Joden looked troubled. “Simus, he is not wrong. The choice—”
“The ultimate choice is mine,” Simus said. “At the end of the Trials, I pick my Token-bearer from those that have won the right to contest for it. It is a process, not an elimination. Allowing her to challenge is no risk to me.”
A roar came from outside the flap.
“But it allows her within your camp, and confidences,” Yers said. “If she doesn’t poison your kavage, or attempt to bewitch you with her powers. What would Warlord Keir think of this if he were here? He’d never trust—”
“Keir is not here,” Simus hardened his voice. “I will be Warlord within my own right. And have you not given me your oath?”
Yers dropped his gaze and lowered himself to one knee. “Yes, Warlord.”
“Do you wish to rescind your oath?” Simus pressed.
“No, Warlord,” Yers said, his eyes still down.
“No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Simus stated firmly. “I will see this done as best I know how, knowing our goals. But the choices and decisions are mine to make.” Simus paused. “If you feel differently, give me your token, tell me your truths, and I will release you from my service.”
There was silence, then Yers bowed his head. “No, Warlord, I obey.”
“Like Keir, I wish to hear your truths,” Simus said. “But in the end, I will make my decisions and expect to be obeyed. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Warlord,” Yers said. With that, he seated himself at Simus’s side.
Simus glanced at Joden, who said nothing, then turned to look at Seo. The older man gave him a nod. Was that approval from his old weapons-master? He had to be mistaken.
Seo’s wrinkled face folded into a smile. “Can’t wait to tell this to Haya. She’ll have a few things to say, that is certain.”
The tent flap flew open, and Destal stomped through, a look of rage on her face and a cut on her cheek. Snowfall followed behind her, her face calm, her knives sheathed. They disappeared into the serving area, and Simus found himself holding his breath, listening. But there was only silence and the clatter of pottery.
Finally, Snowfall emerged carrying a pitcher of kavage and mugs. She walked up to them, still cool and calm. “Kavage, Warlord?”
“Yes, Token-bearer.” Simus took the mug from her hand.
Snowfall turned and offered kavage to Yers, who declined, and then to Joden and Seo, who both took a mug. She then turned back to Simus. “Should I raise your challenge banner, Warlord?”
“Yes,” Simus took a sip of the kavage.
“More warriors would ask permission to challenge for Token-bearer, Warlord,” Snowfall said calmly. “They are lining up outside.”
“Send them in,” Simus instructed.
Snowfall nodded, set the kavage pitcher down at his side, and walked out of the tent.
“That woman is in for one hard day,” Simus mused. “Meanwhile, we have work to attend to.”
Simus approved some handful of challengers, and then left the tent through the back way to oversee the placement of the thea camp with a very cranky Second. Simus was willing to give Yers time to adjust to his decision, but he wasn’t going to tolerate much else. They both concentrated on the duties before them, and when a warrior informed them that Destal had left on a long-range hunt, neither made comment to the other.
All during what was left of the morning, Simus was approached by warriors wishing to challenge for Token-bearer. Except for a few clearly unsuitable candidates, who had no skills to be a Token-bearer, and a few hotheads spoiling for a fight, he granted the requests.
But by the time the sun was almost at its height he was tired, and hungry and curious, so he returned to his tent with two of his Tenths.
Snowfall was facing another opponent, her wicked knives out and flashing, and had him cut before Simus drew close.
“Done,” Quartis the Singer declared. “With Snowfall the winner.”
The loser offered his surrender, and Snowfall took the dagger with a nod. She had quite a nice pile of them at the base of the pole.
“Quartis, have you been judging all morning?” Simus asked. “I thank you for your service.”
“As do I,” Snowfall added softly.
“It was an honor,” Quartis grinned. “And I will return after the nooning to continue, for I wish to see how this song will end.”
“I would offer food—”
“My thanks, Simus, but Haya will gut me if I do not find her and tell her the tale so far,” Quartis said as he headed off toward the thea camp.
