Warlord

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “Broke.” Prest looked satisfied. “Gathering Storm answered to it.”

  “He fell like a stone when Prest hit him, and never got up again,” Rafe added. “The club split clean down the center.”

  Joden was sitting next to him, and had an odd look on his face. Either he was playing chess in his head, or he was composing a song.

  I leaned forward. “But what happened here? Keir threw me on Greatheart and … ?”

  Amyu looked confused, but Marcus leaned over. “Herself names her horses.”

  Amyu’s eyes widened. “All of them?”

  Simus set his empty bowl down and belched. “Once you were away, and out of danger, we could focus on the fight. Before that we were hard pressed.”

  Joden frowned. “I knew that Iften and Antas were relying on my truths to support them. And I would have spoken against you, Lara. But it struck me, when you ran to Keir, that is when I remembered—”

  “‘Like the heat of the summer sun,’” I quoted.

  He nodded, embarrassed. “I didn’t know that they’d use their swords to force the issue. When Antas called for your death, I was stunned.”

  “Not so stunned that you didn’t leap to help. us,” Keir said.

  Joden shrugged. “I may not support your ideas, Warlord, but I will not let them be silenced with death.”

  “Enough of the Elders felt the same way that their swords aided us,” Keir added. “Or the results may have been different.”

  Marcus passed the kavage. “So Antas fled?”

  “Essa almost took him down, but it was a struggle.” Simus seemed impressed. “I’d not thought Antas the better warrior.”

  “Gathering Storm went for Wild Winds, who was caught by surprise. If not for Keekai charging down, he might have killed the Eldest Warrior-Priest,” Simus commented.

  “Warrior-Priest against warrior-priest. What does that mean?” Yveni asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Joden responded.

  “A trick, perhaps,” Keir suggested. “To disguise his role, in case of failure.”

  Simus shook his head. “He had the true look of a man taken by surprise. And Keekai drove Gathering Storm off—”

  “To face me,” Prest added smugly.

  “When Gathering Storm went down, Antas called for his warriors to flee,” Joden explained.

  “Wild Winds is hurt,” I offered. “So is Essa. They try to hide it, but they both move with pain.”

  “Ah.” Joden looked at me, questioningly.

  I shrugged. “They know what I am willing to do, Joden. They know where I am.”

  Keir growled.

  The talk continued as I blinked a bit, relaxing in the warmth. Others had been involved in the fight, names that I didn’t know. But it was wonderful to be surrounded by my friends, warm and fed, with Keir by my side. I smiled, content, until I realized that Marcus had asked me a question. I blinked at him in confusion.

  He gave me a wry smile. “Enough. Herself is exhausted, and we wear her out with this chatter.”

  Keir looked into my face, concerned. “Lara?”

  Marcus stood. “Out, all of you. I’ve a Warprize and a Warlord to put to bed.” Keir scowled and opened his mouth to protest, but Marcus snorted. “A Warlord who has not slept these last few days. Or eaten, for that matter.”

  Simus stood and stretched. “I’ll sleep out here, in front of the entrance. Are you others able to take the night?”

  “There’s not that much left.” Rafe stood as well. “Another mug of kavage and we’ll do until dawn.”

  Prest nodded his agreement.

  “Then we’ll sleep and relieve you.” Ander and Yveni rose and left.

  “It seems we have no say,” I chuckled, looking into Keir’s face. His eyes flickered, and there was no amusement in those eyes. I stood, and stretched, reaching for Keir to steady myself. He reached for me as well.

  “Some warm water, Warprize?” Marcus asked.

  “That would be good.” I nodded. “And another bowl of stew, Marcus.” I tightened my grip on Keir’s hand and took a step toward the sleeping area.

  Keir swept me up in his arms and carried me over to the bed.

  “Keir, it’s just a few steps!”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Marcus took the hint, and closed off our portion of the tent. We were finally alone. Out from under the prying eyes of both friend and foe.

  Keir eased me down to my feet. I placed my hands on his chest and looked up into his weary tired eyes, and smiled. “Keir …”

  He took me in his arms, and claimed my mouth with his.

