Warsworn

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “Not long.” Keir answered.

  “You think.” Marcus knelt and started to unlace Keir’s boot. He pulled off the boot with a jerk, letting Keir’s foot fall to the floor. “You’ve been working yourself ragged for days. Who’s to say how long?”

  Prest spoke from behind us. “I’ll wake Gils.”

  “Iften must be told as well.” Keir’s voice was rough. I looked at him in horror, but he frowned at me. “With Simus gone, he is Second. He will have command.”

  With a nod, Prest left the tent.

  “Should have killed him when he challenged.” Marcus grumbled, working at the other boot.

  “Who’s to say that would have been best?” Keir sighed and closed his eyes. I moved closer and placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me. “Lara, I heard. About the babe.” His eyes crinkled slightly in the corners. “So now you raise the dead?”

  I shook my head, choking on my tears. How could he jest when—

  Keir continued, clearing his throat, trying to strengthen his voice. “We must discuss what happens in the event that—”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you.” I snapped, cutting him off. “If Meara can live through this, you can.”

  Keir chuckled at that, but I wasn’t laughing. My fingers trembled as I unbuckled his armor.

  “The best of warlords plan for all possibilities.” He paused for a moment, gathering strength. “I will plan for the worst, yes? Then it will not happen.”

  I pulled his tunic over his head. His head emerged, that dark hair all rumpled and mussed. I ran my fingers through it, feeling the heat of his damp scalp. He grabbed my hand and held it to his cheek. “If it turns to the worst, I want you to leave this camp before I draw my last breath.”

  “I will not leave you.” I whispered.

  “Stubborn. So very stubborn.” He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his cheek against my palm.

  “Your head hurts.” I leaned forward, seeing the pain in the lines etched on his face. He murmured agreement softly.

  “We’ll get you into bed and get you some sleepease. It will help with the headache.”

  “Not until I have spoken with Iften and Isdra.” Keir tried to raise himself up, to help Marcus remove his trous, but his arms trembled with the effort. Marcus made no comment, merely went about his business. When all was done, I lifted the bedding and Keir settled back, his hands reaching to place his weapons at hand.

  Before I could say anything, Marcus covered Keir’s hand with his own. Keir’s face held a particular look of pain as he realized what had to be done. Marcus murmured something I didn’t catch, and Keir seemed reassured, pulling his hand away from the swords. Those blue eyes, cloudy with fever, watched as Marcus left the tent.

  Keir looked at me with a grimace. “You must restrain me.”

  I sat at the side of the bed, and put the back of my hand against his forehead. The heat was starting to rise. “Not just yet, Keir.”

  Keir brought one bare arm out from under the covers and curled it around me, trying to pull me down onto his chest. I went willingly, taking comfort from his closeness.

  “So. You are cursed.”

  The smug voice came from behind us. I turned my head to see Iften standing there behind me, Isdra and Gils just visible behind him. Isdra was glaring at the back of Iften’s head, and Gils did not appear to be pleased with him either. I stood slowly, feeling uneasy with my back to the man. Iften stood there and oozed his glee, making no secret of his pleasure at Keir’s condition.

  Keir had his eyes closed, his hair plastered to his head. He didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Iften. You have command until I am through this.”

  “But not the tent.” Marcus growled as he entered from his quarters, bring a bucket of cold water, and cloths.

  Iften shot him a hateful look. “As if I need the tent, crip—” He cut himself off, then—pasted a satisfied smile on his face. “Have no fear, Warlord. I will summon the warleaders and inform them of this.” He turned, and moved to push past Isdra.

  “Hold, Iften.” I snapped. How dare he treat Keir that way?

  Iften stopped, then turned slowly. “Yes?”

  “You may summon them, but I will speak to them for Keir.”

  Iften’s brown eyes flashed. “I am Second.”

  I drew myself up straight, and gave him a glare right back. “I am the Warprize, Iften.”

  Iften’s eyes were filled with hate, but he bowed his head, turned and left, pushing past the others.

