I rolled my eyes. “And he will for some time. That odor doesn’t really wash away without strong soap.”
“Which will be in short supply.” Keir kissed me again, then whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry I was late for your bathing. Next time, send word.”
I blushed, but sat up to grab his arm as he turned to leave. “Keir, for all your pleasure he has been exposed to the plague. He needs to know the symptoms and the ways to treat—”
Keir turned back, knelt down at my feet, and took my hands. “Lara, you must understand something. He does not care, as you do. He is not a ‘healer’. Warrior-priests use their magic only as it profits them.”
“But if he has magic, Keir, I want to learn.” I tightened my grip on his arm. “Imagine what I could do with that power? I could have healed Atira’s leg, maybe even saved my father—”
“They do not share knowledge, Lara. I have doubts about their powers.” Keir looked at me intently. “You must promise me that you will not attempt to talk to him, not even with all your guards with you. He despises any who are not of the Plains. But he will hate you more for the gifts you bring us. Do you understand?”
Marcus moved slightly, and I looked over at him, remembering the cold blade at my throat. I looked at Keir and nodded. “I understand. Death can come in an instant.”
Keir smiled, and then lifted my hands to kiss them. “We will watch him carefully for signs of illness.” He stood, looking down at me. “I will make sure that the rest of his party returns to the Plains, Lara, with messages for the Elders.” He hesitated slightly. “Isdra.”
“Warlord?”
“Make sure that any who tend to Meara are such as can face a warrior-priest.”
I shivered at the very idea that any would harm the child. Marcus sucked in a breath and Isdra looked shocked. “Warlord, not even they would dare—”
Keir was grim, the hate in his eyes flaring. “I’ll not give them a chance.” He left, with a swirl of his cape. Isdra followed him out.
Marcus had drying cloths, and dropped one on my head. “See to your hair, Warprize.” He knelt at my feet, and started to rub them roughly with another cloth. “I’ve hot kavage fresh brewed, that will warm you.”
I sighed as I toweled my hair. “I certainly made a mess of things.”
“A mess of that arrogant fool, yes.” Marcus paused, looking up at me intently with his one eye. “But you did well, Warprize. You distracted him with what you had at hand, and used that advantage to flee.”
I smiled, warmed by his praise. “Still, I angered the warrior-priest. That won’t help Keir.”
“There’d be no help regardless. Hisself makes no secret of his hatred.”
“Because of what happened to you?” I asked quietly.
“There are other reasons.” Marcus stood. “I will fetch the kavage. Be warm and dry and tucked within the bedding when I return, eh?”
He left without another word.
The next morning the final winners of the combat rounds stood before us, both smiling. I couldn’t help but smile back, enjoying their obvious pride. The man, Ander by name, was older than most warriors, although clearly not as old as Epor. He was bald, with thick bushy white eyebrows and hazel eyes. The woman, Yveni, was tall and thin, her skin as black as Simus’s. I’d seen her around before. Her hair was black and cropped close to her skull, and her brown eyes had flecks of gold.
“Heyla!” Keir called out, and the crowd around us returned his call with a loud shout of approval.
“Behold, the last two that contest for the position of the Warprize’s guard. They both meet with my approval, and so the winner of this combat shall have the position.”
Another cry of approval went up. Keir had met with each of the candidates the night before, talking to them about their duties and responsibilities. The man he knew from other campaigns. The woman had battle experience, but this was her first time under Keir’s command. Yers had given them both praise and Isdra told Keir she could work with either one. Marcus hadn’t had anything negative to say, other than his usual complaints.
“But this position requires one who is sharp of skill and wits. Who can both attack and protect. So, I have decided to change the rules.” That brought quiet, as everyone leaned forward, intent on Keir’s words. He smiled, his dark hair shining in the sun. “Marcus. Rafe.”
Marcus and Rafe moved to stand together, back to back, with something in their hands. They each paced out five steps, and then knelt to press something into the ground.
