WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(39)

Simus felt the words like a blow to the chest. He stood for a moment, not fully understanding. “Dead?’

“Dead,” Elois said. “He died with his bonded, the Warprize, and Heath of Xy by his side.”

Simus rubbed his face with one hand.

“There is more, but that is the meat of it, Warlord.” Elois drew a deep breath but Simus cut her off with his hand.

“In the morning,” Simus repeated. “Bed down here, in one of the chambers. Do not stray from me, for I would hear all the truths you have.”

Elois nodded, her exhaustion starting to show. “I was sent to ask for word of the needle of light, but I saw Eloix on the way here, and I know you have sent word. The Warlord bid me obey you in all things, but he also freed me to take oath with you if I remained.”

Simus nodded. “My thanks, Elois.”

“Just one more thing, Warlord.” Elois yawned, then caught herself. “Forgive me, but you mentioned the Eldest Elder Thea.”

“Reness?” Simus asked. “What of her?”

“She was not present at the Warprize’s birthing.” Elois blinked at him, her tiredness clear. “She is not in Xy.”

“Where is she?” Simus demanded.

“Best I know, she got word at the border that had her turning back,” Elois yawned again, and blinked at him as she rocked on her feet. “So far as I know, she never left the Plains.”

“Let’s see to you,” Simus took her elbow. “We’ll sleep on this news.”




Except Simus couldn’t sleep.

He lay on his pallet, looking at the roof of his tent until all went back to stillness. The watch was in place, it was quiet and dark, and yet sleep eluded him like the swiftest prey.

Othur dead? It seemed so wrong to even think those words. Othur was a city-dweller, in a home of stone, surrounded by guards who were skilled enough...how could this be?

And yet, death comes in an instant. Even to city-dwellers, it seemed.

The words of that truth stuck in his throat, and he rose from his bed, dressed and armed himself quietly, and stepping out into the cooler night air.

The night was clear and dark, with the stars ablaze in the skies.

The watch stirred, and rose to their feet, but he shook his head. “I need to walk about,” Simus murmured as they settled back. “Alone.”

“As you will, Warlord,” they replied, although one sharp-eyed woman gave him a look of understanding.

“At least give us a direction, and a time,” she said crisply. “So we are not wandering about as if looking for a lost gurtle from the herd.”

Simus snorted softly, but she had a point. “To the Heart,” he said. “No more than an hour’s time.”

He strode off, walking through the grass that had yet to be trampled down by warriors and horses. As was traditional, none made their camps close to the Heart of the Plains, and no tent touched its border. Not at least until the Council was summoned and its massive tent raised.

Simus tried to think of nothing but the scent of crushed grasses below his boots and the brilliant skies above him. But the pain flooded in as memories of Othur appeared before his eyes. Laughing that great laugh of his, sitting in the warm kitchen eating the fine cooking of his Lady Wife, his pride in his Castle and his Kingdom. Of the morning he’d— Simus stopped dead, the memory was so strong. Of standing in the middle of the hot baths, with water to his waist. He’d smiled at Othur. “We’ve yet another Council today.”

“Yes.” Othur had nodded with a bemused look on his face. “I fear that in many ways the Warlord and Xylara have left us with a heavy task, trying to bring our people together. To work in harmony. In peace.”

Simus felt his grief well up. He resumed his steps.

The Heart was the same cool, grey stone it had always been, and his boots rang on the surface as he strode to the middle. The only sound here was the rustle of grasses, and the far noises of the various camps that ringed the Heart. The water in the lake next to it lapped at the shore, but only softly.

“He died speaking peace, with no weapon in his hand.”

Simus shook his head in regret. A city-dweller, perhaps, but in his own way a warrior for his people.

The stars hung above him, seeming to sparkle with the beat of his own heart.

Simus drew a deep breath, and faced north toward Xy. He spread his hands, and lifted his face to the stars. “Othur.” His voice cracked as it echoed against the stone.

The whisper in the grass was the only answer.

Simus faced to the west, and cried out to the night. “Othur of Xy.”

And again, he turned south, and let his tears flow. “Othur of Xy, hear me.”

And then, turning east, a final plea. “Othur, Seneschal of the Castle at Water’s Fall, Warder of Xy, my friend, please.”

The skies and stars were silent.

Simus dropped his head and his arms, letting his grief flow through him. “One day, my friend, I’ll hope to see you beyond the snows.”

He stood there for a moment, letting the wind take his tears, letting his breathing settle. Then he turned back, to head for camp.

Joden stood waiting, just beyond the stone. “They told me,” he said as Simus drew near. He fell in step with him. “You knew him longer than I did.”