WarDance

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Haya snorted. “Seo will join us shortly. He is checking locations for our camp.”

  “Our weaponsmaster is here, too?” Joden blurted out, his dread clear.

  “You brought your thea camp to the Heart?” Simus asked with a strong sense of impending doom. “In the Spring?”

  “Yes.” Haya walked over to the tent flap. “We have much to discuss. Perhaps you will offer me the courtesy of your tent? Offer kavage?”

  Destal scrambled forward. “Allow me to see to your comfort, Elder Thea.”

  They both disappeared within Simus’s tent.

  Joden puffed out his cheeks and let his breath out slowly.

  Simus rolled his eyes. “Theas,” he whispered in resignation.

  Joden nodded.

  “Perhaps you’ll join me?” Haya’s raised voice came through the flap.

  They both hastened to obey.

  Snowfall glowered at Simus’s tent from her hiding place in the deep grass. Rare anger coursed through her; her tattoos tight and tense on her skin. She’d found the flaw, sure enough.

  Simus of the Hawk was an arrogant idiot.

  He’d walked into the challenge circle, acting all put-upon, like an arrogant fool. No warning, none of his people had checked, the man was blessed by the elements to be alive, much less the victor.

  He’d reacted quickly, and took his opponent down fast and hard, but still. He never should have entered the circle unprepared. Snowfall faulted him for that, but she also faulted his people. His Token-bearer especially.

  Snowfall had watched Simus fight, but she’d also watched her potential opponent in the ring. Destal was good, true, but not good enough. Snowfall looked forward to challenging her.

  Simus of the Hawk had no caution. He needed protection; needed someone to watch his back. Destal was not the one to do this. What would happen if he failed in this? How could the Plains unify under the Council of Elders if the fool got himself—

  The pounding of feet came at her and children ran past her, heedless of the tall grasses and established paths.

  Snowfall hunched down.

  The Heart was becoming too crowded, too difficult to travel even hidden. And now, with a thea camp added, well...

  She needed to retreat to her camp, but it would be best if she waited until the camp had settled and the sun was a bit further behind the horizon. She’d plenty to think on in the meantime.

  “Look deeper,” Wild Winds had said, and as was almost always the case, her master...her former master was right. There was more there than pomp and arrogance.

  He’d impressed her when he’d treated those young warriors with dignity, taking their oaths seriously, and welcoming them into his service.

  He’d impressed her more when the horses had arrived loaded with supplies—and those saddles. Skies above, Snowfall had never seen a new saddle before, only those looted or stolen at war. Certainly, she’d never had one. The warrior-priests took the best for themselves and the leavings were for those in training. But Simus hadn’t even blinked at new weapons, new saddles, and ordered them distributed to his people based on their needs.

  She had not expected such fairness from him.

  Voices were raised, calling the children to order, and back to their tents. Snowfall didn’t move; patience was a form of protection in and of itself.

  There was one more thing about Simus, and this one made Snowfall chew her lip and wish she could contact Wild Winds to talk of it with him.

  Simus of the Hawk had mourned a city-dweller.

  She would not have believed it if she hadn’t followed him, and seen with her own eyes. His words, his prayer, his tears all spoke of a great truth, that he had lost a friend.

  A city-dweller.

  Snowfall shivered, and then forced herself to concentrate on her power, flowing into the veil that kept her hidden.

  If Simus could mourn someone so different than a warrior of the Plains, then maybe...maybe he would listen to a warrior-priestess. Or whatever she was now.

  Snowfall swallowed hard and shoved the thought away. She didn’t even know herself, and that was terrifying and exciting at the same time and in the same breath.

  The area around her was clear enough. She started to crawl off, taking care to keep herself concealed.

  Time to prepare. She’d sharpen her knives, see to her meal and her rest, and then when dawn came—

  Let it be as the elements willed.