  “May the elements afflict him.” Marcus muttered.

  Isdra nodded her agreement as she and Gils entered. Gils was fumbling in his satchel, pulling out the items that we would need.

  “This is not an affliction. Or a curse.” I reminded him gently. “It’s an illness.” The cold cloth in my hand, I sat back down and began to wipe Keir’s brow.

  Keir turned his head and opened his eyes to look at me, catching my hand. “Singers will praise my Warprize for a thousand years to come.” His eyes were shining with the fever.

  Guilt rose in my breast. It was more likely I’d be known as the woman who killed an entire village and army with her arrogance and pride. “No. No, they won’t.”

  Gils handed me the cup with the dose of sleepease, but Keir pushed it away, and turned to Isdra. “I have no right to ask this of you, but I am going to. Not as Warlord, but as a friend. Please—”

  “There is no need to ask.” Isdra cut him off, putting her hand on her sword hilt. “I will see her safe before I go to the snows.”

  “As will I.” Marcus added.

  “As will I.” Gils echoed, his voice cracking. Keir looked at him oddly. “No, Warlord, I do understand. Better than you think.”

  Keir nodded. “My thanks.” Nothing more was said, but I let my confusion go as Keir reached for the cup with shaking hands. I helped him, and he drank it quickly, grimacing at the taste. Something about that teased at my memory as he smiled at me and spoke.

  “I will fight this.”

  The bile rose in my throat as he repeated Epor’s very words. I jerked my head up, meeting Isdra’s eyes, which held the same horror that mine did. But the others did not know and I managed to control my face before they could see.

  Keir was relaxing, letting the sleepease do its work. “Warprize.”

  I leaned over him. “Keir?”

  “As Warlord, and Overlord of Xy, I command your obedience to my will. Return to Water’s Fall.”

  I lowered my lips to his ear. “My heart’s fire, there is only one way to make me obey your command.”

  He turned his head slightly, his eyes unfocused. But I could see the question in his eyes.

  “Live.”

  That heady feeling of command that I’d had a few days before had been replaced with bone-chilling terror. The warleaders, or their representatives, were looking to me to make decisions that affected an entire army. I felt the weight of that responsibility press down on me, knowing for the first time the burden Keir carried with him every day. I’d asked Joden to attend as well, hoping that his presence would help. But he stood to the side, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground before him.

  The wind blew my hair into my face, and I pulled it back with one hand. We were outside the command tent, standing in a loose circle, as many as could gather. Iften stood to the side. Prest was behind me, as was Isdra. I’d insisted that we meet here, because I didn’t want Keir disturbed, nor did I want him to try to participate. He needed every bit of strength to fight his battles with the sickness. Marcus remained with Keir.

  I was frozen with fear, standing before them. My teeth wanted to worry my lower lip, but I stopped myself. I needed to be confident and strong before these warleaders. Or, at least, to look the part. Why hadn’t I asked Marcus who to trust, or paid more attention during the senels Keir had called?

  I’d managed to convince the Council of Xy that being Warprize was best for my country and myself. But I’d understood the motives and desire
s of the Council members, and managed to learn enough, fast enough, to make a strong argument. But I felt lost in this military setting. What did I know about the command structure, or who did what? I cursed myself for a fool, and vowed to pay more attention in the future.

  If I had a future.

  A mug of kavage was placed in my hand. All had been served, and now all eyes turned toward me as silence fell. Blessed Goddess, please help me.

  I’d start where Keir would start. “The Warlord has taken ill.” No looks of surprise on any face, so I took a breath and continued. “So let us consider the status of the army and what needs to be done. Where is Sal?”

  A woman took a step forward and inclined her head to me. “Warprize, -Sal has been ill. She is in the coughing stage and sends her regrets. I am Telsi. Supplies are holding, although I fear we’ve come very close to stripping the area.”

  She started to go into detail, and I blessed the precious moments it gave me to think. I looked casually about, but I couldn’t seem to remember anything about anyone. A sense of panic rose, then in my mind’s eye I saw Master Eln, standing in his still room, stirring a pot. “If the Kingdom were ill, what would you do?”

