Warsworn (26 page)

The fight continued, but my gaze was drawn back to Iften. Was it possible that he'd been healed? I looked back just in time to see the warrior-priest hand him something that looked like gurt, only brown in color. Iften placed it in his mouth, and started chewing.

I stiffened. His right hand, his sword arm. He'd used it with no obvious pain, grasping the food with fingers that I'd seen swollen and numb. The same arm that Isdra had broken.

How was that possible?

THWACK.

I flinched, and turned at the sound. Ander's sword had bit deep into the wood of Yveni's shield.

He tugged hard, but the blade did not come loose.

Yveni moved back, trying to pull the sword from Ander's hand. He followed, trying to rock the blade from its prison. Ander concentrated on his sword, never once watching his feet. She yanked the shield back again, dancing a few paces sideways. Ander followed, intent on his weapon.

It was the laughter from the crowd that finally drew his attention, making him look up and take stock of his situation. Yveni had danced him around, moving both of them, until she stood a mere step from Ander's braid. Her sword arm was extended, the tip of her blade just under the taut braid.

Yveni grinned at him, her teeth flashing.

Ander shook his head, then laughed, raising both hands in the air.

A roar of approval went up as Yveni cut the braid.

In Xy, chess matches are quiet things. Two players, sitting at a table in silence, making moves on a board,

It was an entirely different matter for the Firelanders.

If I'd thought the crowd noisy for the combats, I wasn't prepared for the enthusiasm for this new game. Aret's idea for a living chessboard had been a good one, and the warriors chosen as pieces had decked themselves out in their very best armor, with a shine and a polish to the weapons that told me they'd been worked on for hours. They'd used armbands to designate their color, and the 'pawns' had tried to make themselves look as uniform as possible.

But under all the noise and bustle and laughter was an underlying tension. The division that I'd seen in the warleaders was starting to be seen in the army. Oh, no obvious insult was given to Keir or myself. On the surface all seemed well. But the games of chess were seen as being Xyian, and many had decided not to participate or watch for just that reason.

Not that the game seemed Xyian any more. To my horror, the time-honored pieces known as

'castles' had been replaced. Instead, the pieces were called ehats. I hadn't heard of this change until the pieces took the board. Four warriors, two for each side, had stepped forward with fur cloaks wrapped around them, and huge horns carved from tree branches. The other warriors had to duck as they moved on the board, holding their heads low, and sweeping the area around them with their horns. Laughter filled the air as the ehats snorted and pounded the earth with their feet.

The players strode at the ends of the boards, some pacing back and forth as they shouted their moves. The crowd then would chant the words, until that 'piece' moved into its proper place.

Warleaders, warriors, and even Keir had entered the chess tourney. The games had taken days, and had absorbed everyone's attention. Keir managed to win all his games and was in the final match.

His opponent was a woman that I didn't recognize, whose name was Oone. She was a muscular, thoughtful woman, almost as big as Simus, with short red hair and brown eyes.

I was watching the game board from the rise, wrapped in a cloak against the chill wind. Prest and Yveni had the watch, and were standing behind me, acting as a wind break. The game area had been laid out with stones, and they'd managed to make the squares big enough that the knights could be mounted on horses. Which meant that the 'pieces' had to deal with some obstacles not normally found on a chess board. Still and all, it was an amazing spectacle.

Iften and the Warrior-Priest were avoiding the games, and were very vocal in their opposition.

They wanted nothing to do with me, or anything remotely Xyian, which frustrated my efforts to get a good look at Iften's arm.

But I had help.

Marcus came to offer me hot kavage. "Any luck?" I asked.

"Not so far. Isdra is trying to get closer, as is Rate. But they swear to me that it's almost as if he knows what they are trying to do."

Prest grunted. Yveni looked at him, then turned back to me. "Tell me again, why we are trying to see the Second's arm?"

"Herself is curious." Prest said.

