Warsworn (24 page)

I nodded, laughing. "Oh, they are, my Keir."

"Well then?" He asked. "Don't you have something to say to me?"

"Do I?" I arched an eyebrow, trying to control my smile.

He growled, and moved, pinning me to the bed, covering my body with his. I laughed out loud, and buried my hands in his hair. "Keir of the Cat, Warrior of the Plains, Warlord of the Plains, Overlord of Xy, I say this truth to you. I am sworn to you." I paused, growing serious.

"Forever. Through whatever life, and the Gods and the Elements have in store for us."

He kissed me then, intertwining our fingers together. "My heart's fire." He grinned, his white teeth flashing in the light, and then flipped us again, so that I was on top. His hands rested on my hips, fingers splayed out.

I sat up, letting the bedding fall off my shoulders. His eyes gleamed, and I raised an eyebrow.

"What are you—"

He flexed beneath me, and I gasped.

Keir's smile widened. "Perhaps a riding lesson?"

I arched my back, moaning with pleasure as his hands moved my hips.

After a few days, one morning when Keir left early to judge a round of combats, I took advantage of his absence to take care of a chore. When I told Rafe and Prest what I wanted to do, Rafe paled, glancing at Prest for support. "I'm not sure this is wise."

Prest shrugged.

Rafe scowled. "You are of no help."

I stood. "I'm going to talk to him, with or without you."

Rafe heaved a rather exaggerated sigh, and followed us out of the tent.

There'd been a heavy mist hanging in the air the last few days, and this morning found a thick frost riming the grass and trees. The Goddess's Lace, we called it, the first hard frost of the season, heralding the start of winter. Soon, within a few weeks, the snows would begin. As we walked, I wondered what winter would be like on the Plains.

Most everyone was watching the contests, except those on guard duty. Prest and Rafe followed as I walked to Iften's tent, and pushed through the flap with no ceremony.

He was there, seated on a stump, eating gurt with his left hand. The right was held against his chest, close to his body. I stepped far enough in to allow Prest to enter behind me, but stopped there, since Iften's expression made it clear that I was not welcome.

"Iften."

"Xyian."

I stiffened. His tone, and choice of address was as clear an insult as I had heard. Prest put his hand on his weapon. Iften's eyes flicked, but he looked away, and spoke grudgingly.

"Warprize."

Prest lowered his hand.

I cleared my throat. "Iften, I want to speak to you about your injury."

"I want nothing from you, Warprize. Not your healing, not your words."

"If you reject my care, I can't inflict it on you. You are free to make a choice, good or bad. But my oaths require that you know the consequences of your choice. So I will speak. Listen or not, as you choose."

"I will not—"

Prest spoke. "The wind will teach, if we but listen."

I looked at him, startled. It wasn't like Prest to speak up that way. The words he'd uttered sounded like a saying of some kind. But Prest's face was bland and composed.

Iften was taken aback as well. He looked at Prest, and then looked away, as if ashamed. "I will listen."

"Your arm is still badly swollen and the flesh is discolored. Your hand and fingers are numb, and it hurts to move them. There is no strength in the arm."

Iften eyed me, but made no response.

"If you don't let me set it, you may heal, but you will not heal true. You may lose all use of your hand, or never regain the strength in it again." I paused. "It is your sword arm."

He responded then, glowering in my direction.

"If you allow me to care for it, the chances are good that the arm will heal true. If you wait to see a warrior-priest, the damage maybe too great for them to fix."

"You'd cast your spells, eh, Warprize." He mocked me.

"I cast no spells, Iften. I have only the skills and knowledge of my craft. The rest is in the hands of the Goddess. Or the elements."

There was a long pause, and for a moment I held the hope that he would agree. But his face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. I'd lost.

He spat out his fury. "I've listened, and the wind has brought me nothing. Leave."

"Fool," Prest said.

Without a thought, Iften reached for his weapon, but the pain caught him even faster as the arm began to move. He hissed, drawing the limb back against his chest.

I turned and left without another word. As we emerged and headed toward Keir's tent, I questioned Prest. "What was that?"

