Warsworn (25 page)

The bucket hit his chest and water splashed everywhere, but it didn't faze the wild man. He raised his spear and shook it at me, snarling and growling like an animal, his unruly hair tossing about his head.

My heart was in my throat, but I wasn't finished yet. My bag was a step away, and a large jar of boiled skunk cabbage was the first thing my fingers touched. I threw, catching him right on the head. The jar shattered, and the stinking, gooey mess exploded in the man's face. He roared in pain as it splashed into his eyes.

I darted around him, and ran through the door. My cloak was on the bed, I snatched it up to cover my nakedness, screaming for help. The man was behind me, yelling something that I didn't pause to hear. I plunged through the meeting room and out the entrance.

Rafe, Prest and Marcus were there, but I only had eyes for Keir, who was running toward us, swords in hand. I ran to meet him, as the crazy man stumbled out of the tent behind me, wiping his eyes and roaring.

Keir placed himself between us, and I took shelter behind him, clutching at the cloak. Everyone was shouting and in an uproar. But Keir's roar silenced them all. "What is the meaning of this?"

"He came in while I was bathing!" I stayed behind Keir, and wrapped the cloak tight around me. My wet hair was a mess, streaming water down my back, and the ground was cold beneath my bare feet.

"We tried to tell him, Warlord." Rafe spoke, glaring at the man. "He would not listen."

Marcus spat on the ground.

There was silence as the wild man stood there, dripping water and stinking of skunk cabbage.

"Why do you violate the privacy of the Warprize, Warrior-Priest?" Keir challenged.

That was a warrior-priest? I peeked out from behind Keir, to stare at the man. He looked no less crazed than he had before. The matted hair was thick, and there was fur braided into it. His tattoos were bright and vivid, colored in green, red, blue, and black. His cloak was a fur of some kind, and his trous looked like it needed a good scrubbing. That skull on the spear did nothing to reassure me.

The man drew himself up, and tried his best to look impressive. Ordinarily, I was sure that it worked, but it is hard to be dignified and awe inspiring when noxious stuff is dripping from your hair. I had to give him credit for trying, though.

"There were no bells, Warlord. A Warrior-Priest of the Plains enters where he wishes, when he wishes."

Of all the conceited, arrogant… I opened my mouth to reply, but Keir beat me to it. His voice vibrated with anger, but his face was impassive. "The Warprize is of Xy. Xyians do not expose their bodies to others easily. You entered my command tent without invitation, Warrior-priest.

That privacy requires no bells. You ignored the guards placed at the entrance."

The warrior-priest glanced about, but made no response to Keir's accusation. "We were sent by the Elders from the Heart of the Plains. You failed to appear, as your messages indicated that you would, bearing a warprize."

I sucked in a breath, but Keir anticipated me. "You traveled with others? Where are they?"

The warrior-priest frowned, taken back by the abrupt change of topic. "They follow. I came ahead."

Keir turned his head, looking around. "The perimeter guards did not stop you?"

"They tried." That arrogance was back again. "What means this?"

Keir ignored him. "Prest, you and Rafe, head off the rest of his party. Tell them to keep their distance, and see my orders enforced."

"Enforced?" The warrior-priest gripped his spear tighter as Rafe and Prest ran off.

"We are isolated from others, by the command of the Warprize." Keir looked him in the eye.

"You risk death entering this camp. As you were told when you crossed within."

"I see no enemy."

"Pray that you do not." Keir turned. "Lara, let me return you to our tent. You are shivering."

He put his arm around me and we started walking toward the tent.

The Warrior-priest gave ground only grudgingly. "I would have a report from you, Warlord."

"I will provide the report, Warrior-priest." We both stopped at Iften's words. He was standing there, Wesren at his side.

"You are Second?" The warrior-priest asked. "Where is Simus of the Hawk?"

"Simus remained behind, upon my order." Keir growled. "I will see a tent set up for you, and will meet you there to discuss this matter."

"Your tent—"

"You are not welcome within my tent, Warrior-Priest."

I shivered at the look in those cold eyes. Keir swept me up into his arms, and Marcus reached over to flick the cloak over my bare feet. I could feel the tension in Keir's body, taught and tight under my hands.