  18

  In the past day, I’d passed through curiosity, terror, fear, and despair, only to find myself in Keir’s arms. I sighed, and melted against him. I was tired and dirty, but far more important, I was home.

  I leaned in, letting him take control of the kiss, answering his passion with my own. His arms crushed me to his chest. But the rings of his mail pressed into my palms, and I broke the kiss, hissing at the pain.

  Keir took my hands in his and gently started to work the bandages loose. He cursed when he saw the abused flesh underneath.

  “It’s not that bad,” I whispered. “They’re better than they were.”

  Apparently, that didn’t impress him. “Marcus!” Keir called out, not bothering to lift his eyes from my hands.

  “Warlord?” Marcus answered from the main area.

  “Fetch Lara’s satchel.” Keir brushed his fingers over my hands. I shivered at that slight touch. They did look better to my eyes, the swelling was down and the redness greatly eased.

  But Keir remained unimpressed. He eased me over to sit on the edge of the bed.

  Marcus coughed and entered with my satchel. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Next time, wear gloves.”

  I smiled, but Keir didn’t see the humor. “As if she had a choice,” he barked.

  I jerked my head back in surprise at the tone in his voice. Keir still wasn’t looking at me as he continued. “I throw her on a horse, no saddle, no reins, and expect—”

  “And I’m taken to safety,” I pointed out gently. “As you planned.”

  “Planned!” Keir grabbed my satchel and tore it open violently. His voice was filled with disgust. “I’d thought you safe and—”

  “Find the green jar.” I kept my voice mild, but I feared for my satchel and its contents, the way Keir was rooting around. If he broke the jar with the ehat musk in it, we’d all regret it. “Marcus, I could use more kavage. And more stew, if there is any left.” Marcus gave me a nod and turned to go. “Oh, and gurt, if you’ve any.”

  Marcus turned, and raised his eyebrow.

  I shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

  “At least you eat,” he grumbled, with a sharp look at Keir. “I’ll bring what I can.” With that he vanished beyond the flap.

  Keir had the jar now, the contents of my satchel strewn about the bed. He reached for my hands, but I pulled them away. “They’ll bring water for washing, Keir. Once they’re clean, we’ll put on the salve.” I gave him a smile as I toed off my shoes. “Why not take off your armor?”

  “No. Better to be prepared in case of attack.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not sleeping next to me in that. My hair will get caught, and then where will we be?”

  His laugh burst out, catching him by surprise, and I knew that he’d remembered exactly when my hair had gotten caught in his mail. But he shook his head just the same.

  My stubborn Warlord. I leaned in close. “Keir, I want you in my bed this night, and all the nights of our lives. Skin to skin, beloved.”

  His eyes blazed bright blue. He leaned down, and I lifted my mouth, and we kissed again. I reached up to pull him close when there was movement at the entrance.

  The tent flap moved.

  Keir snarled, pulled a dagger and lunged, placing himself between me and—

  Amyu, holding two buckets of steaming water. She looked up, then dropped to her knee
s, the buckets sloshing over as they thumped down. Amyu lowered her head, showing the back of her neck.

  “Keir,” I cried out, afraid that he’d kill her. But Keir managed to stop, and stood over the poor girl.

  A soft snort, and Marcus stepped in with a tray. He raised that eyebrow of his as he stepped past Amyu to set the tray on the bed. “Foolish child.” Marcus carefully pushed the tray close to me. “You serve a warlord now, not a warrior. Never sneak up on a warlord. Always give warning, to let him know where you are and what you are doing.”

  “Forgive me, Warlord.” Amyu spoke carefully. She remained on her knees, her head down.

  Keir sheathed his dagger.

  “Hisself is even more on edge than normal, given events,” Marcus scolded Amyu as she rose to her feet. “You should know better. Fetch drying cloths now.”

  Amyu left as fast as she could.

  “Marcus.” I eyed the tray next to me, with two bowls of stew, a pile of bread, and two mugs of kavage. “There is enough here to feed an army.”

