Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(32)

“Even Warlords do not ‘order’ theas,” Antas growled. “Especially concerning the young.”

“You will if you want them trained.” Hail Storm moved as if to cross his arms, hesitated, and then let them drop to his side. “They will give them to me to be… enlightened as to new ways. Powerful ways.”

Something about those words made the hair on the back of Hanstau’s neck prickle. The very air around them changed, thickened with disapproval. For a brief moment, he thought to see if he could focus. See the golden power, see if it gathered near Hail Storm. No one would know—

‘Don’t assume’ Reness’s advice echoed.

Hanstau stilled.

“I will suggest the theas talk to you. Suggest that they send young ones for your training.” Antas growled. “No more.”

“As you choose, Warlord,” Hail Storm gave a mocking bow, spun on his heel and left. There was silence until the bells at the entrance chimed again.

Hanstau let out his breath slowly, and looked up to find Antas standing there, watching him.

“You do not like Hail Storm,” Antas gestured after the man.

“He is a bad man,” Hanstau said, trying to find other words for his revulsion. “He is without truth.”

Antas nodded, but there was no agreement in his eyes. “I will do what needs to be done to protect the Plains,” he said slowly, as if trying to make sure that Hanstau understood every word. He stepped closer, looming over Hanstau. “I will claim you as Warprize,” he said, reaching out to caress Hanstau’s face.

Hanstau jerked away.

Antas swiftly clamped Hanstau’s jaw, and forced his head back. “You will be my Warprize.” He leaned in, his breath hot on Hanstau’s cheek. “Or Hail Storm will make you.”

Hanstau froze, pinned by cruel blue eyes.

A jangle of bells at the door, and Catha appeared. “There is a Singer without. One Quartis, sent from Eldest Elder Singer Essa.”

Antas hissed in a breath. “I will welcome him. See this one back to his tent, well cloaked. Keep him hidden.”

Catha nodded, disappearing to get the cloak.

Antas released Hanstau’s jaw, only to reach down and grab a handful of tunic. He pulled Hanstau up, almost off his feet, toes just touching the ground.

Hanstau grabbed for the man’s arm.

Antas pulled him close, and whispered in his ear. “Him or me, understood? Him or me.”

“Understood,” Hanstau strangled out the word.

“Consider my truths well,” Antas growled, and released him.

Hanstau stumbled back a bit, almost tripping over the stool. By the time he regained his balance, Antas was gone.

Catha and the guards hustled Hanstau back to the tent, stripping off the cloak from his back as he stepped within.

Reness frowned up at him from her pallet.

“Shoes,” barked the guard.

Hanstau toed them off, and kicked them toward him. The guard swept them up with a grunt, and then left, tying the tent flap behind him.

“You’re shaking,” Reness whispered, rising slowly from her pallet. “What happened?”

Hanstau stared at her mutely.

“Here,” she said firmly, in what had to be her ‘mother’ voice. “Come here.” she took his arms and pulled him down to her pallet, urging him to stretch out. She pulled over blankets, covering them both, even though the tent was warm. She crooned to him as one does to a babe, and Hanstau let her. Undignified, but a comfort.

He lay face up, staring at the tent above them. Reness put her hand on his heart, and her head by his. Hanstau closed his eyes, and felt the tremors slowly fade.

“Better?” she asked.

Hanstau let out a breath under the shelter of the soft wool, and breathed in the spicy scent of gurtle wool. He let it out slowly, nodding.

“Tell me,” she commanded.

He did, from the start. In Xyian, in a muffled whisper.

Reness listened, stopping him only once in a while to have him explain a word.

At the mention of the young ones, her hand pressed on his heart. And stayed that way as he described Antas’s threats.

The re-telling brought a quaver back to his voice, much to his shame.

Reness didn’t seem to notice. She listened to the end, and then considered for long moments while Hanstau focused on breathing. On warmth and blankets and the feel of her next to him. Pulling every ounce of comfort he could from his surroundings.

“He would teach children his ways.” Reness’s voice was flat.

Hanstau turned his head to look at her. “Wild Winds called it blood magic. I do not know details, but whatever his source of power, the Plains hate it. And hate the wielder, or so Wild Winds said.”

“And Antas would allow it,” she said, her tone dark.

“He said he would speak to the theas, that he couldn’t force them.” Hanstau shifted his head to get a better look at Reness. “Is that tradition?” he asked.

“More than tradition,” Reness replied, but continued without explanation. “You said a Singer was here?”

Hanstau nodded. “They said ‘Quartis’. From the eldest Elder Singer.”

“Well.” Reness shifted her head closer to Hanstau’s. “That’s a saddle that will rub him raw.”