WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(97)

“To warn of the monsters,” Simus explained. “Of the wyverns.”

“Describe them,” Wild Winds said. “Tell me what happened. All I knew was the collapsing tent and pain.”

Simus obliged him, describing the creatures in detail, explaining what he knew of the attack and the rescue.

“There is nothing like that in my memory,” Wild Winds said. “Or in the memories passed down to me. Perhaps the Singers know more. Essa lives. He was here, earlier, speaking of our losses.”

“Did he have numbers? Names?” Simus asked.

“I do not—” Wild Winds sighed. “We spoke, but it is a hazy memory.”

“Of course.” Simus shook his head. “Forgive me.”

“We of the Plains are diminished, not defeated,” Wild Winds said. “Seek Essa. He will be the one to decide how we proceed.”

“I will,” Simus said.

The mushroom was beginning to dull his pain, but did nothing for his eyes. Wild Winds winced again at the light, and fumbled for the wet cloth. Simus took it from his fingers, and settled back over his face.

“My thanks,” Wild Winds said, grateful for the relief from the light. “And Simus?’

“Yes?’

“Be good to her,” Wild Winds said.

“My oath on it.” Simus’s voice held a note of joy he’d not heard in a long time. “Never fear. She is the flame of my heart, Wild Winds.”

Satisfied, Wild Winds let the mushroom pull him down into sleep.





Chapter Thirty-Nine


Simus finally gave up trying to locate Essa among the wounded and went to ask Hanstau and Cadr for help.

The truths he’d discovered searching for the Singer, however, were dark. He’d walked between the pallets, speaking to a few, observing others, taking a head count and wincing internally at the results. There was no saying this was all; there may be many others that were with their own people, not needing Hanstau’s care. But the living were few.

And the dead numbered far too many.

The wounded and the healthy were starting to stir in the camp. The shock of the recent events was wearing off. He could feel their eyes on him and the weight of their questions.

Pity he had no answers.

He found Hanstau at Haya’s side, cleaning a wound in her upper arm. “We will not use bloodmoss,” he was explaining through Cadr. “The claws of the beasts are filthy and I fear for infection.”

Haya glared at Simus. “Finally,” she said. “Seo? My camp?”

Simus knelt. “Minor injuries, no deaths,” he reported, and watched the tightness clear from her eyes. “Seo was taking the children to a winter lodge for safety.”

“Good,” Haya grunted. “Smart. But what of the future, Simus of the Hawk?”

“Wild Winds told me to seek out Essa,” Simus said.

Haya gestured outward with her good arm, toward a thick patch of the tallest grasses. “Behind there, off by himself,” she said, then sniffed. “Sulking, to my way of thinking.”

Hanstau paused in his work, looked at both of them, and spoke in rapidfire Xyian.

Simus nodded, and Cadr translated for the benefit of the others. “He says that as to Essa, he can heal wounds, not hearts. I don’t understand.”

Haya just huffed a breath. Simus looked at the young warrior, just starting his second season in the army.

“You will,” Simus said. “You will.”




When Simus found him, Essa was sitting alone, looking out over the Plains, his back to the Heart. Simus approached slowly, crunching the grass beneath his feet and clearing his throat to announce his presence.

Essa looked back over his shoulder. The side of his face was purple and bruised. He looked away pointedly.

Simus stood, waiting.

“Sit,” Essa said finally, with a grudging tone, resignation in his shoulders.

“My thanks, Eldest Elder.” Simus circled around the man, and sat facing him.

Now Simus could see that Essa’s entire face was bruised and swollen, his eyes mere slits. Simus could barely make out Essa’s Singer tattoo around his eye. Essa wore the tatters of fine colorful silks, clothing he would have donned for the ceremony.

“Today was to have been a day of celebration.” Essa’s voice had an odd lisp to it, as he spoke slowly through swollen lips. “Solemn ritual, with singing and drumming, and offerings to the elements. We’d have raised the Council tent, the wisdom and strength of the Plains gathered within. We’d have chosen our best to enter the season of war and secure the needs of the people of the Plains.”

Simus nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I’d thought there would be debate,” Essa continued. “Hours of it, perhaps even days. Bitter words spoken, insights revealed. Then, as it has always been, the chosen Warlords would have been honored and their oaths taken. A full day of celebration afterward, before they and their armies departed.” He drew in a deep, clearly pained breath. “Now all that is left is to sing for the dead.”

“Wild Winds said that we are diminished, not defeated,” Simus said.

“I am not so sure,” Essa murmured.

“He also said that there is nothing like these monsters in his memory, or in the memories passed down to him.”