Warsworn

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  I stood, and watched her take up her position outside by the fire, then I turned listlessly to plop down on a stump, facing the tables with their various bottles and jars. The kavage was bitter in my mouth. But the ache in my chest grew until the grief and the guilt welled up, and fat tears started to fall, hard and fast.

  I moved, pulled the flaps down and tied them closed. I had enough sense to wrap a strip of bells in one of the ties. I wanted no visitors, well or ill.

  Stumbling, I crossed to the stump furthest from the door, and sat down. Through my tears, I reached for some cloths and buried my face in them. I didn’t want anyone to hear, or know. The material stifled my sobs, and I let go, releasing all the pain. I hunched over as my shoulders shook, and I cried.

  I wanted Anna, wanted home, wanted Father. It was a true pain, deep in my chest, the longing to run home. I should never have left those safe walls, never stumbled out on the road after Keir. It was all my fault, all of it, and the pain of that truth cramped my heart and closed my throat.

  I pulled the cloths back just enough to suck in a deep breath, rocking a bit to ease my anguish. But the pain and horror of Epor’s final breath wouldn’t let me go, and I pressed the damp cloths against my face and moaned.

  Why had I insisted that I enter the village? Why had I let Epor and Isdra go with me? My arrogance was to blame, for his death and all the others that lay burning in the ashes of the village.

  It seemed as if nothing was right. Everything was tinged with a deep blackness, and I could see no hope. There was despair everywhere I looked, or turned my head, and nothing I could do would solve anything. In fact, my actions seemed only to make things worse.

  Meara, that sweet child, almost lost to us in a breath, her cold toes in the palm of my hand. Gils, oh, Gils, had I ever told him how proud I was of him? He’d collapsed at my feet, convulsing helplessly, and nothing in my power could save him. Oh, they’d been right to grant mercy, and maybe that was the only cure for my pain, for I knew of no other way to end my sorrow and grief.

  All the dead, offered up in flames on the ruined village, hundreds of men and women. All taken by a disease that I was powerless to stop, for all the talk of my so-called skills of healing.

  Now Iften was stronger, much stronger in his actions against change, for he had new support, including Joden. For Joden had lost faith, in me, in Keir, in the elements themselves.

  He wasn’t going to call me Warprize any more.

  My stomach clenched in a knot and I swallowed hard. I’d complained about everyone using the title but Joden had been one of the first to call me that after Keir claimed me. For him to renounce me hurt terribly. And I’d poured out all my petty fears and problems in Joden’s, exposing myself to him. How would he use that? To hurt Keir? To hurt me? And Keir . . .

  A decimated army, his warleaders turned against him, his plans for the future in ashes around us, I wouldn’t blame Keir if he turned his back on me in anger. The depression crashed down on me and I pressed the sodden cloth even harder against my face and wailed.

  Oh Goddess, why had I lied to him?

  He’d never forgive me for that, never. How could he, in the face of the damage I’d done to his people?

  To us?

  There’d be consequences, seen and unseen. Nothing I could do would bring back my friends, or repair the damage I’d created. I shook with sobs that I couldn’t stop. I’d lied and everything had gone so very, very wrong . . .

  It was the touch of a callused hand on mine, gently tugging the cloths away from my face that brought me back. I knew it was Keir even as he knelt by my side, by his touch, by the spicy scent of his skin. I couldn’t look, couldn’t raise my swollen eyes to his face. For I knew what I would see there, knew what I deserved. Anger, contempt—at the very least he’d hate me for all that had happened.

  I sat, shivering, trying to stop crying, looking at my lap where his hand covered mine. He said nothing, and I tried to get my ragged breathing under control, to face the disgust that I’d see in those wonderful blue eyes. If I was lucky he’d just go away and leave me to drown in my despair.

  But those strong fingers moved and lifted my chin and I raised my gaze to face my Warlord.

  12

  What I found was understanding and love in those bright blue eyes.