“Take down the challenge banners,” Simus ordered, even as another challenger came up to the circle. The warrior looked about to protest, but Simus fixed him with a glare. “She will raise her banner again shortly,” he said. “But first I want my nooning.
“Which I will take privately,” he continued, turning to the Tenths. “Deny me to any who seek me out for this nooning. Let them know I’ll speak with them later. I will send messages when I am ready.”
The Tenths gave him a nod, and settled down on watch.
Snowfall was standing in front of the tent entrance, the banners in her hands.
Simus held open the tent flap. “In,” he ordered.
Snowfall obeyed.
Chapter Nineteen
Simus wove a strip of bells into the tent flap as Snowfall vanished within to prepare their meal. He was confident the bells, and the Tenths outside, would ensure that even Ultie wouldn’t barge in during this nooning.
The tent was cool with the flaps down, the light dim. He wanted to see Snowfall’s face for this discussion, so he went to the platform and stirred the coals of the brazier.
Snowfall came out balancing various bowls, and a platter of flat bread.
Simus eyed the food. “Bring your meal out here too. We’ll talk as we eat together.”
Snowfall hesitated, then nodded, set down the dishes and disappeared again.
Simus settled down on his gurtle pad, feeding the brazier enough fuel so that a flame flickered to life, then settled down to a steady burn.
From outside, he heard voices. The Tenths, talking to someone, and then the faint chime of the bells as someone tested the flap. He smiled to himself as the voices faded away. Essa, by the sound of it.
Snowfall returned, balancing more dishes in her hands and arms and set her additional burdens down before making another trip. Simus arranged the bowls of gurt and dried meat and a platter of flat bread between them as she returned with kavage and mugs. She settled on the gurtle pad opposite. They both removed their weapons, and placed them by their sides, within easy reach.
She held out the water pitcher and bowl for hand-washing and they both went through the ritual silently, murmuring their own private thanks to the elements under their breaths.
Simus dried his hands and reached for the bread.
“I would offer an apology,” Snowfall said, her hands folded in her lap. “I was not able to prepare a warm meal.”
“Eat,” Simus said, pushing the strips of dried meat toward her. “You would not know this,” he continued, “but every challenge need not be met immediately. You may take them at your own pace. Challengers know they may have to wait if the one challenged is seeing to their duties.”
“That makes more sense,” Snowfall said slowly. She broke off a piece of meat and started to chew.
Simus took a moment to watch her as he poured his kavage. Her grey eyes sparkled, but their brilliance was softened in this light. There was a soft scent of sweet honey in the air as well, which Simus was certain came from her warm skin.
Snowfall offered him a bowl of gurt. Simus gave her a half-smile. “I wasn’t sure you would survive the mornings’ challenges,” he said.
“They underestimated my knives and my speed,” she said.
“Unusual blades, those,” Simus nodded toward them.
“I believe they were raided in the far south,” Snowfall said. “Wild Winds rec
eived them as tribute, and gifted them to me.”
Simus took a few pebbles of gurt. “They won’t underestimate you this afternoon,” he pointed out. “They have seen you fight.”
Snowfall shrugged. “We shall see,” was her only reply.
“It surprised them,” Simus said. “Surprised me as well. We tend to forget warrior-priests are capable of fighting, since they do not spar with warriors or enter the Trials.”
“We spar with each other,” Snowfall said. “Fellow warrior-priests, none of whom were forgiving or kind. Brutal in their own fashion, or—” She hesitated. “At least, they were.”
There wasn’t much Simus could say to that. For a time, they both just concentrated on the food, lost in their private thoughts. There were voices outside the tent now and again. Simus reminded himself to ask the Tenths who had visited during the nooning.
The silence was comfortable as they ate, until Simus reached for the last bit of bread, and winced.
“That mace hit bruised you badly, didn’t it?” Snowfall asked.