"You are welcome within mine, Warrior-priest." Iften raised his right arm. "I would also ask that you cast your healing spells, for my arm has been injured."

"The only honorable wound I see," the warrior-priest said.

That got a reaction. The warriors around us all stiffened, placing hands on weapon hilts. But where ordinarily they would have all attacked for the insult, there was no movement beyond that. The warrior-priest looked around, and grunted slightly in satisfaction. "I will cast those spells for you."

Spells? Magical healing? I turned my head to look at the man. "Could I watch? Could I watch the spell casting?"

Eyes popped open on every face, including the Warrior-Priest's. He looked so astonished I almost laughed, but then his eyes turned mean. "No."

"But—"

The squeeze of Keir's arms warned me before the response of the warrior-priest. "You are of Xy, and offensive to the elements."

Keir bristled, and the others too were looking damned angry. The warrior-priest tossed that matted hair of his. "Come, Iften of the Pig. I will hear your truths, and heal your wound."

They walked off, Wesren but a step behind. I opened my mouth to make a comment, but Keir swept me into the sleeping area, and set me on the bed. He knelt, taking my feet in his hands and rubbing some warmth into them.

I leaned back, propping myself up with my elbows. "So, Iften is of the Pig. That explains a lot."

Keir's head jerked up, and he laughed out loud. I loved his face in that instant, happy and relaxed. But then he shook his head. "You have the word wrong. These are not the pigs of your land, Lara. These are wild boars, fierce, fleet of foot, and dangerous. Have a care when you face one."

Isdra had appeared, and stood sentry at the door, with Marcus at her side. Marcus growled.

"I'm more than willing to hunt one particular boar."

Isdra nodded.

Keir kissed me. "Get dry and warm. I will deal with this."

"Keir, I'm sorry. He scared me and I didn't think, I just threw—"

Keir flashed that boyish grin. "Ugly, isn't he. They all are. And do they offer their name? Or ask permission for anything? Ah, I couldn't ask for better, my heart's fire. He reeks of that foul smelling goo."

I rolled my eyes. "And he will for some time. That odor doesn't really wash away without strong soap."

"Which will be in short supply." Keir kissed me again, then whispered in my ear. "I'm sorry I was late for your bathing. Next time, send word."

I blushed, but sat up to grab his arm as he turned to leave. "Keir, for all your pleasure he has been exposed to the plague. He needs to know the symptoms and the ways to treat—"

Keir turned back, knelt down at my feet, and took my hands. "Lara, you must understand something. He does not care, as you do. He is not a 'healer'. Warrior-priests use their magic only as it profits them."

"But if he has magic, Keir, I want to learn." I tightened my grip on his arm. "Imagine what I could do with that power? I could have healed Atira's leg, maybe even saved my father—"

"They do not share knowledge, Lara. I have doubts about their powers." Keir looked at me intently. "You must promise me that you will not attempt to talk to him, not even with all your guards with you. He despises any who are not of the Plains. But he will hate you more for the gifts you bring us. Do you understand?"

Marcus moved slightly, and I looked over at him, remembering the cold blade at my throat. I looked at Keir and nodded. "I understand. Death can come in an instant."

Keir smiled, and then lifted my hands to kiss them. "We will watch him carefully for signs of illness." He stood, looking down at me. "I will make sure that the rest of his party returns to the Plains, Lara, with messages for the Elders." He hesitated slightly. "Isdra."

"Warlord?"

"Make sure that any who tend to Meara are such as can face a warrior-priest."

I shivered at the very idea that any would harm the child. Marcus sucked in a breath and Isdra looked shocked. "Warlord, not even they would dare—"

Keir was grim, the hate in his eyes flaring. "I'll not give them a chance." He left, with a swirl of his cape. Isdra followed him out.

Marcus had drying cloths, and dropped one on my head. "See to your hair, Warprize." He knelt at my feet, and started to rub them roughly with another cloth. "I've hot kavage fresh brewed, that will warm you."

I sighed as I toweled my hair. "I certainly made a mess of things."