  “What?”

  “If the kingdom were to somehow stumble into the clinic, weak and ill, what would you do first?”

  I’d look at the symptoms and diagnose. I blinked, thinking it through. I’d determine the extent and the nature of the illness and I’d cure it.

  I shifted my gaze to the side where Iften stood, a smug look on his face. No doubt there, of all the warleaders he was the sickest, his hatred of Keir an oozing, pus-filled wound. Wesren stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. He had the illness as well, but not quite as bad. It was more like Wesren agreed with everything Iften said, instead of opposing Keir.

  Something eased in my chest. I could do this.

  Telsi was finishing her report. “We will be fine for at least a few more days, but Sal asks that you advise when she can send out hunting parties further afield.”

  “My thanks, Telsi.” I said, and she inclined her head with a smile. I decided to treat that as a sign of support, and took strength from that.

  Aret took a step forward, and inclined her head. “The herds of horses are well, Warprize, and have plenty of feed and water. We’ve watched them carefully. There’s been no sign that the ‘illness’ has touched them.”

  I smiled at her, but she merely inclined her head again and stepped back. I’d take that for a neutral position. I was glad to hear her report; it hadn’t occurred to me to worry about the horses but it made me feel good to know that Keir’s black and my brown were safe.

  Wesren stepped forward, and spoke rapidly, without looking at me. “The encampment has been maintained as well as can be expected, but I fear problems if we remain for much longer.” He stepped back, and darted a glance to Iften, seeking approval.

  No surprise there, he was firmly mired with Iften.

  Ortis stepped forward, and inclined his head. His voice rumbled as he spoke. “My scouts are pulled in, as ordered, and we keep watch at the perimeter. There have been no problems, and no sightings of any potential enemy.”

  I remembered him from Meara’s ceremony and hoped I didn’t imagine the look of support on his face as he stepped back.

  Uzaina and Tsor stood, and they both glanced at Iften before Tsor stepped forward to speak. “There is little to report, Warprize, since our duties involve the army on the march.” Tsor looked at Uzaina, who shrugged. “We’ve been helping with the sick at the shore.”

  I nodded to them both, and Tsor stepped back. I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling that they were both waiting before making a decision. Why show support for Keir if he was dying? I swallowed hard.

  Yers spoke then, stepping forward and inclining his head. “The warriors are maintaining discipline—”

  “For now.” Iften interrupted.

  Yers glared, but I spoke first. “Then let us continue on as we have. Keir will be well within a few days.”

  “And if he is not?” Iften asked smoothly.

  I ignored him. “I will see to Keir, with Marcus’s help. Gils will see to the rest of the sick. Come to me with any questions, but I will give my attention to Keir.”

  “What a surprise, that you will ignore the others for the Warlord.”

  I focused on the others as Iften spoke. For the most part, it seemed I was right in my diagnosis. Telsi, Yers and Ortis scowled at Iften’s words, but Wesren, Uzaina and Tsor were clearly considering their import. Aret had an odd look on her face, as if undecided.

  I wanted to slap that smug look right off Iften, and make him take back every oily, ugly word. Thank the Goddess Marcus was inside with Keir. He’d have had his daggers plunged into the man’s chest. I held my temper hard, biting the inside of my cheek. “I ignore no one. He is the Warlord, and I am his Warprize. My place is at his side.”

  “Warprize only so long as he lives, Xyian.”

  All in attendance stiffened at the insult, but I ignored it. “You are Second, Iften. But I am the Warprize.”

  He bowed that handsome blonde head, smirk firmly in place. “As you say, Xyian. But as Second, I shall return to my tent and keep myself from the contagion that you have brought among us. So that when a leader is needed, I will be ready.” He turned and walked away without another word.

  Silence fell as he moved off. The warleaders exchanged glances, but I’d learned one thing from Keir. I cut off any comment and dismissed them. “Thank you all for your reports. I will send word when Keir has recovered.”