Simus nodded. “Hit harder than I care to admit,” he said. “I have something for it,” he stood and headed toward his sleeping area.
“I’ll get more kavage,” Snowfall said behind him.
Simus returned first, with his ointment, and remained standing as he stripped off his armor and padded tunic. Snowfall walked silently across the room, sat, and poured for him as he removed the wax plug from the jar. “What is that?” she asked.
“A healing ointment,” Simus said as he lifted his arm and looked at the discolored and swollen area. He took some of the cream and rubbed it in carefully, hissing as the cool lotion touched heated skin.
“It looks better than I would expect,” Snowfall looked up from where she sat, studying his body.
Simus couldn’t help but suck in his stomach a bit as he applied more salve. “It does seem to help,” he admitted. “Our new healer seems to know his craft.”
“So it is true that you have a city-dweller in the camp?” Her eyes widened. “I have only ever seen the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer, and they seemed like people. I’d heard that all city-dwellers are so fat they waddle like water-birds. Is that true of yours?”
“You must judge for yourself,” Simus chuckled, then stopped to think. “You saw the fight? The one with the mace?” he asked casually as he stoppered the jar again.
He surprised her, and caught off guard she blurted the truth. “Yes.”
“You used your powers?” Simus’s eyes were dark and hooded.
“Yes,” Snowfall admitted. “I was hidden in the tall grasses by the Heart.” She looked away. “I wanted to learn all I could before I challenged.”
Simus wiped the remaining lotion off on his chest with his hands. “You can hide yourself?” And at her nod, he frowned. “Show me.”
She obeyed, wrapping a veil around herself.
“Skies,” Simus breathed, his eyes wide and startled. “Are you—” He reached out to touch her, and brushed against her hair.
Snowfall caught her breath as a tingle ran down her neck.
Simus frowned. “I can feel you.”
“I do not vanish into thin air,” she said. “I hide myself from your sight, that is all. I still make noise, breathe, and move as you do.”
“How hard is it to do this?” Simus asked, his eyes narrowing. Snowfall could see him thinking, assessing the benefits and the dangers.
“Before?” Snowfall shrugged. “Even if one could locate enough power, there was a danger in using it, that it would leave you at a most vulnerable time. But now? After the Sacrifice? Power abounds,” she said simply. “But there is still the risk that I would lose my concentration, or have someone touch me as you have. The veil only conceals, it doesn’t protect.”
Simus nodded. He seemed so much bigger, here in the tent, towering over her. Yet he moved with a warrior’s grace as he settled on the gurtle cushion.
He looked up at her. “There is an ehat in the tent with us, and I would take it by the horns.” Simus leaned back and watched her in the firelight. “I have questions, Snowfall, and I would ask for your token. So that there are no misunderstandings between us.”
Snowfall nodded, and handed him her piece of silk. Simus took it carefully, running the cloth between his fingers. “And I would offer my own in return,” Simus nodded toward the stump of wood where his formal token rested.
Snowfall reached over and took it in both hands. The bells chimed as she held the curved bone, smooth under her fingertips.
“So,” Simus asked. “Now we exchange truths with one another. Whose idea was this? To become my Token-bearer?”
“Wild Winds,” Snowfall admitted, and something of her pain must have reflected in her voice. Simus’s face softened as she continued. “And I came to agree with him.”
“Where is Wild Winds?” Simus asked.
“North,” she said. “I do not know where for certain. He indicated that he would keep his people on the Plains unless the danger grew, and then he would retreat into Xy.”
That caught Simus off guard. “For Wild Winds to think he’d be safer with Keir...the threat posed must be greater then I know.”
Snowfall nodded. “The warrior-priests are no longer of one mind. Wild Winds fears for the young. Hail Storm would take them and train them to his advantage, maybe even teach them the blood ways. Those ways distort the soul, and pervert the lives it touches. The elements reject it, and those that practice it. Although—” She hesitated. “There are times when it is practiced for good. When the blood sacrificed is your own.” She hurried on. “It is hard to explain, when you do not have gifts.”