"A mess of that arrogant fool, yes." Marcus paused, looking up at me intently with his one eye. "But you did well, Warprize. You distracted him with what you had at hand, and used that advantage to flee."

I smiled, warmed by his praise. "Still, I angered the warrior-priest. That won't help Keir."

"There'd be no help regardless. Hisself makes no secret of his hatred."

"Because of what happened to you?" I asked quietly.

"There are other reasons." Marcus stood. "I will fetch the kavage. Be warm and dry and tucked within the bedding when I return, eh?"

He left without another word.

The next morning the final winners of the combat rounds stood before us, both smiling. I couldn't help but smile back, enjoying their obvious pride. The man, Ander by name, was older than most warriors, although clearly not as old as Epor. He was bald, with thick bushy white eyebrows and hazel eyes. The woman, Yveni, was tall and thin, her skin as black as Simus's. I'd seen her around before. Her hair was black and cropped close to her skull, and her brown eyes had flecks of gold.

"Heyla!" Keir called out, and the crowd around us returned his call with a loud shout of approval.

"Behold, the last two that contest for the position of the Warprize's guard. They both meet with my approval, and so the winner of this combat shall have the position."

Another cry of approval went up. Keir had met with each of the candidates the night before, talking to them about their duties and responsibilities. The man he knew from other campaigns.

The woman had battle experience, but this was her first time under Keir's command. Yers had given them both praise and Isdra told Keir she could work with either one. Marcus hadn't had anything negative to say, other than his usual complaints.

"But this position requires one who is sharp of skill and wits. Who can both attack and protect.

So, I have decided to change the rules." That brought quiet, as everyone leaned forward, intent on Keir's words. He smiled, his dark hair shining in the sun. "Marcus. Rafe."

Marcus and Rafe moved to stand together, back to back, with something in their hands. They each paced out five steps, and then knelt to press something into the ground.

"Hear now the rules for this combat. Behind each warrior is a horsehair braid, tied between two stakes, a hands-length above the ground. The goal is to cut your opponent's braid. Do you understand?"

Ander and Yveni both considered the ground as Rafe and Marcus moved away. They studied the stakes and the braids, and then took positions in front of them, facing each other.

Sal was to judge the combat, and she stepped forward at Keir's nod. "Are you ready, warriors?"

They'd barely nodded when Sal cried "Begin!'' They sprang forward, their blades clashed, the crowd roared, and the fight was on.

They were both using swords and shields and moved so fast I was sure to miss something if I blinked. The location of the stakes restricted their movements. While there was no formal circle, the warriors never wandered far from their braids. Keir and I were seated on a bit of higher ground, giving us a better view. Rafe and Prest were behind me, Isdra at my side, watching with a careful eye.

Iften and the Warrior-Priest were off to one side, also using the rise to their advantage, but making sure not to come close to Keir and I. The warrior-priest had a sullen look, but Iften seemed to be awfully pleased with himself, almost happy. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at his arm, which was hanging loosely at his side. I'd been told that the healing had taken place, with the sounds of chanting coming from Iftens's tent, with clouds of purple-blue smoke billowing from the tent. But I couldn't get a very good look, with all the people in the way.

The Warrior-Priest was unhappy because Keir had warned off the rest of his party. He'd told them to return to the Plains, bearing the message concerning what had happened here. By the time he'd crawled into our bed, he'd been hoarse from the shouting. But the messages had been understood, and they departed in haste from the area. Apparently warrior-priests travel with some kind of servants, who care for their needs. Being without didn't strike the wild man's fancy.

In the morning light, my first impression still stood. The man wore only leather trous, and a ratty fur cloak. The colors in the tattoos were very bright, and I wondered how that was done. I didn't recognize any of the designs. And his hair! I thought it looked remarkably like a rat's nest, but I kept my opinion to myself. From the way people were standing upwind, he still hadn't gotten rid of the skunk smell.

I forced my attention back to the fighting. Ander and Yveni moved, considering one another, each looking for an advantage. They'd exchange ringing blows, and then break off. To my eye it seemed they were evenly matched, with no one having a true advantage over the other.

Ander seemed to have a bit more power behind his blows, but Yveni had greater speed.