I looked at him sharply, but his face was neutral. Some time after Yveni had won the combat, I'd found her with Keir, Rafe, Prest, Isdra and Marcus clustered together, their conversation serious and intent. They'd broke off their words as I approached, but I was certain that the quirks and foibles of one warprize had been discussed hi great detail.

"Ah." Yveni nodded her understanding. "Do you wish me to try, Warprize?"

"Not yet." I sat, watching Keir make his first move in the game. Oone was intent, but quick and the game seemed to move as fast as they could call out instructions to the 'pieces and pawns'.

After a bit, Rafe and Isdra reported back, glum with their failure. I nodded, unworried. It stood to reason that Iften would know them, and anticipate their interest.

As Keir's knight advanced to take one of Oone's bishops, Cadr moved up beside me, and knelt, adjusting his boot. "I got a good look, Warprize."

"And?"

"Not sure. He has his bracers strapped tight over his leather sleeve. He is using the hand, and flexing the fingers. I thought they looked a little swollen, but I saw no sign of pain."

"Pity." Isdra said.

I kept my attention on the game, and my voice soft. "My thanks, Cadr."

He stood, and moved off into the crowd without looking back.

I settled back on my stump, and pondered what that might mean. Magical healing? I'd read about it in stories, but could the warrior-priests wield that power?

A wave of pure jealousy washed through me. To be able to heal everything with the touch of my hand. I'd give anything to be able to ease pain, mend wounds that way.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't really see the game, until the crowd cheered, and I looked up to see that Keir and Oone had reached a draw. Oone studied her remaining pieces carefully.

"I could offer you a warprize."

Keir threw his head up, and glanced over in my direction. His eyes were bright, his smile so bright it took my breath. "Oh no, Oone. I have claimed my warprize, and will have no other."

I blushed bright red, warmed to the tips of my toes.

Keir looked back at his opponent, over the heads of the joyful crowd. "Oone, I think instead that your warrior-priests would leave you in this instance. What say you?"

There was much commenting on this. I frowned, a bit puzzled. Oone still had bishops on the board at her command. Yet she was looking at them with distrust. And the warriors portraying them were standing with their arms crossed, glaring at all and sundry from beneath lowered brows.

Keir's bishops had been taken from the board, long before this. Yet he didn't have the ability to force a checkmate. It was clearly a draw. Why were they—Oone nodded her agreement. "I concede the loss, Warlord. My warrior-priests are not to be trusted."

Stunned, I watched as the crowd erupted into cheers and Keir raised his arms in victory. I didn't understand what had just happened, but I knew somehow that it was important. What kind of power did the warrior-priests hold that they would refuse to support a leader?

Movement distracted me, as Keir was lifted on the shoulders of some of the warriors and carried high above the heads of the cheering crowd.

I cheered as well, but groaned mentally. There'd be no living with him now.

Keir had announced a mourning ceremony for the evening before we were to leave. There had been no new cases of the Sweat since Gils had died. A full forty days had passed, and we were free of our invisible enemy.

Free of the disease, but not free of its effects. These people had been changed profoundly by what had happened here, each marked in different ways by the experience. They had confronted something unknown to them, and learned new skills as a result. I knew that I too had been affected. Never again would I walk into a situation so sure that I had a solution. A loss of confidence, perhaps, or maybe more of facing the truth of my limitations that I hadn't wanted to acknowledge before.

As the sun started to sink behind the mountains, everyone began to gather for the ceremony along the shore of the lake. This time, a minimal guard had been set, for all would mourn together. I watched the sun as I stood outside the command tent, wrapped in my cloak. The gathering warriors were bringing blankets to sit on, filling in the area, sitting close together, side by side.

Keir emerged from the tent with blankets and a bundle in his arms. He'd released my guards to join the grieving, and Marcus had indicated that he would remain in the command tent with Meara. Without a word, Keir took my hand, leading me toward the rise that overlooked the edge of the lake.

I saw Iften and the Warrior-Priest standing outside Iften's tent. It almost looked as if they were hiding something, the way they looked about them as they talked. Iften threw open the tent flap and vanished inside. The Warrior-Priest walked off, disappearing behind the tent in the directions of the herds. I was surprised that they didn't join in the ceremony, but it certainly didn't bother me.

