WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(73)

“We started this venture, you and I, at Keir’s side.” Yers voice was low and intense, but his words carried. “Keir of the Cat has made it clear that he would see the destruction of the warrior-priests and changes to our way of life.”

“Truth,” Simus said. “Nothing has changed.”

“Yet you cavort with warrior-priests,” Yers pressed. “You allow one to contest for Token-bearer. Joden is nowhere to be found. His truths have been silenced for all I know.” Yers took a deep breath. “You are bewitched. You are under the sway of our enemy.”

“Bewitched by one that just saved me from treachery?” Simus glanced over to where Snowfall stood. Outwardly, she seemed cool and calm, but he sensed that she was shaken. He wished he had time to reassure her, but he turned back to Yers. “She could have just as easily let that warrior shoot me in the back.” Simus drew a deep breath. “And as I told you before: Joden has gone with the Singers to face his own Trials.”

“Yet he has not been seen,” Yers said. “And no word as to his going? No farewells? No. He does not support you and I fear you have silenced him.” Yers glanced at Snowfall.

“Yers, plans never last beyond the first exchange of blows,” Simus argued. “We are warriors, we know that.” He spread his hands for emphasis. Heads began to nod in the crowd. “From the moment that pillar of light pierced the sky above us, we have had to adapt. As the grass bends to the wind, so must we bend in the winds of change.”

For a moment, Simus thought he’d reached him, then Yers’s eyes went hard. “No. I cannot bend that far.”

Simus rubbed his forehead and sighed with regret. “So be it. I release you from your oath.” He watched as Snowfall retrieved his token. “I cannot thank you for these truths, Yers, for I am sorry to lose you at my side. Will you return to Xy? If so, I ask that you take word to—”

“No.” Yers reached out and took a shield and mace from another warrior. Simus watched in disbelief as he stepped into the challenge circle and took a defensive position. “I offer challenge.”

The crowd’s reaction was no less stunned then Simus’s. His jaw dropped. “Yers—” Simus was almost without words. “Yers, what are you doing?” Simus didn’t bother to hide his pain.

“What I must.” Yers’s face screwed up in determination.

“Yers.” Simus’s anger rose. “You offered your truths to me, and I heard them and released you from your oaths. This—this is different.”

“I cannot let you become the Warlord that aids Keir,” Yers spat. “I do not trust you.” He jerked his head in Snowfall’s direction. “I do not trust this.”

Simus’s gut lurched. “Does it come to this?”

“I would be the better choice,” Yers said. “Most of these warriors gathered here will support me once you have been defeated.”

Simus bared his teeth. “I will not offer you my dagger,” he warned.

“Nor will I,” Yers said.

Simus glanced at the sun as he armed himself. The glowing disk still hung over the horizon. Not that it mattered. Even were it full dark, this challenge from within must be answered.

Simus took up his shield, and paused for a moment, as if considering weapons. He was tired; Yers had not faced nearly the number of challenges Simus had this day. He was determined; so was Yers. No, what gave Simus pause was that Yers knew him. They’d sparred for years, fought beside one another. Simus drew a breath. Should he offer his dagger? Preserve both their lives?

But even as he had the thought, he knew he would not yield. Yers had fallen in the same trap the warrior-priests had—that doing the same things in response to change was to court defeat.

Simus took up his own mace, and entered the circle.

If Yers knew him—well, the same was true for Simus. He knew Yers, now didn’t he?

In moments, they clashed in the center of the circle, the first exchange of blows a violent one. Yers drove Simus back, and then retreated, circling him, looking for weakness.

Simus kept his guard up, turning to face his enemy. Whatever else Yers had been, he was the enemy now.

Yers moved in, and pressed Simus hard, to the very edge of the circle. The watching warriors faded away, giving them room.

Simus kept his shield high and defensive, striking only when he had advantage, getting in blows more often than Yers, but not enough to stop the man. Sweat rolled down both their faces, but Simus never dropped his gaze.

Yers backed away, as if catching his breath. Simus didn’t follow up on that, too experienced to take such an obvious opening.

Yers grinned, and for just a moment Simus saw his sparring friend of old. But then the moment passed, and Yers’s eyes narrowed and he rushed in, trying to bash shields and get close enough for a killing blow.

Simus took his rush head-on, and fended off Yers with a flurry of strikes that forced the other man back. Rage filled him then, pure anger that coursed through him, giving strength to the blows he hammered down on Yers’s shield.

In the end, it wasn’t strength or skill, but pure luck that caused Yers to leave an opening. Simus surged forward, striking for Yers’s head.

In the split-second before he hit, Simus pulled his blow. Not all the way, but just enough, just enough to render...

His mace struck Yers’s head.