  I broke into fresh sobs, and threw myself into his arms. Keir drew me close, pulling me to his chest with strong arms and allowing me to cling like a child. As I wept, he rocked me, drumming my back gently with his hand, which made me cry that much harder.

  “I’m so sorry, so sorry . . .” I snuffled my nose, and tried to breathe but I could only gasp out the words. “It’s all my fault that—”

  “Hush.” Keir stroked my back even as he pulled his cloak around us. The warmth of his body enfolded me and I sagged into his strength, continuing to cry.

  Keir held me for long moments, then pulled away, stepping to the tent entrance. He closed it again, entwining more privacy bells into the ties. He returned to my side, coaxed me down to the pallet, and proceeded to wrap us in blankets, covering us with his cloak. With soft, comforting sounds, he arranged us so I was cradled in his grasp, supported by arms and legs. The bedding started to warm around us, and I finally caught my breath. He wiped the tears from my face with his hands. I lay silent, within his protection, and felt my body loosen and relax against his.

  I breathed deep, taking in the scents of the stilltent, and the spicy smell of his skin. The warmth of his body was a comfort and I let him support me, feeling my bones melt under his touch. He murmured something about the elements, but what he said didn’t matter. What meant more was his touch, his strength, his love, all pouring into me without a single word. Just the sound of his heart beating under my ear, and the feel of his breath on my skin was enough.

  His fingers started to work their way through my hair, gently carding out the snarls and tangles.

  “You broke the bells.” I kept my face buried in the blankets as he continued to stroke my hair.

  “I did.”

  “Isn’t that rude?” My breath hitched as I knotted my fists in the blankets.

  “Yes.” His voice was the barest whisper. “But I’ll let nothing stand between me and my Warprize.”

  Another sob escaped me. His hands shifted and he rubbed my back, soothing me. I lay silent, trying to collect my scattered wits. I could hear the faint sounds of the camp around us, but I didn’t care. Didn’t want to care. I was so tired.

  “Talk to me, Lara.” Keir’s voice was deep and soothing and brought fresh tears to my eyes. I let them come, not trying to suppress my sorrow.

  “It’s all so horrible, the sickness, so many dead and Epor, oh Keir—” I gasped for breath, and pulled my head back to look him in the eyes. “Isdra’s pain is so deep. And Gils, he was just a child, he tried so hard and he’s—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “I keep seeing him convulse, and the dagger—” I wailed, burying my face in his tunic. “Goddess help me, and so much worse, I lied to you, Keir. I didn’t tell—”

  His fingers covered my lips and I cried until I was exhausted, so tired, my head pounding, my nose so clogged I couldn’t breathe. His leather armor was smooth under my cheek, and I was sure I was getting it messy with my blubbering. Keir seemed not to care, but I did. I forced my head up, trying to ease out of comfort I had no right to. “It’s all my fault, Keir.”

  He didn’t let me out of his arms. His long arm snaked out of our cocoon and grabbed up a clean cloth. He held it out to me. “Blow.”

  I obeyed, and used the cloth to clean my face and wipe my eyes. He tossed it off to the side and brought his arm back into the warmth to hold me. His breath was sweet and warm on my cheek. The ache in my heart eased slightly, within the shelter of the bedding.

  “So.” His voice was a soft whisper. “You are responsible for all? The illness? The deaths?”

  I closed my eyes and nodded.

  “How so?”

  I opened my e
yes, to look into the calm blue of his. “I shouldn’t have insisted that I enter the village. Shouldn’t have lied to you about the waiting period.” I swallowed hard, and forced the truth out. “Shouldn’t have thought I could deal with the plague on my own.”

  He shifted then, arranging us so that he was on his back, allowing me to curl at his side. Once we were settled again, he sighed. “You are not the only warrior to take on overwhelming odds.”

  I lay my head on his chest.