Keir stopped. I looked around to find that we weren't far from our tent, and were really at the fringes of the crowd. "Aren't we going to sit closer?" I asked.

Keir shook his head. "I think for this ceremony, we'd be better off here." He shook out one of the blankets and spread it on the ground. "Besides, we are not the focus of this gathering. The dead are."

I sat next to him, and he pulled me close, drawing another blanket over us. He leaned in, and spoke for my ear alone. "When you grow uncomfortable, we will leave."

An odd statement. I would have questioned him, but a drummer had stepped out into the clear area at the lake's edge. He sat, a large drum before him, and pounded sharply four times.

Everyone stopped talking.

Joden stepped forward, followed by four warriors, carrying small braziers. He faced the crowd, the warriors placing their burdens at the compass points around him, with Joden at the center.

Joden raised his right palm to the sky. "May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember."

The response rose. "We will remember."

Joden lowered his arm and spoke again. "Birth of fire, death of air."

One of the warriors knelt, and blew on the coals within, feeding fuel that caused flames to leap up and dance.

"Birth of water, death of earth."

The second warrior knelt, dipping her hands and letting the water trickle back into the brazier.

"Birth of earth, death of fire."

The third warrior knelt, raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall back into the brazier.

"Birth of air, death of water."

The fourth warrior knelt. He too blew on coals, but the fuel he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.

The four warriors stood, bowed to their elements, and melted back into the crowd.

"We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead." Joden spoke again, his voice melodic and beautiful. In the silence, every word carried, clear and firm. "All life per-ishes. This we know.

Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall."

The drummer started a beat then, a slow but steady pulse.

"But we are also more than our bodies. This we know. That which is within each of us, lives on.

Our dead travel with us, until the snows."

Joden paused, then continued. "How can we mourn then? How can we sorrow for what must be? If our dead are with us, and we will join with them when our bodies fail, how then do we weep?"

The drummer's beat continued behind Joden's words.

"We grieve for what we lost. For the hollow place within our hearts. For the loss that is felt each time we turn to confide a secret, to share a joke, or to reach for a familiar touch."

My eyes filled. I remembered Epor, his flashing grin. Gils's serious face. Father's joy when he won at chess, his mind sharp even as his body failed.

'This is our pain, the pain of those left behind. Let us share it." Joden began to sing then, lifting his face and voice to the sky. It was the same song that he'd sung in the throne room of Water's Fall, and my tears flowed when I recognized the words.

I was not alone. Others, too, wept, clinging to those around them, offering and receiving comfort. I sheltered a bit deeper within Keir's arms and felt his rough breathing as his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

At the end of the song, Joden started a chant, similar to the one that I'd heard when I'd been ill.

The phrases repeated over and over, to the rhythm of the drummer's beat.

"Death of earth, birth of water, death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth."

A movement caught my eye, and I turned my head to see Isdra rise and walk past us, away from the area. Her face was stoic, but her sorrow hung about her like a cloak. She staggered slightly, but walked swiftly away.

I moved to follow, but Keir held me back. "Don't."

"But she's so sad," I started, but Keir shook his head.

"Nothing you can say will ease her pain, Lara."

I eased back into his arms with a flash of guilt. I had my heart's fire. Living, breathing, sitting beside me, his arms around my waist. Isdra had lost that. Keir was right. I'd probably just remind her of her loss.

Keir drew me closer, and pointed toward the lake.

Two cloaked warriors stood, and were making their way down to stand at Joden's side. He bowed to them, and they dropped their cloaks. Each was dressed in plain black tunic and trous, no armor or weapons. Joden stepped back to stand at the drummer's side. As the last of the chant faded, the standing warriors threw back their heads, and wailed, lifting their arms and crying out. They started to dance, using their bodies to express their grief, tearing at their clothing until they were nearly naked, crying out for their loss and pain.