WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(41)

Simus gave him a long look as he sheathed his own weapons, then grasped the hilt. “I accept your surrender,” he said as he took the dagger. “Well fought, Pero of the Badger.”

“I’d offer my sword as well,” Pero added. “And to serve you as Tenth, if you’ll have me.”

“Willingly,” Simus said. He could see Yers, his Second, off to the side, grinning like a crazed ehat.

“A mistake, Pero,” a voice called from the crowd. “Where’s the gain to be made in an army that does not raid?’

The crowd shifted, and Wyrik stepped forward, a sneer on his face.

“I’ve made my decision, Wyrik,” Pero said mildly. “My Warlord will see to his people’s needs, and the needs of the Plains.”

“Pero’s word is good enough for me.” Another warrior stepped forward. More warriors nodded around him. “I’d offer my blade as well.”

“Fools.” Wyrik was contemptuous, bordering on offending. “How will he provide for you, and for the Tribes? How will he supply the thea camps and see to his warrior’s needs? What of weapons? Armor? Supplies?”

“I will provide,” Simus rumbled, facing the warrior. “There will be no lack for those who serve me.”

“So you say,” Wyrik scowled. “But—”

“So I say,” a new voice called, high and joyful. They all raised their heads to an incoming rider. Simus almost laughed out loud when he recognized her.

“So I say,” the rider repeated as she pulled her horse to a halt. “And I should know, for I have escorted the supplies these last few months and came on ahead to find you. Hail, Warlord Simus.”

“Hail, Methla of the Deer,” Simus laughed, even as he noticed Wyrik fading back into the crowd. “How stood Xy when you left it?”

“Your news would be newer then mine, since we left Xy months ago.” Methla dismounted. “Elois came just as we were planning to leave the border. I did not speak with her, but the Warlord Liam gave me her words.” She dropped her voice, aware of the watchers around them. “Hard to learn of Lord Othur’s death when he was the one that sent his greetings and well wishes with us, and all weapons and supplies you’d asked for, including some of those Xyian crossbows.”

Since Elois had shared her news in senel the day before, all of Simus’s people knew of Othur’s death. Simus clapped a hand on Methla’s shoulder. “Let me take the oaths of these warriors,” Simus said. “Send word back to the caravan of our location. Then we will talk.”




Methla stood on no ceremony once they were in Simus’s tent, but threw her thin, lanky body down on a gurtle pad with a grateful sigh. “Oh it’s good to be back on the Plains.” She glanced at Simus. “I feared that I would have to be the one to tell you of Lord Othur’s death.”

Simus grimaced as he settled down beside her. “A loss to us all, but especially to Lara.”

Methla’s face brightened. “Good to know she had her babes, and twins at that. The elements blessed her.” Methla flashed a grin. “I wonder if she’ll get the traditional birthing tattoos?” she chuckled, gesturing towards her own left arm.

Simus shared her chuckle as Destal served them kavage.

“How goes the formation of your army?” Methla asked.

Yers folded up his long legs to sit on a gurtle pad next to her. “It goes well. With the Tenths that swore oaths this afternoon, I am certain the numbers will increase.”

“It’s late in the season for Tenths to be making their choices,” Methla lifted an eyebrow. “But I am glad to hear things go well.” She paused. “Othur gathered everything he thought might aid you and piled it into wagons. Weapons, leather work, supplies, blankets, pots and pans, and such food stuffs as he thought made sense. I fear it slowed us, but there weren’t enough horses in Xy to carry it all in packs.”

Methla scowled. “Once we reached the border I tried to shift it all to horses, but that

damn fool insisted on bringing his wagon.” She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

Simus questioned Yers with a glance, but his Second shrugged. Who was she talking about?

“I tried to explain that the Plains lack roads and something called a ‘wheelwright’,” Methla continued. “That our horses are not trained to pull wagons, and that oxen are damned slow. Now the damn thing’s only fit for firewood as far as I can tell, but he slept in it every night.” She drew in a breath. “Simus, I honor you as Warlord, and I offer honor to Warlord Keir and the Warprize, but if ever I was tempted to kill a Xyian it would be this one. He—”

“Wait.” Simus frowned. “Othur sent a Xyian with you?”

Methla looked at him in surprise. “I thought you knew,” she said. “Othur said you would need someone with his skills. He’s a healer.”

“Like Lara?” Simus asked.

“Oh, no.” Methla rolled her eyes. “He’s a skilled healer, but he’s no Warprize.”

The tent flap rustled, and Destal stuck her head in. “Warlord, the caravan arrives.”

“Send them into the camp,” Simus ordered as he rose to his feet. “We’ll meet them there.”