  Marcus snorted. “Eat what you can. You were wasting away on the slop the warrior-priests were feeding you, no doubt, if you ate at all.”

  There was a cough from outside, and Amyu’s hands pushed through the flap, filled with cloths. Marcus accepted the bundle, and Amyu’s hands disappeared. Marcus shook his head, and placed them at the foot of the bed. He then eyed Keir, who had not moved. “Simus has the watch. Rafe and Prest are outside. My daggers are sharp, as are Amyu’s.”

  Keir drew in a deep breath, then gave a quick nod. He started to shrug out of the mail shirt, and Marcus moved to help him.

  “I’ll see to this,” Marcus offered, as he placed the heavy mail over his arm. “You’ll see to your own blades, before they are all over with rust?”

  Keir nodded.

  “I’ll bring what you need, then. Call if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you, Marcus.” I smiled at him.

  He paused, then reached out to cup my cheek with his hand, a rare gesture from this man. “Sleep well, Lara.”

  I turned my attention to Keir as Marcus left. My Warlord was standing there, in his leather trous and thick quilted tunic he wore under the chainmail. His face was grim as he looked at me.

  “Keir,” I started, but he shook his head. He hefted a bucket and moved it close, then grabbed up one of the drying cloths. “Why did you say you could not command them?”

  “Let me see to your hands.” He knelt before me, and soaked one end of a cloth in the warm water. I held out my hands, palms up, and he lightly stroked the wet cloth over them.

  I looked at his head, his black hair shining in the light from the brazier. But he was focused on his task, so I could drink in the sight of him. It seemed forever since I’d seen him last, although I knew it had been only days.

  “What has happened?” I asked softly.

  Keir sighed. “A warlord is responsible for the lives of the warriors that follow him, Lara.” He kept his eyes on his work. “Those lives are dear, and are not to be wasted. Death in battle is honorable and expected. Death from affliction is a horror.”

  “The Council held you responsible for the plague?” I asked.

  “For the deaths,” Keir continued, his voice soft. “I am stripped of my title, Lara. No longer a warlord of the Plains. No army at my command.”

  I sucked in a quick breath.

  Keir paused, and looked at me with tired eyes. “You may wish to claim another, Warprize.”

  I glared at him. “I did not come all this way, Keir of the Cat, to claim another. You are my chosen Warlord.”

  “Lara, this changes—”

  “Nothing.” I replied. Keir was worn, and tired. I could see it in the tautness of his jaw, in the depths of his eyes. “It changes nothing.”

  Keir shook his head, and focused back on my hand. “Oh, but it does. Antas made much of sending a messenger to Water’s Fall, to the warriors I left there. What will they do, when they learn that I am no longer a warlord? What will your people do?”

  “I am the Queen of Xy, Keir. That has not changed. You are still Overlord of Xy, and my chosen consort.”

  “There are those that will take advantage of this, Lara.” Keir spoke softly, still focused on my hand as he cleaned it. “Durst will certainly see it as an opportunity to—”

  I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. “It changes nothing between us.”

  Keir’s hands stilled, his head down.

  “I thought you dead, lost to me forever,” I choked out. “Yet here you are, warm and alive and next to me.”

  He lifted his head, his eyes brilliant with his own tears. Some of the light in their depths was dimmed. The Council’s actions had been a blow to him, I could see that.

  “Nothing else matters, Keir,” I repeated. “Nothing except our love.”

  He drew a shuddering breath, and I leaned in and kissed him gently. His lips were soft and gentle, and the touch reassured us both. It might have led to more, except that my stomach chose to grumble at that moment. I broke the kiss, and Keir chuckled.

  “Finish your work, my Warlord, so that I can eat.” I held out my hands so that he could finish. “The warriors in Xy will probably do exactly what Rafe and the others have done. Continue to follow you. Besides, there is little chance that the messenger will get through the snows in the mountains.”

  Keir shrugged. “Only the elements can say.”

  “What did Rafe mean, when he said, ‘That which has been lost can be regained’?”

