WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(99)

“Food next,” Elois commanded. Simus and Tsor sat on the gurtle pads she had set out. Simus raised his eyebrows at the meal, which included roasted tubers and boar.

Elois settled on the pad next to him, and a young warrior approached with water and towels for the washing ritual. Simus murmured his thanks to the elements, then dried his hands.

“My thanks for your efforts,” Simus said to Elois before helping himself. Tsor nodded enthusiastically around his mouthful.

Elois smiled, clearly pleased with the praise, but then she grew serious. “I am your Token-bearer, am I not?”

Simus paused in mid-bite. “I haven’t named either of you formally, have I?”

“No,” Elois said. “You have not.” Tsor nodded, but didn’t stop eating.

“I do so now,” Simus said. “Elois of the Horse, you are my choice for Token-bearer. Tsor of the Bear, you are my choice for my Second.”

“Our thanks, Warlord.” Elois looked off to the side, and gave a nod.

Snowfall came forward with kavage and cups.

Simus grinned up at her as he took the drink from her hands. Snowfall’s face was calm and serene, as usual. But her fingers brushed against his as he took the mug.

Tsor swallowed, and spoke. “Word on the wind is that there may not be enough Warlord candidates.”

Elois hissed in a breath. Simus stopped mid-bite. “Truth?” he asked.

Tsor shook his head. “No one claims such, but all repeat the words.”

Simus exchanged a long look with Snowfall. He chewed slowly, thinking. “This is not good news.”

“Isn’t it?” Tsor asked. “Won’t they have to make you Warlord?”

Simus shook his head. “Even if they do, that means the armies will be thinly spread. I suspect those Warlords named will try to go for richer targets, which means higher risk of the loss of warriors.”

“Or choose lower risk ones,” Elois said. “That yield less.”

Simus sighed. “I do not know.”

They finished the rest of the meal in silence.

When the food was gone, Elois stood, brushing crumbs from her thighs. “Tsor, you need to bathe. I will check on the cleaning process.”

“Destal knows the ways, she’ll not let the young ones slack,” Tsor rumbled. “Come and bathe with me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You can make sure I get every spot.”

“None of that, now,” Elois growled, scowling and sounding so much like Marcus that Simus had to laugh. Tsor joined in, and Elois grinned.

Snowfall looked confused, but shrugged. “I can clean this,” she offered, gesturing to the bowls and cups.

“No.” Elois shook her head. “Take the Warlord off, and trim his hair for him, less he cut himself and shame us all.”

“There’s bloodmoss,” Simus reminded her, but looked at Snowfall. “But I would not decline the help.”

Tsor and Elois both snorted. “Off with you,” Elois said, and gestured them off.

Simus reached for Snowfall’s hand and pulled her away, out of sight of the young ones and anyone else who might be watching.




As soon as they were out of sight of the others, Snowfall threw down the gurtle pad she’d grabbed. “Kneel,” she commanded.

Simus knelt as she drew the dagger at her side. “Is that my dagger?” he asked as she ran her hand over his close-cropped hair.

“It was shockingly dull,” Snowfall said, scratching at his scalp gently with her nails. “You don’t need much of a trim, really.”

Simus hummed, leaning in close, and pressed his face to the bare skin between her trous and her corselet. “You smell so sweet,” he said as he rubbed his nose lightly against her.

“Do that again, and you might lose an ear,” Snowfall scolded. His touch warmed her, made her tingle, but she didn’t move away.

Simus just hummed again under his breath, then frowned. “Have you noticed,” he said, lowering his voice. “Have you noticed the despair of some of the warriors?” he asked. “It was only at Essa’s summons that they started to move. Started to think.”

Snowfall scraped at the hair around his ear. “I did,” she said. “Stay still.”

“But not so much my people,” Simus said. “I wonder if being exposed to Xy, to new ways of thinking, make them better able to cope with the new and different.”

“Not to add to your arrogance, my Warlord,” Snowfall said, “but I think it is you. Your people reflect your strength, your decisiveness, your courage.” She ran her hand over his scalp, brushing loose hairs away.

Simus brought his arms up to wrap around her hips, and looked up into her eyes. “I want nothing more than to peel these trous right off your long legs and—”

“Your unwavering attention to the duties and obligations of a Warlord are unparalleled,” Snowfall said drily. But then she smiled at him, letting her admiration shine. “They trust you to see them through. As do I.” She took a step back, eyeing him critically, and with satisfaction. “There,” she said. “As befits a Warlord.”




“Done?” Simus asked. At her nod he rose to his feet and put his hands on her hips with a sigh. “I wish you were going to be beside me in that tent,” Simus said. “Perhaps if you aided Wild Winds?”