WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(49)

Simus took a few pebbles of gurt. “They won’t underestimate you this afternoon,” he pointed out. “They have seen you fight.”

Snowfall shrugged. “We shall see,” was her only reply.

“It surprised them,” Simus said. “Surprised me as well. We tend to forget warrior-priests are capable of fighting, since they do not spar with warriors or enter the Trials.”

“We spar with each other,” Snowfall said. “Fellow warrior-priests, none of whom were forgiving or kind. Brutal in their own fashion, or—” She hesitated. “At least, they were.”

There wasn’t much Simus could say to that. For a time, they both just concentrated on the food, lost in their private thoughts. There were voices outside the tent now and again. Simus reminded himself to ask the Tenths who had visited during the nooning.

The silence was comfortable as they ate, until Simus reached for the last bit of bread, and winced.

“That mace hit bruised you badly, didn’t it?” Snowfall asked.

Simus nodded. “Hit harder than I care to admit,” he said. “I have something for it,” he stood and headed toward his sleeping area.

“I’ll get more kavage,” Snowfall said behind him.

Simus returned first, with his ointment, and remained standing as he stripped off his armor and padded tunic. Snowfall walked silently across the room, sat, and poured for him as he removed the wax plug from the jar. “What is that?” she asked.

“A healing ointment,” Simus said as he lifted his arm and looked at the discolored and swollen area. He took some of the cream and rubbed it in carefully, hissing as the cool lotion touched heated skin.

“It looks better than I would expect,” Snowfall looked up from where she sat, studying his body.

Simus couldn’t help but suck in his stomach a bit as he applied more salve. “It does seem to help,” he admitted. “Our new healer seems to know his craft.”

“So it is true that you have a city-dweller in the camp?” Her eyes widened. “I have only ever seen the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer, and they seemed like people. I’d heard that all city-dwellers are so fat they waddle like water-birds. Is that true of yours?”

“You must judge for yourself,” Simus chuckled, then stopped to think. “You saw the fight? The one with the mace?” he asked casually as he stoppered the jar again.




He surprised her, and caught off guard she blurted the truth. “Yes.”

“You used your powers?” Simus’s eyes were dark and hooded.

“Yes,” Snowfall admitted. “I was hidden in the tall grasses by the Heart.” She looked away. “I wanted to learn all I could before I challenged.”

Simus wiped the remaining lotion off on his chest with his hands. “You can hide yourself?” And at her nod, he frowned. “Show me.”

She obeyed, wrapping a veil around herself.

“Skies,” Simus breathed, his eyes wide and startled. “Are you—” He reached out to touch her, and brushed against her hair.

Snowfall caught her breath as a tingle ran down her neck.

Simus frowned. “I can feel you.”

“I do not vanish into thin air,” she said. “I hide myself from your sight, that is all. I still make noise, breathe, and move as you do.”

“How hard is it to do this?” Simus asked, his eyes narrowing. Snowfall could see him thinking, assessing the benefits and the dangers.

“Before?” Snowfall shrugged. “Even if one could locate enough power, there was a danger in using it, that it would leave you at a most vulnerable time. But now? After the Sacrifice? Power abounds,” she said simply. “But there is still the risk that I would lose my concentration, or have someone touch me as you have. The veil only conceals, it doesn’t protect.”

Simus nodded. He seemed so much bigger, here in the tent, towering over her. Yet he moved with a warrior’s grace as he settled on the gurtle cushion.

He looked up at her. “There is an ehat in the tent with us, and I would take it by the horns.” Simus leaned back and watched her in the firelight. “I have questions, Snowfall, and I would ask for your token. So that there are no misunderstandings between us.”

Snowfall nodded, and handed him her piece of silk. Simus took it carefully, running the cloth between his fingers. “And I would offer my own in return,” Simus nodded toward the stump of wood where his formal token rested.

Snowfall reached over and took it in both hands. The bells chimed as she held the curved bone, smooth under her fingertips.

“So,” Simus asked. “Now we exchange truths with one another. Whose idea was this? To become my Token-bearer?”

“Wild Winds,” Snowfall admitted, and something of her pain must have reflected in her voice. Simus’s face softened as she continued. “And I came to agree with him.”

“Where is Wild Winds?” Simus asked.

“North,” she said. “I do not know where for certain. He indicated that he would keep his people on the Plains unless the danger grew, and then he would retreat into Xy.”

That caught Simus off guard. “For Wild Winds to think he’d be safer with Keir...the threat posed must be greater then I know.”

Snowfall nodded. “The warrior-priests are no longer of one mind. Wild Winds fears for the young. Hail Storm would take them and train them to his advantage, maybe even teach them the blood ways. Those ways distort the soul, and pervert the lives it touches. The elements reject it, and those that practice it. Although—” She hesitated. “There are times when it is practiced for good. When the blood sacrificed is your own.” She hurried on. “It is hard to explain, when you do not have gifts.”