WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(46)

“Warrior-priestess Snowfall, what in the name of skies do you do here?” Simus asked mildly.

She didn’t change her stance, just lifted that heart-shaped chin a little and met his eye.

“I offer challenge to Destal for the right to serve as your Token-bearer.”

Those grey eyes still had hidden depths, but this was far more at stake here than a sharing of bodies. Whether she knew it or not, Snowfall had presented him with a decision that would test his leadership as Warlord.

“You cannot.” Simus kept his voice at a moderate tone. “Before you can offer challenge for Token-bearer, you must first offer me your sword. You have not.”

“I would do so,” Snowfall responded.

Simus narrowed his gaze at her. “You cannot. You are under oath to Wild Winds.”

“I am not.” Snowfall glanced to the north and Simus saw a flash of pain deep in her grey eyes before she turned her attention back to him. “Wild Winds has released me from his service.”

A murmur of surprise rose around them, and Simus found himself almost without words. “Why would he do that?”

Snowfall drew in a deep breath. “Wild Winds says we, the warrior-priests, are no longer what we were, and in what we were, we erred. That we, the warrior-priests, must become other than what we were and are, and yes, while I know that his words are cryptic, more I cannot say. I am—” She paused. “I was his student in-training. His thoughts are beyond my full understanding.”

Joden stood and looked to Simus for permission. At Simus’s nod, he addressed Snowfall. “You understand if you give Warlord Simus your oath and lose the challenge to be his Token-bearer, you are still bound to serve him? The oath binds you, even in defeat,” Joden pointed out. “You understand this?”

“I do,” Snowfall said. “If it cannot be that I serve as Token-bearer, still I have a place within this camp and duties of service owed to the Warlord.”

“You’ll be given scut work,” Destal snarled from where she sat. “The newest of the new will rank above you and—”

“Destal,” Simus warned.

Destal stood and appealed to Simus. “Warlord, she has no skills.”

“I served Wild Winds in the same office,” Snowfall said. “There is no difference with a Warlord, surely. Pots must still be cleaned and linens washed.”

A faint murmur of amusement washed through the crowd. At Simus’s gesture, Destal sat down with a huff.

“With respect, Warlord,” Yers rose to his feet. “She knows nothing of our ways, never having served within an army. And she and her kind are not to be trusted.”

“You do not hold my token.” Snowfall’s voice was cold. “And your words are offensive.”

“Warrior-priests offer no tokens.” Yers didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on Simus.

“I do and I will,” Snowfall said, pulling out a square of red silk. “Wild Winds gave it to me, saying that I would have a need.”

Simus stood, shaking his head. “I do not understand this.” He gestured toward her and the challenge circle. “Why would you do this?”

“Do you doubt my oaths, once given?” Snowfall asked, twisting the silk in her hands, the first sign of worry he’d seen in her.

“No,” he said slowly. “I would have no doubt of oaths given to me, for they will be taken before the elements for all the skies to see.” He smiled slightly. “But you must admit, Snowfall, that this is not a path taken by a warrior-priestess before.”

“I am not a warrior-priestess.” Snowfall’s face didn’t change, but there was a sadness in her tone. “Wild Winds says that we are not what we were, so we must become what we are. I will swear an oath to you for this season, and then I will contest for Token-bearer. What happens after that is only for the skies to know.

“But this I do know. A leather belt does not re-stitch itself together. If I am silent, who will speak to mend the mistakes of the past?” Snowfall spread her hands out. “If I do not speak of peace and understanding, if I do not reach out to bridge the gap between what we were and what we will become, who will?”

Simus’s stomach clenched, thinking of another who’d spoken of peace and died for it. At least Snowfall had the good sense to have a weapon at hand.

A cough drew his attention to the back of the crowd, where Lander and Ouse, the first warriors to pledge to him, were rising to their feet. They each looked at the other, then Ouse nudged Lander’s shoulder. “Warlord,” Lander’s voice cracked nervously.

“Speak,” Simus said.

“We told you of our part in the journey of the Sacrifice,” Lander said. “This warrior-priestess, she was the one who came to the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer and offered herself as hostage to them.” He stood a little straighter and his voice grew stronger. “She came unarmed, and was true to her oaths with us, Warlord. We would speak for her.”

Simus gestured, and everyone resumed their seats. The challenge banners flapped in the morning breeze, and Simus raised his eyes to the skies and considered. Was she to be trusted?

The skies held no answers. It was up to him to decide.

He chose to trust.

He lowered his gaze back to the waiting crowd. “I will accept your oath, Snowfall.”