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

Joden gave a small smile. “When we were children in the thea camps, our wooden weapons would be taken if we challenged and lost. Now, as adults, once the Singer has rendered judgment, the defeated warrior surrenders only their dagger,” Joden said. “Gone are the days we spilled blood and lives in the challenge circles. Now we look for the skillful to lead us into battle. Now we form our armies for the Season of War. Long it has been so, and long will it continue.” He raised his right hand, palm to the sky. “May the people remember.”

Again, Simus joined in the response, “We will remember.”

Joden sat.

Simus picked up the leather bundle by his side, and rose back to his feet, using his height to draw attention as he pulled back the folds to reveal his new token. “Here is my formal token that I will use during the Trials, for any to take up and share their truths with me.” Simus lifted the gleaming, curved bone high. It was adorned with feathers, beads, and bells. “Keir gifted me with the tip of an ehat rib, from the four ehat hunt that occurred last season. I could not attend, but some of you were there—”

“I was honored to be on a musk team,” Yers chortled.

“And I, on a kill team,” Tsor laughed. “It was glorious!”

Simus lowered his token and gave them all a mock scowl. “I’ll not hold that against you.”

Laughter broke out then, for Simus had complained bitterly that he’d missed the hunt.

“Are you still crafting that song, Joden?” one of the warriors called out.

Joden nodded. “For use in my trials,” he said.

“Which means we cannot hear it this night,” another moaned as others expressed their disappointment.

Amidst the laughter and complaining, Simus knelt and placed the token on the gurtle pad that had been set before him. The white bone gleamed, and he could just make out the small hawk figure that he’d carved into the very tip.

The warriors grew silent as Simus rose back to his feet. “I seek to form an army,” he said, “but not for the usual reasons.” He turned serious, as did his listeners, focused on his words. “And this truth must be clear,” he said. “It must be a truth spoken under the open sky before I take any warrior’s sword oath this night.” Simus settled his feet in the ground, swept his eyes around the campfire. “I support Keir of the Cat in his goal of breaking the warrior-priests’ claims to power. I support him in the effort to join with Xy to bring new ways to our people.”

Nods and mutters of agreement from the warriors—but these warriors had served with Keir and himself, and shared their views. Others would not be so easy to convince.

“Long have our people warred to survive,” Simus continued. “But that way of life is not sustainable. Keir and those that support him would break that cycle and the false hold the warrior-priests have, and use the skills and ways of Xy to supply that which we raided for before.”

“Damn the warrior-priests to the snows,” Yers muttered, and there were nods of agreement all around.

“My intent is that the army that follows me will take up position at the border of Xy and the Plains, to protect Xy from any who might think to raid it while it is under the protection of Keir of the Cat and myself,” Simus said. “When new warriors approach us with an interest in joining, let this truth be shared immediately. I’d have no one claim they were not told, or that my plans were not revealed. If I expect truth from a warrior in my service, I must offer truth to them.”

Simus spread his hands. “I have shared my truths, and declared my intent. Who would offer me their swords under the open skies?”

Almost as one the warriors rose, pulling their weapons. They each stepped forward to kneel before him and swear the oaths that placed their truths and their weapons in his service.

Joy filled his heart as they proceeded one by one to swear. When the last had sworn and returned to his seat, Simus had to clear his throat before he could speak the ritual words. “I would be your Warlord. I take responsibility for your lives and hold them dear. Your blood is my blood, your flesh is my flesh.”

“Heyla, Warlord,” came the ritual response from all. Even Joden joined in the cry.

Simus released the tension in his own chest with a great laugh. “Now just let those ‘bastards’ allow us access to the Heart, and we’ll raise my banners high.”

His warriors joined in the mirth, and started to pass around the waterskins with fermented mare’s milk. “To insult such a one in Xyian,” Eloix chortled, “That would have them choke on their own wrath.”

“Did the Warprize ever explain the meaning of that word?” Yers asked. “I never understood it.”

“Cadr,” Eloix called out. “You had training in healing with the Warprize. Did she ever explain the word?”

The younger warrior popped up out of the crowd, his long brown hair braided back. “No,” he said brightly. “But she sure used it when she was riled up!”

That brought much laughter, for the temper of the Warprize was well known.

“Did she ever explain it to you, Warlord?” Yers asked.

“Something about the nature of one’s birth.” Simus shrugged. “I still don’t understand how a birth could be unnatural.” He settled down onto his gurtle pad, took up his drink, and decided to savor it. After this night, he wouldn’t indulge. He’d need his wits the next few weeks. “I look forward to the Trials.”