Warsworn (5 page)

Keir's hand flipped out, and the bird took flight, scolding us in the process. I felt Keir nuzzle my neck, and I hummed softly at the pleasure.

Keir chuckled. "You smell wonderful."

I turned slightly, smiling into his blue eyes. His hand drifted up to cup my breast and I groaned at that simple touch. "One stroke of your hand and I feel such wonderful things."

"There's more," he whispered.

I kissed him, ready and eager for more when there was an outburst beyond the bushes. Horses, a lot of them, pounding up, with warriors calling out for Keir.

Keir sprang to his feet, with sword in hand. I fumbled for the blanket, pulling it to my chest to cover myself.

"Warlord!" The voice that came from beyond the thick alders was high and tense. "I must report."

"What news?" Keir sheathed his sword and grabbed for the rest of his gear.

"Rebellion, Warlord!"

The tradition of the Plains is that the Warprize takes nothing except from the hands of the Warlord. This was not, as I'd originally thought, to keep the Warprize subservient and dependent on the Warlord. Rather, it was to allow the Warlord to demonstrate that he had the ability and strength to provide for the Warprize.

This had resulted in some rather rigorous arguments with Marcus, self-appointed guardian of the tradition, once I'd returned to my Warlord's side. I had won on the issue of my healing equipment and supplies, since Marcus grudgingly acknowledged that Keir had purchased them for me while we'd been encamped.

Marcus had won on the issue of clothing, since that scarred little man had worked miracles in providing me with tunics and trous, and even one memorable red dress. While the clothing he provided was plain, it was also comfortable.

I'd won on the issue of undergarments.

Keeping the blanket around me, I struggled into my breastband as fast as I could, listening to the sounds of warriors and horses moving around our shelter. The leaves somehow didn't seem as thick as they had been a few minutes ago. "Keir, it can't be my people."

Keir grunted, reaching for his armor, called out in a strong voice. "Yers!"

"Warlord?"

"Call senel to hear the report. Warn Marcus, and find Joden as well. Summon the Warprize's guards."

Yers's voice was raised beyond the thicket, carrying out his orders, even as Keir stopped speaking. Keir continued to dress, his movements as fast and precise as a cat's. "We'll know soon enough, Lara." His face was grim as he rearmed himself.

I paused, my arms buried in my tunic, fear coursing through me. "And if it is?"

"It will be answered," was his gruff response. He gestured for me to continue, and I pulled the tunic on over my head, fighting to pull my hair free.

It had been one of my greatest fears. While I'd convinced Warren, the Lord Marshall, and the entire Council of the wisdom of accepting Keir as Overlord, we'd all known that the outlying areas might not be quite so accepting. Messengers had been sent to spread the word, but events had moved fast, even faster than the pace Keir had set for our return to the Plains. It was possible that one of the smaller villages had decided to defy the command, but I thought it unlikely. No single village had the wherewithall to close its gates and refuse to submit. The long summer of fighting before Xymund had conceded defeat had taken men from the villages.

There was a question as to whether we had enough workers to take in what was left of the harvest, much less resist a foe. For in one thing, Keir was implacable: oathbreakers are punished absolutely, and completely. If a village or town swore fealty to him, and then rejected his control, he would raze it to the ground and salt the cinders.

I struggled with my hair, trying to free it from my tunic, as Keir waited impatiently. "I'm sorry.

I should probably cut this mess off."

Keir stepped forward, and eased his hands under my hair, pulling it free for me. "Don't." His hands were warm and I shivered as he brushed my neck. I tilted my head up and he lowered his and kissed me. There was a sense of desperation, almost fear in him, and I brought my arms up to hold him close. He wrapped an arm around me as well and deepened the kiss until I ran out of breath.

He raised his head, and we stood in each others arms for a moment, until the sounds beyond the alders reminded us of the world around us. He stepped back with reluctance. I straightened my clothing, and he waited until I finished, but stopped me when I reached for the blankets.

"Leave that." He turned, and started through the thick branches, again keeping the branches off my face as I followed. The birds protested again as we emerged from our haven to find Yers standing there, holding his and Keir's horses. Prest, Rafe, Isdra and Epor were coming up behind him.

Yers handed Keir his reins. "There's a large willow at the top of a crest down the road. I've called the senel to meet there, and have summoned the scouts."

