WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(95)

Simus paused, as the memories of Lara tending his leg came back. Snowfall came up to stand next to him. She said nothing, but he knew she was looking for Wild Winds.

Hanstau was looming over a wounded warrior, Cadr looking miserable at his side. Hanstau was yelling at— Loual of the Boar.

“Oh, skies,” Snowfall breathed. “He’ll kill him.”

Simus quickened his step, certain that Loual was going to gut the pudgy healer for insults. Loual was seated on a blanket, cradling his bandaged arm, and looking...confused.

“Take to the ice?” Hanstau was almost purple with rage as he ranted in Xyian. “Idiot! Fool! What is the word?” He looked at Cadr. “What is the word?”

“Stupid,” Cadr sighed, looking unhappy. A look of relief came over him when he spotted Simus. “Warlord, please. The healer is—”

“You’ll answer to the God of the Sun if you waste your heart’s blood on the grass,” Hanstau declared, and nudged Cadr to translate. “Waste your life and your skills when your people need you the most. The feeling will return, I tell you. The wrist is splinted, the swelling will go down if you have a care and take the fever’s foe.”

For the first time, Simus noticed Loual’s hand, swollen so badly the fingers looked discolored.

“But go ahead, shove a blade in your guts. Just don’t do it on my blankets. Go off in the grass or better yet, better yet—” Hanstau drew himself up in a picture of righteous fury, waving his hands for emphasis. “Better yet, feed yourself to those monsters for all I care, and wander off to your precious ice.”

“Snows,” Cadr said weakly. “The word is ‘snows’.”

Loual of the Boar looked up at Simus. “Does he know?” he asked in the language of the Plains, his voice strained with pain. “That our truths are different? That I oppose you?”

“I doubt it,” Simus said. “But it wouldn’t matter to him, even if he did.”

Hanstau huffed out a breath. “Might as well save my breath, for all that anyone listens to me.” He knelt down in front of Loual. “Do this,” he demanded in rough Plains language as he held out his hand and made a fist.

Loual tried and winced, but the swollen fingers moved.

“Hah,” Hanstau snorted. “See? See?” He huffed as he got to his feet and switched back to Xyian. “Tell him, Cadr. Tell him to give it a few days, to take the fever’s foe as he was told—” Hanstau brushed off his tunic and trous. “And if there is no improvement—no improvement, mind, not perfection—” Hanstau waggled his finger at Loual, “—then he can kill himself with no objection from me. Stupid, impatient, thick-headed—” Hanstau muttered until he caught sight of Snowfall. “You, woman. Come with me. Wild Winds is awake and asking for you. Over here.”

With that, the healer was gone, dragging a startled Snowfall in his wake.

Cadr duly translated the words to Loual, and scrambled after the healer.

“Any other would be bleeding at my feet for the insult,” Loual said. “But he is weaponless, and fat, and oddly angry.” Loual looked up at Simus, his brow furrowed. “What is my life to him?”

“The same as mine,” Simus said simply. “That is his truth.”

“You should have seen him charge toward a wyvern,” Mirro said.

“What?” Loual asked, staring up at his Third, looking even more confused.

Mirro knelt beside him, eager to tell the tale. Simus excused himself with a nod, and followed Hanstau to where Wild Winds lay.




Wild Winds stretched out under his blanket, working out the stiffness in his muscles. He drew in a sweet breath, feeling the ache in his ribs as his chest expanded. He let the air out slowly, thanking the elements for the pain. A wet cloth covered his eyes, and he relished the damp, cool darkness.

He had little memory of the attack, other than pain.

Footsteps approached, and he heard the Xyian healer, Hanstau, say something in a voice too soft for him to hear.

A warm presence knelt at his side. “Master,” came a soft, calm voice. Wild Winds smiled at the familiar sound.

“Snowfall,” he said, taking care not to move his head. “How goes it with you? That feeling, that dread? For me it has faded. For you?”

“Faded as well.” Snowfall’s voice was soft. “More important, how goes it with you?”

“Alive.” Wild Winds drew another deep, satisfying, painful breath. “Bruised and sore, and alive.”

“He is well,” Hanstau said haltingly. “He—” The man proceeded to rattle off something in Xyian, then paused. Wild Winds could just imagine that Snowfall had lifted her eyebrow at Hanstau.

“His head,” Hanstau said.

Someone was peeling back the wet cloth. Wild Winds winced at the light, and then blinked his eyes open.

“Your eyes,” said the two Snowfalls of his doubled vision crouched beside him, their lips moving together.

“Head blow.” Wild Winds said, and nodded, only to regret it as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“Sickness.” She frowned. “Is your sight affected?”

“Yes.” Wild Winds smiled at her concern. “But I am not the first to suffer this, nor the last. It will pass.”