WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(64)

Essa all but rolled his eyes at both of them. “If you don’t mind,” he said impatiently.

Snowfall knelt by the platform, and poured clear water into the bowl. “It will only be his face that appears, Eldest Elder. A larger image usually takes more warrior-priests, and much more effort.” She looked at both of them. “Do not disturb the bowl or the water,” she warned.

“How quickly can you find him?” Simus knelt as well, settling well back on his heels.

“That depends,” Snowfall said, “on where his attention is, what he is doing.”

“Best be about it,” Essa growled.

Snowfall nodded in obedience and closed her eyes. She took a long deep breath, as if steadying herself, and then started to chant.

The words were odd, and not of the Plains. Simus frowned as he watched her. For just sitting and chanting there was a strain in Snowfall’s face. He was disappointed. He’d been expecting fire and smoke and that purple cloud the warrior-priests usually invoked when working their so-called magics. Yet here was Snowfall doing real magic, and it seemed dull. Almost boring.

Essa was ignoring both of them, staring down into the bowl.

It took a moment for Simus to realize that something had changed. The bowl—no the water—was glowing, golden and soft. Snowfall’s voice had a smooth cadence, and now she too appeared to glow, the golden light highlighting the beauty of her brown skin. This close he could see her dark lashes, admire the beauty of her heart-shaped face. She was so very— “Wild Winds,” Snowfall called softly. “I seek Wild Winds.”

The air around them seemed to shift, blowing the rain hard against the tent sides. The tent grew darker, and Simus swore the fires in the braziers crackled with malice, as if jealous of the power that stirred within.

“Wild Winds,” she repeated, and the hair rose on the back of Simus’s neck.

The light in the bowl flickered, and Wild Winds’s face appeared, looking startled and wary. Until his gaze fell on Snowfall. Then his face, covered in the traditional tattoos of a full warrior-priest, broke into a wide smile. Simus blinked to see it.

“Snowfall.” His voice was a rumble and the bowl seemed to tremble at the sound. Wild Winds’s smile faded. “What has happened, that you risk this?”

“At my request,” Essa said.

“Essa? And Simus?” To Simus’s shock, the man’s face turned toward his. Within the bowl. “Are you Token-bearer, then, Snowfall?”

“For so long as my knives are fast and sharp,” Snowfall’s voice was full of wonder, even as she nodded to the image. “But wait, Master. There is so much power...” Her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath in.

“Snowfall,” Wild Wilds’s voice was sharp.

Simus blinked as the image changed, and he scrambled back and to his feet as the colorless image of the man grew, as if made from the water itself. Wild Winds stood before them, hovering over the bowl.

Snowfall was blinking at it, as if surprised at her own success.

“There is a danger in that too, Snowfall.” Wild Winds glanced at Essa. “This can only be your doing,” he said.

“Are you well, my friend?” Essa rose from his seat to face the image. “I have heard such tales—”

“I am well,” Wild Winds said gently, even as he cut him off. “We have much to discuss, you and I, but not here. Not now.”

“What other risk?” Simus demanded, stepping closer to Snowfall’s side. Snowfall still knelt by the bowl, her eyes on Wild Winds.

“The power is fresh and strong and can overwhelm an inexperienced warrior-priest. Also, the use of power is detectable by any watchers,” Wild Winds answered. “And we could be overheard—”

“The other warrior-priests are dead, yes?” Essa demanded.

“Hail Storm lived.” There came the sound of voices in the distance. Wild Winds looked over his shoulder. “I am not alone here, Essa. We are not under the bells.” He glanced down at Snowfall. “And this is not without limits.”

“Then I will keep this short. I would announce the ending of the Trials tonight.”

“So soon.” Wild Winds glanced at Simus, as if assessing him. “I had hoped for more time.”

Essa shook his head. “To wait is to court disaster. When will you arrive?”

“I had not planned to come.” Wild Winds frowned. “My students are still—”

“Who else to represent the warrior-priests?” Essa’s frustration was clear. “And before you start a long-winded and vague speech about how you are not what you were, I would ask this. If not you, who?”

Wild Winds eyes flicked down to Snowfall.

“No,” Essa said. “Snowfall has pledged her sword. That will not happen. Never mind all the other arguments against that.”

“I had not thought it through,” Wild Winds said, folding his arms over his chest. “I will come. Alone. Look for me at sunset tomorrow.”

“Not alone,” Essa said quickly. “I was hunted. You will be, too.”

“But old friend, my power is more than my voice and my sword.” Wild Winds laughed. “Besides, I have learned—”

From behind him came shouts. Wild Winds jerked his head around. “I must go.”