I stood there, breathing hard, trying to braid up my hair. "What has happened?"

Yers shrugged, his crooked nose twitching. "All I know so far is that the scouts were attacked by Xyians."

"Injuries?" Keir asked.

"Unknown." Yers responded.

"Send word to Ortis that I want the scouts involved at the senel." Keir mounted, the leather creaking as he pulled himself into the saddle. "We'll go on ahead." He turned to speak to Prest and Rafe as Yers mounted his own horse. "Gather up the Warprize and her things, and bring her along. All four of you with her at all times. If they are offering challenge to me, they may well target her."

Epor nodded. "Marcus has gone ahead to prepare. Something about 'doing things right by Hisself."

Keir gave a grim smile. "Marcus would serve drink in the midst of battle, if he could."

"Keir," I stepped forward, but he cut me off.

"Lara, there's no point discussing this until we know more."

"Keir, I—"

Keir shook his head, and his horse jumped forward. Yers was quick to follow, leaving me standing there in the dust. I put my hands on my hips, glared at their backs and called out to them as loud as I could. "The least you could do is let me ride my own horse?"

Yers had described it perfectly. The willow was old and bent, its long branches trailing on the ground, moving slightly in the breeze. I could make out people moving within its shade, and there was a smell of kavage in the air. As we rode up, Iften and Yers emerged from behind the branches, and Iften's voice was raised in complaint. "—wasting time, neglecting his duties, all he thinks about is plants and illness. Pah."

Yers responded mildly. "You'd not think it a waste, were it to your benefit."

They turned to look at us as we brought the horses to a stop. Iften had the usual sullen look that he carried whenever he saw me. I was riding behind Rafe. And saw him turn his head to look at Prest. Then they both seemed to glance at Epor, who nodded. The silent communication somehow also included Isdra, who rode up next to us and dismounted. Epor and Prest dismounted as well. Prest led off their horses, and Epor stepped to my side. "May I assist you, Warprize?"

I was about to protest the need for help, but something in his eyes stopped me. I accepted his assistance, and he lowered me carefully, keeping his body between me and Iften. Rafe moved off, and Isdra stepped up behind me.

"What is this?" Iften growled. "You have no place at senel, Epor."

Epor nodded, calmly accepting Iften's challenge. "True, Warleader. But the Warlord has trusted us with the safety of the Warprize, and commanded two of us at her side at all times."

He said nothing more, merely adopting a neutral look. I took my cue from Epor, and remained silent. A quick glance behind me showed that Isdra was also keeping her face bland, looking almost bored.

"It's an insult." Iften spat, his cheeks flushing red under his beard. I wasn't sure, but I had the impression that Epor had managed to offend him somehow.

"It's a precaution, and a wise one." Yers countered.

"It's the Warlord's command." As if that was the end of the discussion, Epor inclined his head to the two leaders, and moved forward. They gave ground, moving with us under the branches.

Iften's face was still red and angry, but Epor's remained bland, offering no offense.

There was a warrior there, holding a pitcher and a cloth. As I washed my hands, thanking the Goddess under my breath, I realized what the silent exchange had been about. Rafe and Prest had known that Iften would be difficult. Epor, older and with higher standing, had stepped in to handle the problem. Status was a critical part of Firelander Me, although I had yet to really understand it.

Marcus had set two folded blankets at the base of the tree, and had arranged others in a pattern fanning out. He was waiting for me there, his cloak off, and frowning. "Sit here, Warprize. Ravage? Gurt? How are your feet?"

I sat, folding my legs under me. "Just kavage, Marcus, please. And they're fine."

He nodded, served me and moved off. Epor and Isdra took up positions behind me, but Marcus didn't offer them anything. I'd learned that they wouldn't eat or drink while on guard duty. But I noticed for the first time that he never really looked at them at all. Just past them, as if it was too painful to see them standing there. I looked into my cup of kavage and sighed. I'd been so lost in my petty misery. What else had I missed?

I could almost hear Great Aunt Xydell scolding me. "Pay attention, chit."