He smiled, the wind catching his braids. "A teaching tool."

"For children." Rafe shook his head. "For a quiet man, you can sure make someone froth at the mouth."

Prest grinned.

Rafe turned back to me. "It goes like this, Warprize.

The wind will teach us—if we but listen.

The stars will guide us—if we but look up.

The waters will cool us—if we but seek it.

The fire will warm us—if we are wary.

Remember this, Child of the Plains.”

I nodded, then looked over at Prest. "You insulted him."

Prest shrugged, but there was no grin this time. "How long, Warprize?"

"Before he loses the use?" At his nod, I continued. "It depends on the swelling. But the damage will be permanent if he doesn't get it seen to within the next week or so. And even then, I might have to re-break the bone."

Prest grunted, but he looked oddly satisfied.

The combats proved to be both unsettling and exciting.

Unsettling because these warriors went at it tooth and nail, with bare steel and grim faces. I was used to watching practice sessions, but that didn't prepare me for naked combat. True, they were to first blood, but they took the fighting deadly seriously. Each combat had a judge, usually one of the warleaders, or Keir himself.

Exciting because each combat had warriors watching, warriors who yelled out their support, their criticisms and encouragement. More mob than audience. The first one or two, I had sat there in fear, waiting for one to kill the other. But Isdra pointed out the level of skill that the warriors were using, and Yers explained that it was considered disgraceful to kill someone in these types of fights. So I started to relax. The noise was startling but the fever was catching, and I found myself yelling as well. Keir, laughing at my enthusiasm, had reminded me that it would be best if I showed no favoritism. It was hard to sit there and watch without really participating, so I spent more time in my stilltent. Because the combats accomplished more than just determining a winner: They also had warriors seeking me out for aid. The last one for today was standing before me, holding his right arm in his left hand.

"That looks deep." I reached for his arm, to see it better. The blood was oozing through his leather armor. It looked clean, thank the Goddess, and I looked up to offer reassurance.

Large brown eyes stared at me glumly through fairly long brown hair. "I made it through four rounds, Warprize, but Ander's blow went right through the leather."

If he was twenty, I'd be surprised. A warrior, and his disappointment was obvious. I turned the arm carefully, to look at it closer. "A nasty cut. Sit here, and let me see to it."

The lad shifted from foot to foot before sitting down rather slowly. I called to Rafe, standing guard outside, then turned back to my patient. "What is your name?"

"Cadr, Warprize."

With Rafe's help, we eased the young man out of his armor. Rafe whistled when he saw the cut through the leather. "Who was your opponent?"

"Ander."

Rafe nodded. "He's a strong one. How many rounds did you make it through?"

The lad looked up. "Four, Warrior."

"Well done, to make it that far." Rafe gave me a nod, and went back out to his post.

The lad straightened at Rafe's parting words. I started to clean the arm, although it wasn't all that dirty.

"Gonna use bloodmoss?"

Startled, I look at him. "Why, yes, I think so."

He nodded. "Gils told me. Told me that the wound had to be clean." He gave the wound a critical look. "Looks clean."

"You knew Gils?"

He nodded, and used his good hand to open a pouch at his side. He pulled out a small package of bloodmoss, wrapped carefully in a clean cloth. "Gils and I were friends, Warprize." His face was stoic, but I could hear the pain in his voice. "I wanted to take his place as your guard."

"Gils wasn't my guard, Cadr. Gils was my apprentice." I choked a bit on the words.

"Guardian of your knowledge." Cadr answered quietly.

I reached for the dried leaves as I blinked back my tears. Cadr watched in silence as I packed the arm carefully, pressing it tight to the wound. The familiar moldy smell filled my nose as the plant did its work. As soon as the color changed, I pulled the leaves away to reveal the pink skin beneath it. "Favor the arm for a day, Cadr."

"I will." He adjusted his seat as he struggled into his tunic with my help. "Warprize, what Gils told me was interesting, and I'd like to leam more. Not sure I want to give up being a warrior…"

I looked at him and smiled. "If you want to learn more, that's fine. Come when you have time, and I'll be glad to teach you some useful things."

