WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(43)

Simus sighed as if with regret and glanced at the sun not yet touching the horizon. He sighed again, looking up at the challenge banner, still flapping in the breeze over his head.

“I am Sesson of the Hare,” the warrior announced, her voice only quavering a little, and not with amusement. “I offer challenge, Simus of the Hawk.”

“I accept.” Simus heaved another long sigh of resignation and stepped within the circle. He was careful not to glance at his Token-bearer or Second, for fear they’d dissolve into the laughter they were struggling with.

A Singer was there as well, rather conveniently.

And the hairs on the back of Simus’s neck rose in warning.

The woman warrior stepped into the circle...and pulled a mace from behind her shield.





Chapter Seventeen


Destal sucked in a breath, but Simus knew it was already too late. He was within the circle and a Singer was at hand. And if the eyes of the fearful warrior now glittered with hate, well, Simus had no one to blame but himself.

She’d made her intent clear enough. Simus gave her no quarter. He crossed the circle at a run, ramming into her shield with the shoulder of his sword arm.

She stumbled back, not expecting his rush. It put her off balance, but she managed to keep her shield up, and swing with her mace. Simus grunted but took the hit in order to strike upward with his dagger.

She failed to block him. He thrust the blade deep into her throat, hitting gristle and bone.

The glitter in her eyes vanished. She collapsed to the ground.

Simus stood over her body, breathing hard. For a moment, no one moved.

The Singer cleared his throat. “Done,” he said, “with Simus the Hawk the winner.”

‘The survivor,’ Simus thought grimly as he sheathed his sword. He leaned down, feeling the burning of rising bruises along his ribs and grabbed the dead woman’s mace. Blood still dripped from his dagger onto the ground.

Two warriors approached and both went to one knee before him. “Warlord,” one said. “We were of her camp, and would see to her.”

Simus gave them a nod, and they stepped forward to pick up the body. The onlookers moved away, talking quietly among themselves.

Simus added the mace to his weapons rack, making sure it was easily seen. He grabbed up a cloth and started to clean his dagger. Joden appeared from around the tent and stood silent at his aide.

“A change in tone, indeed,” Simus growled under his breath, angry at himself for not taking the challenge seriously, and for letting her past his guard. His ribs would ache for some time to come. He turned away from the rack to watch the departing warriors with the body between them.

“What was behind that, I wonder?” Joden murmured, as he watched as well. “Did she decide on her own to make a death challenge, or was she sent?”

“Can you find out?” Simus asked.

Destal stood close. “Let me send someone else instead. Joden is a bit too...obvious. But this is hardly a surprise. Warlord, you are going to be a target for—”

“I, PIVE OF THE SNAKE, CHALLENGE FOR WARLORD,” a voice boomed from behind them, and something hard smacked into Simus’s calf.

Simus reacted swiftly and instinctively, jumping forward to gain space from his attacker, then spinning to face him as he drew his sword and dagger. Joden and Destal each jumped to the side, their own weapons out and facing the threat.

Simus’s heart leapt in his throat as his blades came to bear on his attacker—

—a small girl-child, who barely came up to his waist, wielding a wooden sword and dagger, holding them in the position for another assault.

Simus stared.

The child was frozen, her wide eyes taking in his blade hovering inches from her head. “I—” her voice cracked high in fear.

“Pive,” came an older, calm voice. “Hold.”

Simus knew that voice. He rolled his eyes in its direction, as did the girl-child.

Haya of the Snake stood there, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Dea-mine,” Simus blurted out in astonishment.

Haya raised an eyebrow at him. Simus flushed with embarrassment, but Haya paid him no mind. She focused instead on the girl. “Pive, you have erred. You have attacked an adult warrior, one fresh from a challenge. You struck with no warning and no ritual, and he would be within his rights to kill you.”

Pive swallowed hard, her face screwed up with anger and fear. Simus could see tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“What say you, Pive?” Haya demanded.

The child lowered her weapons, her shoulders sagging in defeat. Her mouth was trembling as she offered her wooden dagger to Simus, placing the blunted point at her heart. “I offer my sur-surrender, Warlord.”

Simus sheathed his weapons, and took her dagger, careful not to smile at this smallest of warriors. “I accept your surrender.”

“Pive...” Haya chided her.

Pive sighed, and gave over her sword to Simus as well.

“Go back and join the others,” Haya said and the girl was off in a flash.

There was an awkward moment as the adults recovered themselves under Haya’s gaze.

“Greetings, Elder Thea Haya,” Simus recovered first. He offered the wooden weapons to Haya, but she shook her head, and gestured toward the rack.

“Impetuous, that one,” Haya said. “She needs to learn consequences.”