“Hear now the rules for this combat. Behind each warrior is a horsehair braid, tied between two stakes, a hands-length above the ground. The goal is to cut your opponent’s braid. Do you understand?”
Ander and Yveni both considered the ground as Rafe and Marcus moved away. They studied the stakes and the braids, and then took positions in front of them, facing each other.
Sal was to judge the combat, and she stepped forward at Keir’s nod. “Are you ready, warriors?”
They’d barely nodded when Sal cried “Begin!” They sprang forward, their blades clashed, the crowd roared, and the fight was on.
They were both using swords and shields and moved so fast I was sure to miss something if I blinked. The location of the stakes restricted their movements. While there was no formal circle, the warriors never wandered far from their braids. Keir and I were seated on a bit of higher ground, giving us a better view. Rafe and Prest were behind me, Isdra at my side, watching with a careful eye.
Iften and the Warrior-Priest were off to one side, also using the rise to their advantage, but making sure not to come close to Keir and I. The warrior-priest had a sullen look, but Iften seemed to be awfully pleased with himself, almost happy. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at his arm, which was hanging loosely at his side. I’d been told that the healing had taken place, with the sounds of chanting coming from Iftens’s tent, with clouds of purple-blue smoke billowing from the tent. But I couldn’t get a very good look, with all the people in the way.
The Warrior-Priest was unhappy because Keir had warned off the rest of his party. He’d told them to return to the Plains, bearing the message concerning what had happened here. By the time he’d crawled into our bed, he’d been hoarse from the shouting. But the messages had been understood, and they departed in haste from the area. Apparently warrior-priests travel with some kind of servants, who care for their needs. Being without didn’t strike the wild man’s fancy.
In the morning light, my first impression still stood. The man wore only leather trous, and a ratty fur cloak. The colors in the tattoos were very bright, and I wondered how that was done. I didn’t recognize any of the designs. And his hair! I thought it looked remarkably like a rat’s nest, but I kept my opinion to myself. From the way people were standing upwind, he still hadn’t gotten rid of the skunk smell.
I forced my attention back to the fighting. Ander and Yveni moved, considering one another, each looking for an advantage. They’d exchange ringing blows, and then break off. To my eye it seemed they were evenly matched, with no one having a true advantage over the other. Ander seemed to have a bit more power behind his blows, but Yveni had greater speed.
The fight continued, but my gaze was drawn back to Iften. Was it possible that he’d been healed? I looked back just in time to see the warrior-priest hand him something that looked like gurt, only brown in color. Iften placed it in his mouth, and started chewing.
I stiffened. His right hand, his sword arm. He’d used it with no obvious pain, grasping the food with fingers that I’d seen swollen and numb. The same arm that Isdra had broken.
How was that possible?
THWACK.
I flinched, and turned at the sound. Ander’s sword had bit deep into the wood of Yveni’s shield. He tugged hard, but the blade did not come loose.
Yveni moved back, trying to pull the sword from Ander’s hand. He followed, trying to rock the blade from its prison. Ander concentrated on his sword,
never once watching his feet. She yanked the shield back again, dancing a few paces sideways. Ander followed, intent on his weapon.
It was the laughter from the crowd that finally drew his attention, making him look up and take stock of his situation. Yveni had danced him around, moving both of them, until she stood a mere step from Ander’s braid. Her sword arm was extended, the tip of her blade just under the taut braid.
Yveni grinned at him, her teeth flashing.
Ander shook his head, then laughed, raising both hands in the air.
A roar of approval went up as Yveni cut the braid.
In Xy, chess matches are quiet things. Two players, sitting at a table in silence, making moves on a board,
It was an entirely different matter for the Firelanders.
If I’d thought the crowd noisy for the combats, I wasn’t prepared for the enthusiasm for this new game. Aret’s idea for a living chessboard had been a good one, and the warriors chosen as pieces had decked themselves out in their very best armor, with a shine and a polish to the weapons that told me they’d been worked on for hours. They’d used armbands to designate their color, and the ‘pawns’ had tried to make themselves look as uniform as possible.