“How do you know I don’t?” Simus asked.
“You were tested,” Snowfall said. “At your Rite of Ascension. All of the Plains are tested, and those with the gifts were taken as warrior-priests. No matter how strong or weak the gift within the person.” She drew a deep breath. “In the past, the young were given no choice. Recently, Wild Winds was giving those with weaker gifts a choice. Your Ouse of the Fox is one such.” Simus raised an eyebrow as she continued on. “Night Clouds follows Wild Winds’s ways. He gave him a choice, and he chose to be a warrior.”
“What powers do you have?” Simus leaned forward. “Healing, as the warrior-priests have always claimed?”
Snowfall shook her head. “Maybe in the past,” she said. “But our ability to heal is limited. Certain plants that help with fever. Dried mushrooms that deaden pain.”
“Purple smoke,” Simus snorted.
“A special mixture of dried grasses and mushrooms,” Snowfall nodded seriously. “It confuses the senses. But the chants, the rites that were used? They seemed to have little effect.” Snowfall hesitated. “That may no longer be the case. Wild Winds was cured of a wasting disease on the night of the Sacrifice. And I was told that the Sacrifice healed his Token-bearer of a broken leg with his power. But how? I cannot say.”
“Cannot say?” Simus’s question was hard and sharp.
“I mean, I do not know,” Snowfall lowered her eyes. “It is harder than I thought to tell these truths to an outsider,”
Simus huffed out a breath. “Joden will want to pry your head open and learn all your secrets.”
“Wild Winds says we no longer have any.” Snowfall lifted her head. “I am to tell all, as you command. Some will believe, he says. Some will not. Either way, truths told will serve us better then secrets have in the past.”
Simus waited, silently. It took her a moment to realize she had not answered his question.
“I am not so powerful as Wild Winds,” she admitted. “I can conceal myself from sight, as I did in the grasses,” Snowfall kept her gaze on his, that he might know she spoke the truth. “I have a gift for using the element of fire, and can use it as a weapon. I can send messages.”
“Messages?” Simus perked up. “And get a response?”
“As if we are talking in the same place,” Snowfall said proudly. “But
only if I have a kind of token from that person. Something that links us.” She nodded toward the piece of silk. “That was a gift from Wild Winds.”
“So if Keir had a token—” Simus started.
“And one of us at his side,” Snowfall finished for him. “You could talk to him as if he was in the same room. But there is a risk,” she confessed. “I am exposed when I do that, and the message can be overheard.”
“A warrior-priest at Keir’s side.” Simus snorted. “Maybe when ehats fly.”
“It may be possible, with the power that now resides in the Plains, to send a message without a warrior-priest to receive it,” Snowfall suggested. “But I have not tried, and will not, not without your permission.” She hesitated, not quite sure how to explain the next part.
Simus waited silently.
“There is a new gift,” she said slowly. “One that only appeared to Wild Winds and myself recently. He thinks it is a kind of foreseeing, but...” She let her voice fade away as she thought on her next words.
Simus was still, those dark eyes watching her.
“It is no more than a feeling, of apprehension, that something is coming,” she said. “A looming threat of danger over the horizon.”
“Is it specific?” Simus asked. “To a person? Or an event?”
“No,” Snowfall said, and some of her frustration must have carried through her voice, because Simus’s eyes crinkled in sympathy. “I have tried,” she said. “To probe for more, but there is only this lingering feeling. Wild Winds says that there was a time when those with the gift could see the future. But that knowledge is lost to us.” She shook her head. “The vagueness is not helpful.”
“A warrior heeds every warning,” Simus said. “Even if it’s just a gut feeling.” He took a sip of his kavage. “My warriors are already on alert. But if that feeling becomes more, tell me.” He tilted his head to the side. “How hard will it be, to not use your powers except with my consent?”