completed the ritual. Then he spun on his heel and glared at Simus.

“Never, in all my years as Eldest Elder have I been assaulted,” Essa growled, his anger clear in every gesture. “I usually winter in the lodge closest to the Heart,” he continued. “But there was a—” Essa hesitated. “A Singer that I wished to speak to, about the events of the last Council. So I went south, and when the snows grew deep, we took to a lodge and wintered there.”

He continued to pace as he talked, his scabbard swinging on his hip, threatening everyone’s heads. Faela dodged around him as she served spiced gurtle meat, flat bread and roasted ogdan roots. Simus’s stomach rumbled.

Ultie gestured for the others to start eating. Simus reached for bread and meat.

“When we emerged, I conducted the Rites of Ascension for a few of the thea camps, as was normal. But the warrior-priests conducting those rites with me acted strangely.” Essa still held Simus’s cat brooch in the hand he was waving about. Faela ducked under his arms with the kavage pitcher and mugs. “I should have listened to my instincts, for they were telling me something was wrong. Perhaps Adaya would still live if I’d—”

Essa’s warriors were shaking their heads, and one spoke. “There is no way to know that, Eldest Elder. And no one blames you but yourself.”

Ultie rolled his eyes and gave Faela a nod. She stepped into Essa’s path with a mug of kavage and waited.

Essa stopped, sighed, and took the mug.

Simus helped himself to more of the spicy gurtle and roots.

“We were attacked.” Essa stood there, staring at the kavage. “It was clear they wanted me captured and my warriors dead. We managed to break free, but more warriors appeared and harried us. I lost warriors and gear to them as they would appear out of nowhere—” He took a swig of kavage, and cleared his throat. “Then one night a warrior-priest appeared with warriors and attacked me with foul power, freezing me in place so that I could not so much as move. My warriors fought, and fought well, but the only thing that saved us was a bolt of light piercing the night sky. The warrior-priest fell to his knees, screaming, and suddenly I could move and breathe and I killed him.”