But under all the noise and bustle and laughter was an underlying tension. The division that I’d seen in the warleaders was starting to be seen in the army. Oh, no obvious insult was given to Keir or myself. On the surface all seemed well. But the games of chess were seen as being Xyian, and many had decided not to participate or watch for just that reason.
Not that the game seemed Xyian any more. To my horror, the time-honored pieces known as ‘castles’ had been replaced. Instead, the pieces were called ehats. I hadn’t heard of this change until the pieces took the board. Four warriors, two for each side, had stepped forward with fur cloaks wrapped around them, and huge horns carved from tree branches. The other warriors had to duck as they moved on the board, holding their heads low, and sweeping the area around them with their horns. Laughter filled the air as the ehats snorted and pounded the earth with their feet.
The players strode at the ends of the boards, some pacing back and forth as they shouted their moves. The crowd then would chant the words, until that ‘piece’ moved into its proper place.
Warleaders, warriors, and even Keir had entered the chess tourney. The games had taken days, and had absorbed everyone’s attention. Keir managed to win all his games and was in the final match.
His opponent was a woman that I didn’t recognize, whose name was Oone. She was a muscular, thoughtful woman, almost as big as Simus, with short red hair and brown eyes.
I was watching the game board from the rise, wrapped in a cloak against the chill wind. Prest and Yveni had the watch, and were standing behind me, acting as a wind break. The game area had been laid out with stones, and they’d managed to make the squares big enough that the knights could be mounted on horses. Which meant that the ‘pieces’ had to deal with some obstacles not normally found on a chess board. Still and all, it was an amazing spectacle.
Iften and the Warrior-Priest were avoiding the games, and were very vocal in their opposition. They wanted nothing to do with me, or anything remotely Xyian, which frustrated my efforts to get a good look at Iften’s arm.
But I had help.
Marcus came to offer me hot kavage. “Any luck?” I asked.
“Not so far. Isdra is trying to get closer, as is Rafe. But they swear to me that it’s almost as if he knows what they are trying to do.”
Prest grunted. Yveni looked at him, then turned back to me. “Tell me again, why we are trying to see the Second’s arm?”
“Herself is curious.” Prest said.
I looked at him sharply, but his face was neutral. Some time after Yveni had won the combat, I’d found her with Keir, Rafe, Prest, Isdra and Marcus clustered together, their conversation serious and intent. They’d broke off their words as I approached, but I was certain that the quirks and foibles of one warprize had been discussed in great detail.
“Ah.” Yveni nodded her understanding. “Do you wish me to try, Warprize?”
“Not yet.” I sat, watching Keir make his first move in the game. Oone was intent, but quick and the game seemed to move as fast as they could call out instructions to the ‘pieces and pawns’.
After a bit, Rafe and Isdra reported back, glum with their failure. I nodded, unworried. It stood to reason that Iften would know them, and anticipate their interest.
As Keir’s knight advanced to take one of Oone’s bishops, Cadr moved up beside me, and knelt, adjusting his boot. “I got a good look, Warprize.”
“And?”
“Not sure. He has his bracers strapped tight over his leather sleeve. He is using the hand, and flexing the fingers. I thought they looked a little swollen, but I saw no sign of pain.”
“Pity.” Isdra said.
I kept my attention on the game, and my voice soft. “My thanks, Cadr.”
He stood, and moved off into the crowd without looking back.
I settled back on my stump, and pondered what that might mean. Magical healing? I’d read about it in stories, but could the warrior-priests wield that power?
A wave of pure jealousy washed through me. To be able to heal everything with the touch of my hand. I’d give anything to be able to ease pain, mend wounds that way.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t really see the game, until the crowd cheered, and I looked up to see that Keir and Oone had reached a draw. Oone studied her remaining pieces carefully. “I could offer you a warprize.”
