WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(71)

“That would be the arrogance,” Snowfall pointed out.

Simus laughed. “Sunset will prove me right. The serious contenders will challenge close to sunset. Then we shall see.” He paused, and frowned at the gurt in his hand. “Snowfall, make no move out there that would cause any to think you were using your magic. That would make things worse for both of us. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

He gave her a nod of approval, and started on some of the dried meat. He ate quietly, lost in his thoughts as he chewed. Snowfall wasn’t one for idle talk; she was quiet as well. The silence was comfortable and welcome.

Simus finished his food, and refilled his mug with water. “Snowfall,” he said. “If I die this afternoon—”

She jerked her head around to stare at him.

Simus held up a hand. “We must consider every possibility. If I die, all warriors will be released from their oaths. Yers will take what warriors he can gather and head to Xy. Yers may try to re-form the army, or Liam of the Deer will. Either way, I command you to use your powers and return to Wild Winds.”

“You will not die,” Snowfall said firmly.

“But if—” Simus started, but Snowfall held up her hand.

“And where is your arrogance now?” she asked, but then she bowed her head to him. “I will obey, Warlord.”

Satisfied, Simus finished his water, and stepped out into the sun.




Snowfall watched him leave the tent, and heard him greet his challenger. She stood there for a moment, listening to the sounds of combat, and tried to make sense of the man.

A warrior who declined to dance, but took the risk of using wooden weapons to a younger, stronger challenger.

A warrior who displayed such arrogance, and yet planned in the event of failure.

A warrior who expressed concern for her well-being even in the face of the hatred of his own people.

He was such a contradiction. Such a fascinating—

A shout from those gathered outside brought her back to her duties. She fetched more gurt, dried meat, and water. The rest of the food she told her helpers to eat. It would not go to waste.

And while she worked she considered her own truths.

There was something about his smile, the joy underneath it. It wasn’t wide-eyed foolishness. It was the strength of his convictions. Hope with the practical truth of reality woven in.

Yet she believed Simus could walk this path. Weaving the new with the old to aid all their peoples. But that made her pause, and frown.

When had that happened? When had their desires, their goals, woven into one pattern?

A cry went up from outside. He’d defeated another challenger. Snowfall allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

“Snowfall.” Tsor stuck his head within the tent. “You’ve another challenger.”

Snowfall nodded, and headed outside to meet her opponent. She wished to stand beside Simus, aiding him, working with him. He’d not be defeated.

Neither would she.




By mid-afternoon Simus had met all of the challengers. They’d come like a steady rain. He took care to rest, to eat and drink between bouts, but he met and defeated them all. The fights were fast, some ending in mere heartbeats. But Simus took nothing for granted.

A few were latecomers, more testing his skill than offering a real challenge. One even offered his blade after their fight. Simus accepted him, then turned to face the next.

Snowfall faced quite a few of her own, and so far remained the victor in her bouts.

Yers and Tsor had fewer challenges, which pleased Simus. They were almost assured of their positions in his service.

The crowd of watchers grew larger, warriors sitting in the first few rows, others standing behind. His own people, and other warriors, come to see. Elois was hovering on the fringes of the crowd, watching as well. Simus paid them no conscious mind, focused solely on his opponent.

The hours became a blur of blades, strikes, counterstrikes, and victories. Simus kept pace, not concerned that his strength would hold, but always with an awareness of the sun on its path through the sky.

Offered yet another dagger, Simus stepped from the circle and added it to the growing pile. He glanced over his shoulder, but no other challenger stood opposite. A break then, in the shade of the tent. “Snowfall,” Simus said. “I would have—”

“Nothing for you, bragnect.” Wyrik of the Boar stepped through the crowd, shield and axe in hand. He positioned himself at the edge of the circle opposite Simus. “I challenge you, Simus of the Hawk. Come and die.”





Chapter Twenty-Nine


‘Finally,’ was Simus’s first thought.

“I will kill you,” Wyrik snarled, waving his axe around. “I will kill you and scatter your army.” Wyrik looked around at Simus’s people, curling his lip. “Then I will take my warriors and raid Xy for what we need.”

Yers and the warriors around him were scowling, fingering the hilts of their swords.

As if she’d read his mind, Snowfall came up beside Simus, water and platter in hand, a few clean cloths over her arm. “Warlord,” she said.

Simus took up a cloth, and ran it over his face, head, and the back of his neck. It felt good to wipe off the sweat.

“Come, Simus of the Hawk,” Wyrik bellowed. “Pick up your children’s weapons now, I dare you.”