WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(98)

Essa stiffened, a flash of pure anger in his eyes.

Simus paused, taken aback. But when Essa said nothing, he cautiously continued. “What of the Singers?” he asked. “Do you—”

“Nothing,” Essa spat. “There is nothing in my memory, or in the memories or songs passed down to me, about these creatures.”

Simus raised an eyebrow. “I should ask for your token, Eldest Elder.”

“No, no,” Essa said, deflating. His rage faded as quickly as it had come. “My anger is not aimed at you.” Essa raised his eyes to Simus. “And yet what have you unleashed upon us, Simus of the Hawk?”

“Eldest Elder Singer Essa,” Simus said carefully. “Is that your truth? That I somehow called down all of this upon us?”

“There are those that will blame you, and Keir,” Essa said.

“I will face their truths with my own,” Simus said.

“You think that will be enough?” Essa asked wearily.

“Yes,” Simus said simply, and then focused on Essa. “You do not support Keir, then.”

He didn’t make it a question.

“The role of the Singer is to hold to our ways and to pass on the knowledge of the Plains,” Essa said. “I don’t know what I support, what I think, what to sing, or even if I should sing of this.”

“You are the Eldest Elder of the Singers,” Simus said. “Your duty is to summon—”

“And if I don’t?” Essa lashed out, his words cutting and cruel.

“We will have lost more than we did to the wyverns,” Simus said.

Essa sat silent, his head bowed. Simus waited, as the wind rustled the longer grasses, as horns blew in the distance.

“The wind blows,” Essa whispered. “The grass bends.” He rose to his feet slowly, brushing off his tattered silken trous. Without looking at Simus, he limped off toward Hanstau’s tent, moving slowly and carefully.

Simus rose and followed.

The healing area held more people, standing and sitting around the wounded. Heads turned as Essa passed, and those that could struggled to their feet, to stand respectfully in the Eldest Elder’s presence.

Essa ignored them. He limped to where Wild Winds lay.

As if he’d sensed his presence, Wild Winds pulled away the cloth from his eyes, and blinked up at Essa. They looked at one another for a long time, and then Wild Winds spoke. “All endings are beginnings, old friend.” His words carried over the crowd. “And in turn, all beginnings mark the end of something.”

Essa closed his eyes. Simus couldn’t help but think that the man was trying to block out the truth for but one moment more. But then Essa opened his eyes, and straightened against his pain. “I summon the Council to meet.” He turned, raising his voice, so that the words carried. “I summon it to the nearest winter lodge we can find. Send word to all that we will gather at—” he glanced up at the sky, “—at the nooning.”

“Will there be enough room?” Wild Winds asked. “They’re not designed for large meetings.”

“I fear our numbers won’t be an issue,” Essa said drily. “Not anymore. But it will be safe. All the living will attend, even if they must be carried.”

“I will come,” Wind Winds said.

“Let the word be passed,” Essa commanded, and the warriors around them moved to obey. “The Council meets at the nooning. Let the candidates present themselves, with their Seconds and Token-bearers.” Essa’s gaze met Simus’s. “There let it be decided and done.”




Simus strode back toward his tent, excitement burning through him. Essa’s words had lit a fire within the warriors that had surrounded them, and they’d quickly moved into action. Many had run off, to spread the word to their own Warlords. Others had gathered around Essa, pointing to where the nearest winter lodge was located. Simus waited just long enough to learn its location, before heading back to his camp.

Elois stood naked before her tent, her tanned skin glistening in the sun. She’d clearly already heard the word. “Good,” she said. “This Council is sure to take all the hours left in the day. There’s time to eat more than just the few bites you got this morning, and clean up before we have to appear. Strip.”

“Not sure there’s time—” Simus started, but Elois cut him off with a scowl.

“There’s more than enough time if you don’t waste it,” she said firmly. “No need to make a sorry showing before the Elders and the Eldest Elders.” She raised her voice, looking behind her tent. “Destal, bring your warriors here and get the Warlord’s armor.” She turned back and glared at Simus. “They will clean and oil our leathers, and do what they can for the chain. Strip,” she demanded again, giving him the once over. “And where is your dagger?”

At the mention of Destal, Simus’s interest perked. Snowfall was assigned to her. But he still argued. “There are still things I need to do. They may need help carrying the wounded to the lodge.”

“I’ve seen to that,” Tsor said as he walked into camp. “Between all the warriors here, we will see it done.”

“Strip,” Eloise commanded. “Both of you.”

Tsor obeyed, his hands going to his belt. Simus followed suit. They each peeled out of the armor, handing off various parts to the young warriors who appeared. They took the gear, and then disappeared behind the tent. Simus heard Destal lecturing one on how to clean chain properly.