  “Maybe you are right, Lara. On the other hand, maybe the enemy was among us, silent and invisible even as we argued over what actions to take. The wind blows, and no one can hinder it or dictate its path. If I had overruled you . . . if we had sent messages back and continued on, we may have taken the enemy into the Plains . . . who can say?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Such slight shoulders to take on the weight of all our sorrows.” Keir paused for a moment. “Think on this. What would have happened had you not been here, and we’d no warning, no lessons in illness? If Gils had not listened and learned so well?”

  I thought for a moment, then answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

  “That is the hardest truth of all, Lara. That we do not know what might have been or what could have been. We only know what is.” His arms tightened slightly. “I say to you this truth—that all our actions, all of them, led us to this place and no one person bears the blame.”

  “Joden and Iften blame—”

  “Iften would name the grass red if I called it green.” Keir heaved a sigh. “Joden has come to me in honor and spoken his truths. He is a man that I respect and I must hear him and consider his words carefully. He must make his own decisions and come to his own conclusions.”

  I rubbed my gritty eyes, and lay my head back down on his chest. “I don’t understand, Keir. How can Joden support Iften?”

  Keir snorted. “Joden does not support Iften, Lara. Joden opposes me. There is a difference.”

  “There is?”

  Keir’s hand caressed my hair again, long, slow strokes. “Iften tries to undermine my authority, working in the darkness to turn my warleaders and my army against me. He treads a fine line, trying to provoke me into something stupid. Joden’s opposition is honest and true, in the open for the skies to see.”

  I drew a breath. “Xymund would have killed Iften.”

  That brought a chuckle from my Warlord. “Your brother did not listen to the counsels of men of wisdom. He listened only to those who agreed with him. A fatal flaw in a leader. We of the Plains do not silence our opponents, for they keep us strong. It is the stone against the blade that hones the edge. A good leader does not silence those in opposition; they listen and consider. Sometimes they are right, yes?” Keir settled himself a bit more comfortably in our bed. “Joden will tell me his truths and I will listen.”

  “Keir—”

  “I am disappointed that you hid the truth from me, before you entered the village.”

  My breath hitched in muted sobs, my tears returned, and I raised my head to look at him, opening my mouth to respond. But Keir shook his head, stopping my words. “I am also disappointed in myself—that you thought it necessary. That is my failure.”

  He drew me in closer, and pressed my head to his shoulder. “Your brother’s lies almost destroyed us, but we won through together. We will work our way though this as well. Although I confess that I did not think you one to manipulate people in such a way.”

  My throat was tight, but I managed a whisper. “I thought I was doing what was best.”

  “For our people, perhaps. But not for us. For what lies between us.” Keir sighed, hugging me tight. “Marcus warned me of this. Told me that bonding was harder than I realized, more effort than ‘throwing a woman over your shoulder and claiming her’.”

  I nodded. “Epor said the same. He told me that you were ‘due my first thought’. Keir,” I strained my voice, trying to convince him with all of my heart, “I promise I will nev—”

  “No.” Keir shook his head. “Trust is not so easy to mend. It will take time and deeds on both our parts, eh?”

  I hugged him, nodding my head. My sorrow was still there, but there was a spark of hope as well.

  “Let us pledge that we will have faith in each other.” Keir continued. “That will see us through.”

  “Oh yes, my Keir.” I kissed him softly, and nuzzled his ear. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my palm. Wrapped in those blankets, both of us fully clothed, I some how felt more intimate with him than if we’d been naked. “I could stay like this forever.” I whispered.

  “So could I.” He whispered back. “Sometimes, I think of us taking two horses and riding away, as far and as fast as we can.”

  Surprised, I studied his face. He returned the look steadily. “We could run, Lara. Far and fast and free, with only the skies as a witness. We’d have each other, no worries beyond our own needs, no burdens, no—”

  “No Iftens?”

  “No Iftens.” He growled. “It would be perfect.”

  “It would be.”

  He heaved a sigh, and we lay in silence for some time, until I shifted slightly and spoke into his ear. “But that is not who you are, Keir of the Cat, Warlord of the Plains.”

  I felt his head move, nodding his agreement. “It is not who you are either, Xylara, Daughter of Xy and Master Healer.”