Keir was obviously taking precautions. The senel and the tree were surrounded by guards, watching over us and the horses. Rafe and Prest were beyond the branches, but had positioned themselves so that they could see me clearly. It was comfortable here under the tree, but a tightness had crept into my neck and shoulders. If some of my people were resisting, after they'd pledged their fealty to Keir, the consequences would be severe.

The area was starting to fill with the members of the senel. They stood, mugs in hand, as Marcus moved among them. I watched and considered.

Senels are basically councils for the army. I still hadn't figured out the details of the command structure, but I'd learned that the army had one Warlord, who had ten Warleaders under him.

Each Warleader had command of a section of the army, and additional duties as well. Simus had been Keir's Second, Iften his Third. Their ranks were determined through a series of combats, not necessarily by the Warlord's choice alone.

I glanced to the left of Keir's 'seat', where Simus would normally reign. I missed Simus. His laugh, his smile, his eyes gleaming in his dark face, his overwhelming confidence. As Keir's Second and as his friend, he'd sat at Keir's left hand in senels before this. But Simus had remained behind in Water's Fall with half of Keir's forces to secure and protect the City, and be Keir's voice in Council. I'd had one letter from Othur, the Warden I'd left in my place, which indicated that things were going well. Beneath Simus's smile and good humor was a man of honor and wisdom. I felt the lack of his presence and voice.

I looked back at the others milling about. I was familiar with a few of the warleaders already.

I'd met Sal when she'd come to me for advice on equipping the army and dealing with the Xyian merchants and traders. A stocky woman, with weathered skin and grey hair turned white by the sun, she loved to bargain for supplies. Yers, an average-sized man with brown hair and a crooked nose, had been Gils's Warleader, and had been involved when Gils had surprised everyone with his intentions of becoming my apprentice.

Iften made himself known by being rude and obnoxious, something he was skilled at. He'd shown early on that he despised me and all things Xyian, and didn't hesitate to voice his opposition to Keir at every opportunity.

I smiled to see Joden enter the area, and he smiled back. Joden was not a warleader, but was acknowledged as the potential Singer that he was.

The others I was less sure about.

"Isdra?"

"Warprize?" Isdra took a step forward and knelt by my side.

"Can I ask you about the warleaders, without bells?"

She chuckled, keeping her voice low. "Yes, Warprize. You know Yers, and?"

"Iften." We exchanged wry glances. "Sal, I've met before. She takes care of supplies for the army."

Isdra nodded. "Aret is standing with Iften." She was referring to a tall, thin woman with short, curly brown hair. "She's in charge of the horses, and the herds when in camp, seeing to their well-being. Yers has the training and discipline of young warriors. Iften is now Second, so the senior warriors are also in Yers's care."

Iften had that position because Simus of the Hawk had remained in Water's Fall.

Isdra continued. "Wesren is the warleader in charge of encampments, Ortis, the large man at the back, is charged with the scouts."

Wesren was a short, thick man with thick black hair and beard. Ortis was a huge, lumbering hulk with a shaved head. He made Wesren look like a boy.

"Uzaina and Tsor are warleaders in charge of the army when on the march. Uzaina takes the lead, Tsor works the rear."

I looked over, studying them. Tsor had skin the color of kavage with milk in it, and short black hair with traces of grey at the temples. Uzaina caught my eye, for she had her black hair in what looked like hundreds of small braids, each ending in a bead. They brushed her shoulders when she moved her head, making an odd clicking sound. Her skin was the color of dark amber, and the combination was very striking.

"So each has a duty beyond fighting. Right?" I asked.

"Yes. Except Seconds, who have the duties as the Warlord assigns. Duties do not change, ranking does. You understand? If Keir were to fall, skies forbid, Iften would lead."

"Become warlord?"

"No. That requires the Elders." Isdra made a slight snorting sound, which I interpreted to mean that event was unlikely.

Marcus approached, and frowned at Isdra.

Isdra made a face at him, but stood and stepped back, which seemed to appease him.

Marcus knelt to fill my cup. "Hisself will be here shortly."

I looked him in the eye. "And if it's true rebellion, Marcus?"

He shrugged. "It will be as it must." He rose, cutting off the conversation, and moved away.

I took a sip of kavage. Why would a village of farmers and their families defy the Warlord? Did they think to use pitchforks and hoes against him? It made no sense.

But then Xymund had shown me that there was little 'sense' to be had in war.