  There was a pause at that, and I waited a breath, but then Aret moved, returned her mug, and left. The others followed suit, leaving Joden and Yers standing before me. Gils popped out of the tent, so quickly that I suspected he’d been listening.

  Isdra was focused on Iften, seen disappearing into his tent. “That one dares much, with Keir unable to silence him.”

  Gils jutted out his jaw. “I’s think he denies the Warprize, yet uses her medicines secretly.”

  “Yet, is it not true that we need a leader to be healthy, and stay ready to lead?” Joden asked. “If Keir dies, we will need someone to lead this army.”

  Yers gave him a searching look. “You side with Iften?”

  Joden sighed deeply. “I have no love of Iften. But don’t let your bias against him blind you to his actions. Perhaps what he is doing is a wise precaution, given the way things are.”

  The way things are. From where we stood, I had a clear view of the lake shore. People being immersed in the water in a desperate attempt to bring down their fevers. I watched for a moment, then asked a question I didn’t really want an answer to.

  “How goes it?” I asked, turning my head to focus on Gils.

  Gils shifted his weight nervously, adjusting the strap of his satchel, looking everywhere but at me.

  “The truth, Gils.” I said.

  “Tell her.” Yers said.

  Gils sighed. “The deaths continue. About one dead for every ten sick.”

  I lifted my eyes in the direction of the village, where black smoke rose into the sky. One for every ten, in an army of thousands.

  “But, Warprize, I’s thinking that there are fewer new sick in the last few hours.” Gils spoke quickly, trying to offer reassurance.

  Yers nodded. “I agree. And the warriors are all cooperating to aid the sick. We will fight on, Warprize.”

  “Joden,” I turned to the large man, his broad face grim and unsmiling. “Would you continue Keir’s work with the army? Keeping their spirits and minds focused as he did?”

  Joden was silent for a moment, staring at the shoreline. He spoke, but would not meet my eyes. “I would decline, Warprize. My place is to assist with the dead.”

  “I will take up that task, Warprize.” Yers covered an awkward silence with his words. “It should be mine anyway, since I am now Keir’s Third.”

  I nodded, then watched as they both walked off. Not once did Jod
en look at me.

  “I’s never thought I’d witness anything like this.” Gils’s voice brought me back.

  “It only happens once in a lifetime.” I responded.

  “Once in a lifetime will be enough, Warprize.” Gils heaved a deep sigh, then adjusted the strap of his satchel. He looked me up and down with concern. “See that you eat and rest, Warprize.”

  Prest snorted and I laughed out loud at the gangly lad with his red curls, freckles and oh-so-serious face who stood before me, looking offended. It seemed he was trying to sound like Marcus. My apprentice, who learned so much so fast in the short time we’d been together. He’d grown before my eyes, older suddenly, with an air of confidence that he hadn’t had before. “I will, Gils.”

  “See that you do.” He huffed.

  “I promise.”

  He grinned then, like the boy he was.

  “Prest, I want you to help Gils. Be sure to check on Rafe.”

  Prest frowned at me.

  “You’ll do more good among the sick. Isdra and Marcus will aid me.”

  Prest gave one of his shrugs in response. “Very well, Warprize. Call if you need aid.”

  Marcus and I had our work cut out for us. With Keir, the fever took hold, built and then broke, each time worse than the last. We knew the time was coming when he’d have to be restrained, but we both put off the moment, delaying it as much for our sakes as for his. Isdra said nothing, but I saw that she’d prepared leather straps, setting them out of Keir’s sight, but where she could get to them quickly.

  The sweat poured off Keir. I gave up changing the linens, and concentrated on wiping down his chest and limbs, trying to keep the fever down as much as I could. Instead of rose oil, I used my precious vanilla. More for myself than for Keir’s comfort. The rose oil brought back too many memories of my father’s illness and death. The vanilla offered better comfort, and as rare as it was, I could think of no better use.

  “I first saw you in the garden.” His voice whispered into my ear.