Hanstau hesitated, then went for the boots.
“Antas will have war drums near his tent,” Reness whispered as they worked. “I will escort you. Those who know will expect you to come, dressed as a healer and fully cloaked. I can use the drums to signal the thea camps. Or—” she hesitated over the lacings. “Or I will go, and you can flee alone. You might have a better chance—”
“And be a city-dweller wandering lost on the Plains,” Hanstau muttered, shifting off the guard’s leather trous. “Might as well kill me now.”
Reness coughed back a laugh.
“No,” Hanstau said. “I go with you. If nothing else, I can ward your back.”
“Once I drum the signal, they will come for us,” Reness said, her face grim. “It will rest with the elements whether we live or die.”
“Better that than becoming Hail Storm’s puppet,” Hanstau said. “Just promise—”
“I will send you to the snows,” Reness reached out over the guard’s body and touched Hanstau’s cheek. “Know this truth, Hanstau of Xy. You excite my heart. If we should survive this, I truly wish to discover if I can curl those precious toes of yours.”
Hanstau gulped, and flushed. “That would be…” his mouth went dry.
Reness’s smile turned feral. “Yes, it would be. At the very first opportunity.” She drew a breath. “Now let us dress. There isn’t much time.”
The Token-Bearer stepped forward, the Warlord’s token in hand. “Rise and hail Antas, Warlord of the Tribes and Eldest Elder Warrior to the Council of Elders.”
Quartis rose with the rest, bowing his head, and waited for Antas to enter.
Singers were the knowledge of the Plains, or so it was said. His master Essa had sent him to this camp with instructions. ‘Watch, observe, learn more than they do.’
He’d learned more than he’d expected.
Antas would have it that his hold on his people was firm. But the air in this command tent felt overheated and nervous. All was not as it seemed, and for days Quartis had tried to learn more. He’d been treated with every courtesy, but every move had been watched. And all mouths were silent in Antas’s camp, with few willing to voice truths. Even to a Singer.
A wisp of cooler air preceded Antas as he entered the tent, followed by his Second Veritt and the Warlord Ietha. They made their way to their seats on the wooden platform. Quartis had been placed prominently before the platform, but not on it. Clearly put in his place.
“Be seated, all,” Antas stood as they all resumed their seats. “I have called senel to speak of events, and to make my decisions. Let us share kavage as we talk.”
Catha, the Token-Bearer and three others started to pass through the crowd with pitchers and wooden bowls for the handwashing ritual.
Quartis washed and dried his hands, thanking the elements quietly. He was a Singer, and had been for many seasons. His skin seemed to crackle with tension, and unspoken threat in the air. He’d kept his thoughts off his face and out of his voice.
But it was interesting that Antas hadn’t offered to listen to anyone’s truths. And his token wasn’t placed in the center of the room for any to use. Instead, it was by his side.
Ietha also did not seem comfortable. The tall dark-skinned woman had the slightest of frowns, and seemed to be looking about. She leaned over to Antas. “And your Warprize?”
Ah. Quartis had not yet glimpsed the Warprize that Antas claimed, nor talked to any warrior who had.
Once again cooler air surged into the tent. Hail Storm strode down the center aisle, cloaked and scowling, his face red and mottled, stripped of tattoos. But there was something that lingered in the air around him, something very dark. Quartis could have sworn that the flames in the braziers dimmed as he passed.
It had to be his imagination.
Hail Storm strode to the front, and Veritt rose and bowed, offering his seat. Hail Storm didn’t acknowledge him, just sat with a swirl of his cloak.
“Welcome, Hail Storm, Eldest Elder Warrior-Priest,” Antas’s expression didn’t change. “I was just about to tell the senel that my Warprize will be joining us later.” He glanced at Hail Storm, who gave him the slightest of nods. Antas settled back, seeming more confident. “After our discussion.”
Ietha leaned back as well, but didn’t seem all that satisfied. Neither was Quartis. If in truth, Antas had claimed a Warprize, that individual was entitled to certain ceremonies, certain rights. A Guardian, at the very least. Still, if the Warprize appeared this night, that would answer many questions.
If.
Quartis accepted kavage and gurt with a grateful smile and took the opportunity to glance around. Warriors filled the tent, both Antas’s and Ietha’s but no theas that he could see. The theas had kept their camps at a distance from the main one, and while they had not spoken much, it was clear to Quartis that they were not pleased with this break in tradition. Either by Antas or Keir.
Still, no theas at this senel was no theas. How much support did Antas truly have? Essa would want to know.
Antas started asking questions concerning the status of the army, the camp, and the herds, the usual start to a senel for an army on the move. Quartis listened with half an ear while watching faces.
The warmth of the tent, the familiar scents of kavage, all were comfortable and yet dangerous. Quartis could not afford to lose focus. The attack would come soon enough.
And it did.
“So, Singer Quartis,” Antas’s smile did not reach his eyes. “You have been here many days, but you have not yet taken my words to your master. Here sits the Eldest Elder Warrior, and the Eldest Elder Warrior-Priest. The Eldest Elder Thea will join us in the next day or so.” Antas shifted in his seat slightly. “Eldest Elder Singer Essa should join with us, so that we may form the Council again.”
‘And he knows full well all you need is a Singer,’ Quartis thought, as he took a sip of kavage. “Eldest Elder Reness has joined with you?” he asked. This was the first he’d heard of that.
“Soon,” Antas said crisply.
Quartis bowed his head in respect he didn’t feel. “I have waited, Eldest Elder, to meet your Warprize, and see that proper honor is given.” Quartis said. “You have spoken many times of your desire for him. But I have yet to know his name.”
“He is of Xy,” Antas shifted in his seat again. “He is not used to our ways. He needs time.”
Xy? Quartis struggled to keep his frown off his face as he signaled for more kavage from the servers, giving himself a moment to think. The only Xyian on the Plains that he knew of was the healer with Simus, and he had gone off with Wild Winds.
“What matter that?” Ietha crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at both Quartis and Antas. “We have those gathered that are needed for a Council. Take word to your master so that he may come quickly.”
Quartis sipped fresh kavage, sat down his mug, then gave her the look all Singers give when someone tried to tell them what to do.
Ietha flushed, the red flare of heat dancing on her dark cheeks.
“I will take word, once I have met the Warprize,” Quartis said, keeping his voice respectful. “But I am glad to have seen Hail Storm,” he gave the warrior-priest a low nod. “Although I regret to learn that you are injured.” Quartis made a vague gesture toward Hail Storm’s missing arm. He’d heard the tale of Antas’s ‘mercy’ with the ax. Would to the elements he’d seen it.
“I live,” Hail Storm was polite but there was an edge to his tone. “I am the only living warrior-priest. As Eldest Elder it is my duty to the Plains.”
“Wild Winds lives,” Quartis said casually.
If the air in the tent had been tense before, it was now the silence before dark, sullen, storm clouds. Silence that went on, and threatened to go longer until Antas broke it.