  “So you brought your thea camp to the Heart?” Simus asked again after they had settled within his tent, kavage and gurt all around. Haya had told them of her hostile encounter with Antas of the Boar. Weaponsmaster Seo had joined them, as had a Singer, one Quartis by name. Yers settled on a gurtle pad, eyeing Haya warily. Joden sat next to Simus, as silent as Simus had ever seen him.

  “I have,” Haya said.

  “The entire camp?”

  “All,” Haya confirmed calmly. “Down to the last newborn and gurtle in our herds.”

  “This is not wise, Haya,” Simus said, feeling like he was pointing out the obvious. “Live children around live steel? It is asking for trouble.”

  “Wise enough, young one, to take the action I must to protect what I have sworn to shelter.”

  “But I can’t offer—”

  “You can and you will.” Haya held up her mug for more kavage. Destal moved hastily to fill it. “For isn’t that the truth of your message? That you and Keir will protect the children? Provide a better future for them?”

  “I—” Simus had no answer for that. “The thea camps have always protected themselves well enough.”

  “Do not challenge your thea’s decision,” Seo growled.

  Simus rubbed his hands over his face. “Elder Thea—” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

  “It is clear to me that Antas is a threat,” Haya said. “The added strength of your warriors combined with mine will see to it that he makes no moves. That, and the nearness of the Council.”

  “The Council of Elders in the Spring is not attended by the theas,” Joden said carefully.

  Haya shrugged, as if that was a matter of no importance.

  Yers chimed in. “We could widen the perimeter of the camp and bring the children within its circle. The herds could remain outside, under guard.”

  “I do not think Antas seeks the animals,” Seo said firmly. “He seeks control of the thea camp itself.”

  “Spread the word among my warriors that children roam the camp,” Simus said to Yers. “Warn them, or else that Pive might not be so lucky the second time.” He offered Haya a smile. “That one will be a Warlord someday.”

  “If she survives bearing five children,” Haya said starkly. “Survives the pain that is a life-bearer’s to bear.”

  Simus went silent for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “I do,” Haya said. “Every day. For they are my charges. Why do you think that Reness supports these ideas of yours and Keir’s? Because theas know the true price in death that the Plains pay.”

  “There is a healer here,” Simus said. “Sent from Xy. With supposedly the same skills as the Warprize.”

  “Ah.” Haya nodded. “I have heard much of the healing skills of the Warprize. I will have words with this healer. In the meantime, I’ve a camp to see to.” She rose to her feet, Seo and Quartis following her example. “And you’ve a title to win, Simus of the Hawk. See to it that you rest well this night. And have the healer see to that injury you are trying to hide.”

  With that she was gone, Seo and Quartis after her.

  In the morning, Simus felt worse than he had the night before, but that was to be expected with such bruising.

  Yers and Destal raised their challenge banners at dawn, but Simus sent for the healer, drank the bitter tea he made, rubbed on an ointment that smelt of mint, and squirmed back into his pallet for another hour or so. Warlord’s privilege, he thought drowsily to himself as he faded back off to sleep.

  Only to awak
en to a commotion of angry and bitter words from a gathering crowd outside his tent. He grumbled as he pulled on trous and his armor, stomped into boots and burst from his tent into their midst.

  “What now?” Simus roared, silencing the crowd with his outburst. “Are horses demanding to speak truths at a senel? Are the skies falling? Or rain falling up?”

  “She offers challenge!” Destal was in Simus’s face, enraged. “To me! For Token-bearer!”

  “Who?” Simus demanded.

  “I do,” a cool voice answered him.

  Simus looked over—

  —to find Snowfall standing in the center of the challenge circle, her grey eyes cool and collected, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The uproar was getting louder and intense and drawing even more attention. Everyone around them had an opinion, and wished to be heard.

  Snowfall stood in the center of the challenge circle, ignoring it all, her calm gaze focused on Simus. The morning sun made her sweet brown skin glow bronze. She stood with her hip cocked to one side, two oddly crooked long-knives belted at her waist. She had abandoned the traditional dress of a warrior-priestess. She still wore leather trous, but her chest was covered by a sleeveless leather corselet that laced up the front. Her shoulders were bare, but for the tattoos that capped them. There was a tightness in those muscular shoulders, but Simus couldn’t fault her for that.

