Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(10)

She blinked at him. “The wound is deep and it throbs and is full of rot. It will kill me, for which I thank the elements. If my hands were free, I’d go to the snows.”

“By the Sun God,” Hanstau sat back on his heels and frowned. “What is this fascination that you people have with killing yourselves? I grant you that it’s deep and I am sure it hurts. But all it needs is cleaning and stitching. I might be able to use bloodmoss on it if I can clean it well enough.” He started to rummage through his satchel. They’d searched it for weapons and left everything a jumble.

He glanced over to find Reness staring at him

Hanstau returned the look calmly. He was no warrior, although he’d lost a bit of his belly since leaving Xy. “I will clean it,” he repeated. “Heal it as best I can, as fast as is safe. Then we will find a way to be free. Both of us.”

“You are no warrior,” Reness said as if convincing herself. “But you have steel in you.”

Hanstau got to work. Demanding hot water from the guards, he worked as best he could as Reness grunted in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But if I am to use bloodmoss I can’t leave any dirt behind. There are some splinters.”

Reness gasped. He could tell that she was forcing herself to breathe.

“That warrior-priest,” he started to talk. “Hail Storm—”

“No names,” Reness hissed in Xyian. “They listen.”

Hanstau nodded. “There is something wrong with that one. He stared at me as I worked on his arm, as if looking into my soul.”

“They are said to have powers,” she replied.

“Not anymore,” Hanstau said. “Supposedly.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me the news of the Plains.”

“I wasn’t there for all of it,” he told her.

“Tell me your truths,” she demanded.

So Hanstau talked as he washed the wound and dug for splinters. He spoke of what he had heard about the warrior-priests losing their tattoos and their powers. He mentioned the

warrior-priestess with the partial tattoos that had offered to serve Simus.

He told her of Wild Winds’s death.

Finally, he sat back, satisfied. “We will wait until tomorrow, when the swelling has gone down. Then we can decide if we want to risk the bloodmoss. Faster healing, but if there is debris within it will cause greater problems.

But Reness was staring at the ceiling above them, her brows drawn together. “So Antas has a warrior-priest, one that claims to be the Eldest Elder. He has me, the Eldest Elder Thea. And now you, his Warprize.”

“Why does he think I am his warprize?” Hanstau said. “From what I understand of the all the requirements, I am not.”

“Truth is no obstacle to Antas.” Reness shifted her gaze to look at him. “For him, the truth is what he says it is.”

There was a spark back in her eyes, and her color was much better. Hanstau felt the deep pleasure that came from aiding another as he reached to start cleaning his mess.

“Antas really only needs one thing,” Reness continued.

“What is that?” Hanstau asked.

“All he needs now for his own Council of the Elders?” she said. “Is a Singer.”





Chapter Four


It didn’t take long to break camp, but they weren’t fast enough for Essa. Joden watched the man pace impatiently around the carcass of the wyvern, studying the animal as if he hadn’t seen one before.

“Careful,” came a quiet voice. Quartis was standing next to him, offering a full waterskin. “This part of the ritual always irritates him.”

“My thanks,” Joden wondered and would have asked questions, but Quartis just strode off.

Joden secured the waterskin to his saddle. Well, at least there was some support there. The other Singers seemed to avoid him as they worked around him. He focused on tightening his saddle girth.

It felt like they knew something that he didn’t.

And they were all Singers. Joden tried to look around casually, double-checking his first impression. Everyone, Quartis, the others, the warriors that Essa had arrived with, all bore the bird-wing tattoo around their eyes. His heart started beating just a bit faster. The Trials. His Singer Trials.

He looked back at Essa, to find the man staring at him.

Joden dropped his eyes and concentrated on his task.

“Gather,” Essa barked the command at everyone.

Joden looked up to find Essa striding toward him, to find all the Singers moving into a circle around him, leading their mounts. He drew a breath, let it out slow, trying to be calm.

Essa stood next to him, impressive despite the bruising. “Joden of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains,” he intoned. “You have served the Tribes in battle and are free to take any path you choose. There are many paths that such of your standing may take. You can continue to serve in the Armies of the Plains. You can return to the thea camps and guard and teach the heart-blood of the Tribes, our children. Or you can enter the Trials to become a Singer, one who keeps the knowledge of the Plains. What is your wish?”

Joden’s mouth went dry, for here it was, his goal, his dream. “I wish to become a Singer, Eldest Elder.”