Keir threw his head up, and glanced over in my direction. His eyes were bright, his smile so bright it took my breath. “Oh no, Oone. I have claimed my warprize, and will have no other.”
I blushed bright red, warmed to the tips of my toes.
Keir looked back at his opponent, over the heads of the joyful crowd. “Oone, I think instead that your warrior-priests would leave you in this instance. What say you?”
There was much commenting on this. I frowned, a bit puzzled. Oone still had bishops on the board at her command. Yet she was looking at them with distrust. And the warriors portraying them were standing with their arms crossed, glaring at all and sundry from beneath lowered brows.
Keir’s bishops had been taken from the board, long before this. Yet he didn’t have the ability to force a checkmate. It was clearly a draw. Why were they—
Oone nodded her agreement. “I concede the loss, Warlord. My warrior-priests are not to be trusted.”
Stunned, I watched as the crowd erupted into cheers and Keir raised his arms in victory. I didn’t understand what had just happened, but I knew somehow that it was important. What kind of power did the warrior-priests hold that they would refuse to support a leader?
Movement distracted me, as Keir was lifted on the shoulders of some of the warriors and carried high above the heads of the cheering crowd.
I cheered as well, but groaned mentally. There’d be no living with him now.
Keir had announced a mourning ceremony for the evening before we were to leave. There had been no new cases of the Sweat since Gils had died. A full forty days had passed, and we were free of our invisible enemy.
Free of the disease, but not free of its effects. These people had been changed profoundly by what had happened here, each marked in different ways by the experience. They had confronted something unknown to them, and learned new skills as a result. I knew that I too had been affected. Never again would I walk into a situation so sure that I had a solution. A loss of confidence, perhaps, or maybe more of facing the truth of my limitations that I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before.
As the sun started to sink behind the mountains, everyone began to gather for the ceremony along the shore of the lake. This time, a minimal guard had been set, for all would mourn together. I watched the sun as I stood outside the command tent, wrapped in my cloak. The gathering warriors were bringing blankets to sit on, filling in the area, sittin
g close together, side by side.
Keir emerged from the tent with blankets and a bundle in his arms. He’d released my guards to join the grieving, and Marcus had indicated that he would remain in the command tent with Meara. Without a word, Keir took my hand, leading me toward the rise that overlooked the edge of the lake.
I saw Iften and the Warrior-Priest standing outside Iften’s tent. It almost looked as if they were hiding something, the way they looked about them as they talked. Iften threw open the tent flap and vanished inside. The Warrior-Priest walked off, disappearing behind the tent in the directions of the herds. I was surprised that they didn’t join in the ceremony, but it certainly didn’t bother me.
Keir stopped. I looked around to find that we weren’t far from our tent, and were really at the fringes of the crowd. “Aren’t we going to sit closer?” I asked.
Keir shook his head. “I think for this ceremony, we’d be better off here.” He shook out one of the blankets and spread it on the ground. “Besides, we are not the focus of this gathering. The dead are.”
I sat next to him, and he pulled me close, drawing another blanket over us. He leaned in, and spoke for my ear alone. “When you grow uncomfortable, we will leave.”
An odd statement. I would have questioned him, but a drummer had stepped out into the clear area at the lake’s edge. He sat, a large drum before him, and pounded sharply four times.
Everyone stopped talking.
Joden stepped forward, followed by four warriors, carrying small braziers. He faced the crowd, the warriors placing their burdens at the compass points around him, with Joden at the center.
Joden raised his right palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”
The response rose. “We will remember.”
Joden lowered his arm and spoke again. “Birth of fire, death of air.”
One of the warriors knelt, and blew on the coals within, feeding fuel that caused flames to leap up and dance.
“Birth of water, death of earth.”
The second warrior knelt, dipping her hands and letting the water trickle back into the brazier.