  “The Council agreed that I can enter the combats again, in the spring, and fight for warlord status,” Keir said quietly. “A named warlord has only to defeat any that offer direct challenge. But I would have to fight my way through the tiers to win the status again.” He flashed me a look. “Not an easy thing, Lara.”

  “You are a Warlord of the Plains, Keir of the Cat,” I told him. “To me, to your warriors, to the People of Xy. What care I for the word of a Council of stupid bracnects?”

  He gave my a wry look.

  I made no further comment as he worked on my hands, getting them as clean as he could. I felt his need to care for me, as I needed to care for him.

  Finally, when it was done to his satisfaction, he spread the salve over my hands, working it in carefully. I smiled at him when he stoppered the jar. “Another day or two, and they will be fine.”

  “So you say,” Keir responded. He tore one of the drying cloths into strips, and wrapped my palms again.

  “So I know.” I sat back and flexed my fingers. Keir gathered up my things, and placed them back in the satchel, heedless of the order. There was a soft cough outside, and Marcus entered with a small wooden box. He said nothing, merely handed it to Keir, snatching up the used drying cloth on his way out.

  “Keir.” I patted the bed next to me.

  He hesitated, then nodded and stood, to remove his swords and daggers, and placed them on the bed, well within reach. When that was done, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, next to me.

  I turned, settled myself so that I faced him. Carefully I pulled the tray around so I could reach it easily. “Keir, you did what had to be done. At Wellspring. At the Council. My hands are fine, and there’s no sign that they’ll sour.”

  “I never thought they’d draw blades in a senel. When Antas called for your death—” Keir shuddered. He opened the box in his hands, and I caught the faint scent of clove oil. Keir picked a cloth out of the box, reached for one of his swords, and started to clean it.

  I took up a bowl of stew, dipped some of the bread in and started eating.

  “They’d stop at nothing to prevent your confirmation.” Keir scowled at his blade. “Honor and truth were abandoned in an instant when they thought they would lose.”

  I said nothing, merely ate, and listened.

  “I should take you away from here. Back to Xy, where you would be safe and protected.”

  I reached for more bread. “Would I?” I dip
ped some bread in the rich broth and held it out to Keir. He opened his mouth, and I fed him the piece. “Would it really be safer, Keir?”

  He chewed, looking at me though dark lashes. “We still don’t know who attacked you on the journey to the Heart.”

  “I am safest here, within your protection, My Warlord.” I took up another piece of the flat bread, scooped up some of the meat, and offered it to him. Keir obediently opened his mouth and took it. “You yourself told me that you were trying to bring change to your people, and change is rarely bloodless.” I held out the bowl. “Hold this, would you?”

  Keir swallowed and took the bowl from my hand, which let me reach for kavage. He reached for more bread as he spoke. “When word came that you and Keekai had been attacked, I feared the worst.” He dug into the stew. “Simus arrived almost with Keekai’s messenger. Atira and Heath were with him.”

  I handed him the mug of kavage, and he took a long drink. “What is the story behind Heath’s eye?” I asked.

  Keir handed me back the mug. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyes danced. “Your Xyian friend has odd ideas. He leaped between Atira and her opponent, apparently to ‘protect’ her, or so he said.” Keir shook his head. “As if that warrior needed protecting. He’s lucky all she did was hit him for that insult.”

  I chuckled, taking his mug and pressing more bread into his hand. “Yet you leap to my defense fast enough.”

  Keir gave me a wry smile. “Your pardon, but you are not a warrior, Lara.”

  “True.” I smiled as he started in on the stew. I picked up the other bowl of stew.

  “Rafe and Prest told me what you did at the birthing.” Keir looked at me oddly. “Is it true, you cut her open and pulled out the babes? And they all lived?”

  “So far as I know, they live. Maybe now I can check on her openly.” I smiled in quiet satisfaction as Keir mopped up the last of his stew. “I felt so much better that Rafe and Prest were there. I was reassured, knowing that they were watching over me, even from a distance.”

  Keir nodded, chewing. But then his head jerked up, and he swallowed and fixed me with his glare. “But there will be no more sneaking under tent walls to go healing!”