Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(50)

Joden relented, met her stroke for stroke, but the control was hers, the delight was hers, the pinnacle was…

The peak hit, and she threw back her head, crying out at the joy. She rode out the waves, rocking back and forth until Joden’s cry of delight joined hers.

They melted together, Joden pulling the blankets up as she rested her head on his chest.

“… probably made enough noise to scare off any predators,” she whispered in Joden’s ear.

Joden’s chuckle rumbled through her as she faded off to sleep.




Amyu found a clear running stream early, so water was no problem. Food was a different issue.

She talked with Joden, about whether taking the time to hunt versus getting off the mountain as soon as possible. His words were broken, but his thoughts were clear and he understood their predicament. He stumbled and used more gestures than words. In the end, they agreed to choose speed, with care on the paths. It seemed the right choice, except when their stomachs rumbled.

But the water ran crisp and clear and they could drink as much as they pleased. Joden’s makeshift shoes fell apart over the next day, but Amyu didn’t think it a bad thing. It forced him to step with care, to slow down. She feared another fall more than hunger.

He seemed to feel the blame for their predicament and the slowness of the pace. It was in his eyes, sometimes as he hesitated on the path. Or the way he looked away when he heard her stomach rumble. But he made up for it in the nights.

As they reached the lower levels, the path got easier and wider. Amyu had cause to regret the end.

It had been so long since she’d shared, she’d forgotten the pleasures of the flesh. But there was something about Joden, something about the care he took with her. He made her feel… alive.

She would treasure each and every one of the nights they’d spent together. Joden was a respected and powerful warrior of the Plains. A Singer-to-be. He’d not—

Amyu stopped. The wind had brought a scent to her, achingly familiar. “Is that kavage?” she asked, taking a deeper breath.

Joden nodded.

They both hurried down the path, Joden right behind her, stumbling out into the field where the cows were grazing. Amyu could see the cheese cave, and a campfire with an old battered kavage pot, a group of Plains warriors gathered around. The smell of kavage grew stronger.

“Amyu!” came the shout, and Rafe of the Wolf headed toward her, with a wide smile. “The Warprize sent us to find—” he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide.

“Joden?”





Chapter Seventeen


Joden stepped toward Rafe, mentally practicing the words in his head. ‘Greetings, Rafe. Greetings, Rafe.’

Rafe, a familiar face, with his dark hair, wide smile and the faint scar that ran down the side of his face. “Joden!” Rafe’s eyes were wide with astonishment. He reached out to clasp Jodan’s arm, joy suffusing his face at seeing an old friend.

Joden reached out as well. ‘Greetings, Rafe. Greetings, Rafe’.

“G-g-g,” the words caught in his throat.

The warmth in Rafe’s eyes turned to concern, but in his despair, Joden didn’t see it. He grimaced trying to force the words out, but nothing, nothing…

He was nothing.




Amyu caught the sound in Joden’s throat, knew what it meant.

Rafe backed away in horror as Joden’s eyes rolled up and he started to convulse. Amyu was quick enough, getting her arms around Joden and lowering him to the ground.

The other warriors gathered and stared as Joden thrashed. Amyu got one of their blankets out and covered him, for warmth, yes, but also to block him from their prying eyes.

“What has happened?” Rafe’s voice was hushed as he knelt on the other side of Joden.

“I do not know,” Amyu said, watching carefully to see if she needed to turn Joden on his side. But the tremors were slowing, and his breathing was becoming easier. “I found him so, in the heights of the mountain.”

Rafe shook his head. “That makes no—”

One of the other warriors knelt at Joden’s side, her dagger flashed in her hand. “The fire warmed you,” she began the mercy ritual.

The three other warriors had gathered round, all women from Rafe’s tent. They responded with the rote words. “We thank the elements.”

Amyu grabbed the woman’s wrist. “No,” she snapped.

The woman looked out at her from under her black bangs. Her green eyes were dismissive as she raised an eyebrow. “He is ill, and deserves mercy. I am Fylin of the Snake, warrior of the Plains. You are but a child. Leave this to us—”

“No,” Amyu said again, squeezing Fylin’s wrist hard. “I will challenge, if you do.”

“You cannot—”

“Try me,” Amyu bared her teeth. “He needs food and drink, and not your stupidity.”

“Fylin, hold.” Rafe reached over to put his hand on their locked ones. “Look,” Rafe continued. “He’s stopped shaking.”

Amyu looked down. With her free hand, she touched Joden’s chest, feeling the strong heartbeat. His face was relaxed, as if sleeping.

She looked up to find Rafe watching her. “He will wake soon, and be well.”

“This has happened before?” The woman with the short curly hair asked, kneeling beside Fylin.