  Destal was screaming at the woman, standing at the edge of the circle. “You dare? You, who have never done service under a Warlord? Never seen battle? Never taken oaths of service?” She put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I am going to thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

  “You may try.” Snowfall shrugged, as if it was of no matter.

  Destal bared her teeth and started to pull her blade.

  “SILENCE,” Simus bellowed.

  Everyone froze, jaws snapping shut mid-word.

  “Sit, all of you,” Simus ordered.

  He was obeyed, everyone sitting, cross-legged, sorting themselves out as the crowd settled. Snowfall still stood, facing him. But Simus noted that she glanced around as those closest to her eased down to the ground, and some of the tautness left her.

  Some, not all. She was right to be wary. None of his people had any love for warrior-priests.

  Yers and Joden both appeared, threaded their way through the crowd and sat closest to Simus. Simus gave them each a nod, but stood silent until he was sure he had everyone’s attention.

  “Warrior-priestess Snowfall, what in the name of skies do you do here?” Simus asked mildly.

  She didn’t change her stance, just lifted that heart-shaped chin a little and met his eye.

  “I offer challenge to Destal for the right to serve as your Token-bearer.”

  Those grey eyes still had hidden depths, but this was far more at stake here than a sharing of bodies. Whether she knew it or not, Snowfall had presented him with a decision that would test his leadership as Warlord.

  “You cannot.” Simus kept his voice at a moderate tone. “Before you can offer challenge for Token-bearer, you must first offer me your sword. You have not.”

  “I would do so,” Snowfall responded.

  Simus narrowed his gaze at her. “You cannot. You are under oath to Wild Winds.”

  “I am not.” Snowfall glanced to the north and Simus saw a flash of pain deep in her grey eyes before she turned her attention back to him. “Wild Winds has released me from his service.”

  A murmur of surprise rose around them, and Simus found himself almost without words. “Why would he do that?”

  Snowfall drew in a deep breath. “Wild Winds says we, the warrior-priests, are no longer what we were, and in what we were, we erred. That we, the warrior-priests, must become other than what we were and are, and yes, while I know that his words are cryptic, more I cannot say. I am—” She paused. “I was his student in-training. His thoughts are beyond my full understanding.”

  Joden stood and looked to Simus for permission. At Simus’s nod, he addressed Snowfall. “You understand if you give Warlord Simus your oath and lose the challenge to be his Token-bearer, you are still bound to serve him? The oath binds you, even in defeat,” Joden pointed out. “You understand this?”

  “I do,” Snowfall said. “If it cannot be that I serve as Token-bearer, still I have a place within this camp and duties of service owed to the Warlord.”

  “You’ll be given scut work,” Destal snarled from where she sat. “The newest of the new will rank above you and—”

  “Destal,” Simus warned.

  Destal stood and appealed to Simus. “Warlord, she has no skills.”

  “I served Wild Winds in the same office,” Snowfall said. “There is no difference with a Warlord, surely. Pots must still be cleaned and linens washed.”

  A faint murmur of amusement washed through the crowd. At Simus’s gesture, Destal sat down with a huff.

  “With respect, Warlord,” Yers rose to his feet. “She knows nothing of our ways, never having served within an army. And she and her kind are not to be trusted.”

  “You do not hold my token.” Snowfall’s voice was cold. “And your words are offensive.”

  “Warrior-priests offer no tokens.” Yers didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on Simus.

  “I do and I will,” Snowfall said, pulling out a square of red silk. “Wild Winds gave it to me, saying that I would have a need.”

  Simus stood, shaking his head. “I do not understand this.” He gestured toward her and the challenge circle. “Why would you do this?”

  “Do you doubt my oaths, once given?” Snowfall asked, twisting the silk in her hands, the first sign of worry he’d seen in her.