  I nodded, but stayed silent.

  “Now, Marcus will be worried.” Keir smiled ruefully. “If I could, I would rise from this pallet, sweep you up and carry you to the command tent. But I fear that if I try, I will fall and take you with me.”

  I smiled through my tears. “Let us lean on each other, then.”

  From what I could tell, ‘purification’ was just another way of saying ‘clean everything’. Everything in camp was cleaned to even Anna’s exacting standards. Tents were shifted to new ground, and even the horses were washed. If it couldn’t be washed or boiled, it was burnished or polished, until the entire camp glowed. Braziers were set up at central points, and something called star-grass was burned to cleanse the air and the spirits. It made me sneeze.

  This took a great deal of time and effort. At first the warriors moved slowly, almost all recovering from the illness. But as days passed, their strength and spirits started to rebuild. Keir reached the point where he could walk through his warriors again, and it wasn’t long before he was moving about with his old confidence.

  Meara too, made an enormous difference in the camp. She of the melting brown eyes and dark lashes, had each and every warrior wrapped around her little finger. I didn’t see much of her, as she was being passed from warrior to warrior, each acting as thea for a part of the day. At first I was concerned, but when I made a point of checking on her regularly, she was always smiling, waving her arms and legs in the air from her basket. She thrived and her presence raised the spirits of everyone around her.

  After the purification, almost everyone had regained their normal strength, but the planned contests had everyone pushing harder to get into the best condition possible. The camp rang with the sound of sparring weapons clashing, and the grunts of fighting warriors. Keir participated as well, claiming the need for practice. But as far as I could see, he was in excellent condition. I loved to watch him in the practice circles, as graceful as the cat he was named for. He seemed to enjoy that I watched him every chance I got, and yet all was not the same between us. Although he seemed fully recovered, Keir had made no move to resume our . . . physical relationship. I wasn’t too worried, since he was still mending, and yet . . .

  The other sound that rang through the camp was the constant sound of warriors announcing their chess moves to one another. Everyone was determined to enter the tourney and win the honor of champion. I had quite a few visitors to my stilltent, with vague complaints of stomach troubles and sly questions about chess strategies. I cheerfully answered their inquiries, dosed them with my worst-smelling, foulest-tasting flux r
emedy and sent them on their way.

  There were very few repeat visitors.

  More letters arrived from Water’s Fall, with reassurances of the conditions in the city. Othur continued to complain of Simus’s behavior, but now he mentioned additional problems with the Lords, including some border disputes that he felt would never be resolved without bloodshed. Which told me that things were fairly normal within the Kingdom of Xy.

  Simus demanded, rather loudly in his missives, that we give him all the details of events and that more kavage be sent. He also gave some rather pithy details of his sexual adventures. I could barely contain my laughter at the sight of the scribe’s handwriting. I was certain sure that the poor man had nearly fainted during the ‘dictation’.

  I was pleased to read Eln’s letter that Atira’s broken leg was mending, and that she had demonstrated the ‘drumming’ technique for him. He’d used it successfully on his patients, and had been pleased with the results. Of course, he was still searching for an herbal cure to combat what he called the Savage Sweat, but he’d no new patients to try it on. I sensed a degree of regret in his words, but I sent up a brief prayer of thanks to the Goddess for the lack. Both Othur and Eln told me not to return to Water’s Fall. There was nothing I could do to make a difference there, and my Council wanted me to secure my position on the Plains.

  Keir called an evening senel to discuss the combats and the chess tourney. This one was far more comfortable, with the warleaders more relaxed. Even these experienced warriors had succumbed to the lure of chess, and I could hear a few muttered moves being exchanged as they entered the tent. Ortis had the gleeful look of a man who’d just achieved a checkmate.

  Marcus had help with the serving, and was determined to do well by this meeting. There was kavage and fry bread and mutton stew with gurt melted over the tops of the bowls. The stew was good, but I discreetly pushed the melted gurt off to the side.