WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(45)
“Wise enough, young one, to take the action I must to protect what I have sworn to shelter.”
“But I can’t offer—”
“You can and you will.” Haya held up her mug for more kavage. Destal moved hastily to fill it. “For isn’t that the truth of your message? That you and Keir will protect the children? Provide a better future for them?”
“I—” Simus had no answer for that. “The thea camps have always protected themselves well enough.”
“Do not challenge your thea’s decision,” Seo growled.
Simus rubbed his hands over his face. “Elder Thea—” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.
“It is clear to me that Antas is a threat,” Haya said. “The added strength of your warriors combined with mine will see to it that he makes no moves. That, and the nearness of the Council.”
“The Council of Elders in the Spring is not attended by the theas,” Joden said carefully.
Haya shrugged, as if that was a matter of no importance.
Yers chimed in. “We could widen the perimeter of the camp and bring the children within its circle. The herds could remain outside, under guard.”
“I do not think Antas seeks the animals,” Seo said firmly. “He seeks control of the thea camp itself.”
“Spread the word among my warriors that children roam the camp,” Simus said to Yers. “Warn them, or else that Pive might not be so lucky the second time.” He offered Haya a smile. “That one will be a Warlord someday.”
“If she survives bearing five children,” Haya said starkly. “Survives the pain that is a life-bearer’s to bear.”
Simus went silent for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“I do,” Haya said. “Every day. For they are my charges. Why do you think that Reness supports these ideas of yours and Keir’s? Because theas know the true price in death that the Plains pay.”
“There is a healer here,” Simus said. “Sent from Xy. With supposedly the same skills as the Warprize.”
“Ah.” Haya nodded. “I have heard much of the healing skills of the Warprize. I will have words with this healer. In the meantime, I’ve a camp to see to.” She rose to her feet, Seo and Quartis following her example. “And you’ve a title to win, Simus of the Hawk. See to it that you rest well this night. And have the healer see to that injury you are trying to hide.”
With that she was gone, Seo and Quartis after her.
In the morning, Simus felt worse than he had the night before, but that was to be expected with such bruising.
Yers and Destal raised their challenge banners at dawn, but Simus sent for the healer, drank the bitter tea he made, rubbed on an ointment that smelt of mint, and squirmed back into his pallet for another hour or so. Warlord’s privilege, he thought drowsily to himself as he faded back off to sleep.
Only to awaken to a commotion of angry and bitter words from a gathering crowd outside his tent. He grumbled as he pulled on trous and his armor, stomped into boots and burst from his tent into their midst.
“What now?” Simus roared, silencing the crowd with his outburst. “Are horses demanding to speak truths at a senel? Are the skies falling? Or rain falling up?”
“She offers challenge!” Destal was in Simus’s face, enraged. “To me! For Token-bearer!”
“Who?” Simus demanded.
“I do,” a cool voice answered him.
Simus looked over—
—to find Snowfall standing in the center of the challenge circle, her grey eyes cool and collected, her arms crossed over her chest.
Chapter Eighteen
The uproar was getting louder and intense and drawing even more attention. Everyone around them had an opinion, and wished to be heard.
Snowfall stood in the center of the challenge circle, ignoring it all, her calm gaze focused on Simus. The morning sun made her sweet brown skin glow bronze. She stood with her hip cocked to one side, two oddly crooked long-knives belted at her waist. She had abandoned the traditional dress of a warrior-priestess. She still wore leather trous, but her chest was covered by a sleeveless leather corselet that laced up the front. Her shoulders were bare, but for the tattoos that capped them. There was a tightness in those muscular shoulders, but Simus couldn’t fault her for that.
Destal was screaming at the woman, standing at the edge of the circle. “You dare? You, who have never done service under a Warlord? Never seen battle? Never taken oaths of service?” She put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I am going to thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
“You may try.” Snowfall shrugged, as if it was of no matter.
Destal bared her teeth and started to pull her blade.
“SILENCE,” Simus bellowed.
Everyone froze, jaws snapping shut mid-word.
“Sit, all of you,” Simus ordered.
He was obeyed, everyone sitting, cross-legged, sorting themselves out as the crowd settled. Snowfall still stood, facing him. But Simus noted that she glanced around as those closest to her eased down to the ground, and some of the tautness left her.
Some, not all. She was right to be wary. None of his people had any love for warrior-priests.
Yers and Joden both appeared, threaded their way through the crowd and sat closest to Simus. Simus gave them each a nod, but stood silent until he was sure he had everyone’s attention.