Cadr nodded, picked up his other bits of armor and turned to leave. But a memory came to me, something Gils had said. "Cadr?"

He turned, with an enquiring look.

"Didn't Gils tell me that you had a boil?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "I tried to deal with it myself, Warprize. Thought you'd be angry.

But it's back, and bigger, and hurting."

"Drop your pants, young man." I moved to get my lances, a sense of quiet joy in my heart.

Here was something I
could
cure. "I'll explain about boils while we take care of this problem."

Cadr sighed, and dropped his pants.

After dealing with Cadr's problem, I returned to the command tent. Keir was still out, but Marcus had promised to have four buckets of hot water waiting, with my soaps laid out for me, and drying cloths. Keir's people may be comfortable bathing together naked in the river but not me. While a hot bath might be out of the question, using the drain in the privy room to shower myself with warm water was the next best thing. Rafe and Prest took up position by the tent entrance.

Marcus was waiting inside. "Everything is laid out, Warprize. If you need help with the water, call."

"I will." I turned and glared at my guards. "No interruptions."

"Even the Warlord?" Prest asked with a sly grin.

"The Warlord may enter." Actually, I was hoping the Warlord would enter. I'd not seen him most of the day. "No one else, unless they are ill."

"As the Warprize commands." Prest bowed, as Rafe and Marcus chuckled.

Once in the privy, I checked the water temperature, set my bag on a bench and started to undress. I did miss the hot baths under the castle of Water's Fall. Soaking in their warm depths was a luxury that I had taken for granted. But given the living conditions in this camp, I was grateful for what I had. Remembering the temperature of the water in the lake made me shiver.

I took my time, hoping that Keir might appear. I removed my tunic, combed out my braid, and eased my trous off. As I bent down, it seemed to me that my waist was a bit thicker than I remembered. Of course, Marcus had been feeding me on a regular basis but—I paused, thinking back. When had I last had my courses?

The last I'd thought of it had been the day when Keir and I had eaten by the lake. I flushed at the memory of our tryst. We'd taken advantage of the sun and the water and the privacy. I'd been due then, and here I was, weeks later, with no sign of them. Admittedly, I'd been sick, which could cause a delay, but still…

Could I be pregnant?

I sat and stared at the tent wall for some time, thinking about it, trying to decide how I felt about the possibility. I

didn't feel like I was bearing, not that I had any actual experience. But I knew the symptoms as well as any other healer, and I wasn't feeling anything along those lines. No swelling of the lower limbs, no nausea.

I thought of how Keir had played with little Meara, how the other warriors had treated the babe as gently as any Xyian. The news would bring great joy, but troubles too. The Council of Xy had made demands, conditions on my acceptance of the role of Warprize. I hadn't talked to Keir about them yet. It wasn't an issue until I was pregnant and the child was due.

Which was a falsehood on my part. I worried my lip, thinking. How do I tell him what I'd promised? Before I'd seen him with a babe, I'd thought that children meant little to these people. After all, they bore children, they left them to be raised by theas, going off to serve in the army. But then they'd shown that they treasure children much as my people do, maybe even more.

I drew a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I'd tell him when I was with child, not before. Isdra would know, she'd borne before. I could confide in her, but even as I had the thought I knew I wouldn't. It was too soon, and I had no desire to add to her pain, or worse, give her a false hope. I'd share the news when I was certain, not before.

Time would tell, of course, and I tried to be practical. But for just a moment, as I put my hand over my belly, a vision of a small boy with dark hair and blue eyes, dragging a wooden practice sword, flashed into my mind. He'd look so much like Keir…

In a bemused state, I moved to start my bath.

Of course, I was bending over, rinsing my hair, when I heard someone enter behind me.

"You came too late, my Warlord." I stood and turned to reach for another bucket of water, a teasing smile on my lips.

It wasn't Keir.

A man stood there, with wild tangled fur for hair and colored tattoos all over his face and chest.

He was glaring at me, holding a long spear, with a human skull tied near the tip.

I shrieked, and heaved the bucket at him.