WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(44)



Simus snorted softly, but racked the weapons accordingly.

“So, you are not yet a Warlord, I see,” Haya observed. She cast her eye over Joden. “And you, not yet Singer?”

“I—” Joden stumbled. “It is good to see you, Thea. You look well,” he finished lamely.

Haya snorted. “Seo will join us shortly. He is checking locations for our camp.”

“Our weaponsmaster is here, too?” Joden blurted out, his dread clear.

“You brought your thea camp to the Heart?” Simus asked with a strong sense of impending doom. “In the Spring?”

“Yes.” Haya walked over to the tent flap. “We have much to discuss. Perhaps you will offer me the courtesy of your tent? Offer kavage?”

Destal scrambled forward. “Allow me to see to your comfort, Elder Thea.”

They both disappeared within Simus’s tent.

Joden puffed out his cheeks and let his breath out slowly.

Simus rolled his eyes. “Theas,” he whispered in resignation.

Joden nodded.

“Perhaps you’ll join me?” Haya’s raised voice came through the flap.

They both hastened to obey.




Snowfall glowered at Simus’s tent from her hiding place in the deep grass. Rare anger coursed through her; her tattoos tight and tense on her skin. She’d found the flaw, sure enough.

Simus of the Hawk was an arrogant idiot.

He’d walked into the challenge circle, acting all put-upon, like an arrogant fool. No warning, none of his people had checked, the man was blessed by the elements to be alive, much less the victor.

He’d reacted quickly, and took his opponent down fast and hard, but still. He never should have entered the circle unprepared. Snowfall faulted him for that, but she also faulted his people. His Token-bearer especially.

Snowfall had watched Simus fight, but she’d also watched her potential opponent in the ring. Destal was good, true, but not good enough. Snowfall looked forward to challenging her.

Simus of the Hawk had no caution. He needed protection; needed someone to watch his back. Destal was not the one to do this. What would happen if he failed in this? How could the Plains unify under the Council of Elders if the fool got himself— The pounding of feet came at her and children ran past her, heedless of the tall grasses and established paths.

Snowfall hunched down.

The Heart was becoming too crowded, too difficult to travel even hidden. And now, with a thea camp added, well...

She needed to retreat to her camp, but it would be best if she waited until the camp had settled and the sun was a bit further behind the horizon. She’d plenty to think on in the meantime.

“Look deeper,” Wild Winds had said, and as was almost always the case, her master...her former master was right. There was more there than pomp and arrogance.

He’d impressed her when he’d treated those young warriors with dignity, taking their oaths seriously, and welcoming them into his service.

He’d impressed her more when the horses had arrived loaded with supplies—and those saddles. Skies above, Snowfall had never seen a new saddle before, only those looted or stolen at war. Certainly, she’d never had one. The warrior-priests took the best for themselves and the leavings were for those in training. But Simus hadn’t even blinked at new weapons, new saddles, and ordered them distributed to his people based on their needs.

She had not expected such fairness from him.

Voices were raised, calling the children to order, and back to their tents. Snowfall didn’t move; patience was a form of protection in and of itself.

There was one more thing about Simus, and this one made Snowfall chew her lip and wish she could contact Wild Winds to talk of it with him.

Simus of the Hawk had mourned a city-dweller.

She would not have believed it if she hadn’t followed him, and seen with her own eyes. His words, his prayer, his tears all spoke of a great truth, that he had lost a friend.

A city-dweller.

Snowfall shivered, and then forced herself to concentrate on her power, flowing into the veil that kept her hidden.

If Simus could mourn someone so different than a warrior of the Plains, then maybe...maybe he would listen to a warrior-priestess. Or whatever she was now.

Snowfall swallowed hard and shoved the thought away. She didn’t even know herself, and that was terrifying and exciting at the same time and in the same breath.

The area around her was clear enough. She started to crawl off, taking care to keep herself concealed.

Time to prepare. She’d sharpen her knives, see to her meal and her rest, and then when dawn came— Let it be as the elements willed.




“So you brought your thea camp to the Heart?” Simus asked again after they had settled within his tent, kavage and gurt all around. Haya had told them of her hostile encounter with Antas of the Boar. Weaponsmaster Seo had joined them, as had a Singer, one Quartis by name. Yers settled on a gurtle pad, eyeing Haya warily. Joden sat next to Simus, as silent as Simus had ever seen him.

“I have,” Haya said.

“The entire camp?”

“All,” Haya confirmed calmly. “Down to the last newborn and gurtle in our herds.”

“This is not wise, Haya,” Simus said, feeling like he was pointing out the obvious. “Live children around live steel? It is asking for trouble.”

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