WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(4)

Simus watched after them, then looked at Joden. “What do you think?”

Joden shrugged.

“A Singer’s answer.” Simus rolled his eyes, turned his horse, and headed for where his warriors were making camp. Joden followed silently.

As they rode up, warriors met them to take their horses. Eloix came up on foot as they dismounted. “We’ve strong kavage, and meat spitted over the fire.” She looked them both over. “You’ve the look of too much thinking, Simus.”

“Aye to that,” Simus said, feeling anger simmering under his skin. “I’m in need of a sparring session to work out my frustrations.”

Eloix sidled up next to him and nudged his hip with hers. “Perhaps I could offer a better distraction?”

Simus gave her a warm smile, and reached out to stroke her cheek lightly with his fingertips. “Afterward, lovely one. I would call a senel tonight. The warrior-priests may have kept us from the Heart, but I would keep us to the path I have chosen.”

Joden straightened as did Eloix. They both lowered their eyes, and gave him the traditional bow of respect. “Yes, Simus.”

Simus grinned. “We will begin the rituals tonight.”





Chapter Two


“I call this senel to order,” Simus announced, letting his joy and satisfaction ring in his voice.

From the faces around him, the warriors shared his pleasure.

They may have set a temporary camp with no large tents, but they’d done him proud with braziers heaped high, the flames burning merrily. The light surrounded the group with a golden glow, one that could probably be seen for miles since the sun had dipped beyond the horizon.

Simus stood among them and raised his hands. “The fire warms us,” he recited.

The crowd responded, their voice rising together. “We thank the elements.”

Simus raised his voice a bit louder and stronger. “The earth supports us.”

“We thank the elements,” they responded, raising their voices with his.

Simus let joy fill his voice. “The waters sustain us.”

“We thank the elements,” came the echoing response.

“The air fills us,” Simus said, booming out the words.

“We thank the elements,” his people shouted in adulation.

Simus grinned in shared pleasure, and his words echoed in the air. “We thank the elements, for their gifts to the People of the Plains.”

“Heyla,” was shouted by all.

Simus waited for them to settle. “We have fought together for many a season under Keir of the Cat,” he said. “We have faced dangers and enemies no other warriors of the Plains have confronted, and we have emerged alive, our weapons still sharp.” He took a deep breath and let his smile grow wide. “It is fitting then, that I declare my intent to you, to enter the Trials and become Warlord in this season.”

Shouts of “Heyla,” erupted from all around. Simus couldn’t resist a glance at Joden, seated at his side. His friend met him grin for grin.

“Joden of the Hawk intends to take the path to Singer this season as well. As such, as is our way, he takes no sword oaths to any warrior. His oaths will be to the Plains themselves if he succeeds in his Singer Trials.” Simus bowed his head toward his friend. “Until such time, we will have his company and his truths—”

“Not to mention his songs!” Yers added, his white skin, dark brown hair, and crooked nose gleaming in the firelight. Simus joined the laughter.

“Truth!” Simus said. “Now, as is tradition, I would ask that Joden recite the rules of the Spring Trials for us.” Simus settled back down on his gurtle pad.

Joden rose, his broad face flushed with pleasure. “I am honored,” he said, and then raised his right hand, palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”

The response rose from every throat, including Simus’s. “We will remember.”

Joden lowered his hand. “Now begins the Spring Trials, when all may challenge for a place in the armies of the Warlords of the Plains.”

His audience was still, and silent.

“Battle is for survival, for gain.” Joden’s voice was a melodic chant. “Battle is vicious, brutal, and no quarter given.” He looked at the crowd. “Here, now, in the flowering of the Plains, in the new grass and the early rains, here is where we emerge from the winter lodges, sharpen our weapons, and show our skill.” Joden paused, and took a breath. “For in the Trials, we appreciate the beauty of the blade in motion, the finesse behind the blow. The Trials display the best of us.”

A soft murmur of appreciation came as the warriors nodded.

“So let it be that in our Trials we value more the grace and skill of the warrior. Each fight is to the first blood, but let that blood be no more than a trickle or a trace, the slightest whisper of metal parting skin. Let the contest within the circle of challenge be a dance, a display of all that is in the best of us,” Joden continued. “Bring into the circle only your sharpest blades.”

Blades, and not maces or warclubs. Blunt weapons meant to crush heads and break bones had no place within a challenge circle; pulling out a weapon of that kind signaled an intent to kill.

“The challenges take place within the circle, upon the bare earth, under the open sky, with water and fire as witnesses,” Joden said. “In no other place are challenges permitted, except within the circle, under the challenge banners. And with a Singer as the judge, neutral and unquestioned in their truths.”