  “No,” he said slowly. “I would have no doubt of oaths given to me, for they will be taken before the elements for all the skies to see.” He smiled slightly. “But you must admit, Snowfall, that this is not a path taken by a warrior-priestess before.”

  “I am not a warrior-priestess.” Snowfall’s face didn’t change, but there was a sadness in her tone. “Wild Winds says that we are not what we were, so we must become what we are. I will swear an oath to you for this season, and then I will contest for Token-bearer. What happens after that is only for the skies to know.

  “But this I do know. A leather belt does not re-stitch itself together. If I am silent, who will speak to mend the mistakes of the past?” Snowfall spread her hands out. “If I do not speak of peace and understanding, if I do not reach out to bridge the gap between what we were and what we will become, who will?”

  Simus’s stomach clenched, thinking of another who’d spoken of peace and died for it. At least Snowfall had the good sense to have a weapon at hand.

  A cough drew his attention to the back of the crowd, where Lander and Ouse, the first warriors to pledge to him, were rising to their feet. They each looked at the other, then Ouse nudged Lander’s shoulder. “Warlord,” Lander’s voice cracked nervously.

  “Speak,” Simus said.

  “We told you of our part in the journey of the Sacrifice,” Lander said. “This warrior-priestess, she was the one who came to the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer and offered herself as hostage to them.” He stood a little straighter and his voice grew stronger. “She came unarmed, and was true to her oaths with us, Warlord. We would speak for her.”

  Simus gestured, and everyone resumed their seats. The challenge banners flapped in the morning breeze, and Simus raised his eyes to the skies and considered. Was she to be trusted?

  The skies held no answers. It was up to him to decide.

  He chose to trust.

  He lowered his gaze back to the waiting crowd. “I will accept your oath, Snowfall.”

  There were gasps, then silence as she pulled her blades, knelt before him and swore her oath.

  “My first command is that you are to use none of your powers without my knowledge and permission.”

  That got him a startled glance of
grey eyes that fell away, hidden under dark lashes. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. There was a long pause before she spoke.

  “I obey, Warlord.” Snowfall rose to her feet in one swift, graceful move.

  “Further,” Simus said, “you may challenge for Token-bearer.”

  Destal leapt to her feet, snarling. “I will kill you, bragnect.”

  “It is not my wish that you kill her, Destal,” Simus said calmly.

  “Is that an order, Warlord?” Destal snapped.

  “It is if it needs to be,” Simus replied coolly.

  Destal glanced at his face and looked away. “That will not be necessary, Warlord.”

  “Quartis, will you judge?” Simus asked the Singer.

  “It would be my honor,” Quartis responded quickly.

  “Whoever wins should serve me my kavage,” Simus announced, turned, and went into his tent. The roar behind him indicated that the crowd was on its feet and had already chosen sides.

  The clamor almost drowned out the voices of Yers, Joden, and Seo as they followed him within.

  “What are you thinking?” Yers demanded.

  “Haya will not be pleased,” Seo announced as they moved further into the depths of the tent, the better to hear one another. “She bears no love for warrior-priests.”

  “Where is the Elder Thea?” Simus asked.

  Seo beamed, his tanned face turning into a mass of wrinkles. “She’s trying to pry knowledge from that healer. She knows no Xyian, so he keeps speaking louder and slower as Cadr tries to translate. It’s going like a grassfire. I suspect that Haya may burst from sheer frustration.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Yers demanded again. “She is one of them.”

  Simus sat on his gurtle pad at the head of the room. “I doubt she will survive the challenges. But if she does, as a warrior under my command she is a valuable source of knowledge about the warrior-priests, and she is sworn to my service.” Simus raised his eyes to Yers. “And you forget yourself.”

  Yers drew a deep breath, clearly calming himself. “Warlord, I would be doing less than my duty to you if I did not point out that you are making a mistake. You yourself reminded us that the position held by Marcus is not the traditional role of a Token-bearer. You would have her speak for you? A warrior-priestess?”