Stalking Cat rose and spoke, lifting his hands. “Learn, Seer. Embrace the old. Preserve the new.”
Then, to Joden’s shock, Wild Winds rose from his pallet, lifting his hands. The warrior-priest looked old and tired, but his eyes glittered with strength. “Learn, Seer,” his voice was rough as if with disuse. “The path between life and death is forbidden. Walk it at your peril.”
They all dropped their hands together, and the winds started to howl. The lodge around them wavered and shifted as the snows began to blow.
Joden felt himself slipping away. He reached out, and grabbed Uppor’s wrist. “Kalisa?” he demanded.
Uppor’s face crumpled. “She wanders the snows,” he called as the winds roared around them. “I hope in time she can forgive us.”
Joden shook his head, and shared his sorrow. “The one she needs to forgive is herself,” he shouted, releasing Uppor’s wrist and letting the winds carry him away.
He woke, sweaty and shaken in his tent.
It took Joden forever, stumbling over his words, trying to explain his vision to Keir and Lara. Marcus was there, and he reached out, and put a hand on Joden’s arm. “Breathe,” he said, offering kavage.
Joden nodded, took that deep breath, and then started using the sing-song voice. It was important that Keir hear and understand.
Keir did listen, intently. He asked questions, asked Joden to repeat the chant of the warrior-priests.
In the end, Keir leaned back, and considered his kavage. “Joden, the sparks on the map. How were they placed?”
Lara rustled through her satchel, pulling out paper and her writing supplies. Joden spread a sheet over the ground and pointed for her to draw. “Here,” he said. He drew a line with his finger, and Lara marked it. “The line is the border of Xy.” He pointed to various location, where Lara placed dots. But Joden shook his head. “These were bigger. Brighter.”
“And who do you think each is?” Both Keir and Lara leaned forward.
“Us,” Joden pointed to each in turn. “Liam, at the border.” He gestures to the three sparks on the Plains. “Antas? Simus? And as to the north, perhaps Heath?”
Keir studied the map. “We cannot move faster than our current pace, for many reasons.”
“The children” Lara said. “We are slowing you down.”
Keir shook his head. “More the supply wagons and the Xyian infantry,” he reminded her. “But truth be told I do not want to stand at the border without warriors at my side.” He pointed to the spark closest to Liam’s. “In case this is Antas and not Simus.” He shook his head again. “We will keep our pace. If I am right, all these points will meet at roughly the same time. Then we will see.”
“What if they get to the border first?” Joden sang.
“Liam will hold.” Keir glanced at Marcus, who was checking the babies.
“What if the dead are trying to use us, use you, as a pawn?” Joden argued. “What if—”
Keir shrugged. “You are a wise and good man, Joden. You have always given me your truths, even when they were painful to hear. Continue to do so, and I will honor that.” He rose to his feet. “But I would give a great deal to know who is closer. Simus? Or Antas?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Antas lifted his mug of kavage to his lips, and hid his grimace behind it.
His face ached from all this snows-be-damned smiling. Hours of talking had left him with a sore ass, a headache, and a desire to kill something.
All to good effect, at least. The senel was going well.
He took another sip, and glanced around the tent. The heat had built up within such that he’d ordered the sides rolled up. It also made sure that all who wished to hear could.
Ietha had relaxed enough that she was laughing and smiling with his Second. It wouldn’t surprise him if they shared this night. That suited Antas. All the warriors looked well fed and comfortable. His Token-bearer had done well, keeping their guests’ hands filled full of bread and meat and their mugs full of fermented mare’s milk.
“A pity your Warprize has fled,” Ietha said.
Antas put on a sad look of resignation as he lowered his mug. “I fear that my poor city-dweller has been misled,” he said. The words came easily, since he’d repeated the lie so many times. “Who knows what Reness has told him. I never should have housed him with her, but with her wound we both thought it best.”
“It is not right, that she came between you,” Reht swayed a bit in her seat.
Loyalty and support, that was what he needed from these warriors. He’d come close to losing it the night of the fires. But he’d turned the herd his way.
“It is not right,” Antas said. “But I live in hope that when I see him again, when we have defeated Keir and his ilk, that he will listen and come to my side.”
Nods of agreement all around. Antas was deeply satisfied. He lifted his mug and drained it.
Only to catch a glimpse of the repairs and scorch marks at the top of the tent.
Hail Storm, of course. It had to have been. A warrior-priest was the only one who had that kind of power, and Hail Storm was the only warrior-priest alive. He’d taken his revenge, the bracnect.
“As to that, what next, Antas?” Ietha turned, her laughter fading.
Antas turned to her, and smiled yet again. “The repairs are almost done,” he said. “The supplies that Reht brought have been distributed. My scouts report that Simus and his forces are ahead of us, headed north. The scouts also report that Singers are watching, from a distance, not approaching but not concealing their presence.
“The Eldest Elder Singer waits and watches,” Ietha scowled.
“As ever been his practice,” Antas agreed. “I propose that in the next few days, we also march for Xy.”
Nods of agreement all around. Antas drew a breath. Now was the time.
“But it is not my intention to engage Simus,” he said, which drew the surprise he knew it would. “I have told the scouts not to make contact, and to avoid any conflict. They will keep watch, and they will warn if Simus turns to attack us.”
“Why?” Ietha asked.
“As Warlords, we give our oaths to the Council, and to our warriors,” Antas said. “Their blood is our blood and their flesh our flesh. We are charged not to waste the lives of the warriors entrusted to us.”
Keir of the Cat wasted the lives of his warriors. He fought Xy, and then allowed it to stand, not raiding or pillaging its wealth for the benefit of the Plains. He wasted the lives of the warriors lost in the filthy sickness of the city-dwellers, and then had the nerve to claim a Warprize and defy the will of the Council,” Antas continued. Not quite the truth, but it would serve. “In doing so, he defied the Elders and the ways of our People. But his insult to our ways did not end with that.
“Keir also caused Simus to contest as Warlord, and look what devastation that brought down upon us. The Council destroyed, and these wyvern fill the skies, killing warrior and horse alike.
“All of this, Keir the Cat has done. He must be stopped.” Antas took a breath. “But I will not waste lives in battle. I will not set the People of the Plains against one another.”
The silence was thick.
“Instead, I will challenge Keir of the Cat. Let our strength and swords determine the winner. If I kill him, his people surrender to me. And if I die,” Antas shrugged. “Then the elements have decided our fates.”
There was an uproar, but not as much as Antas expected. Instead there were more thoughtful gazes, and considering nods.
Reht protested, “Keir is a mighty warrior, Antas.”
“As am I,” Antas said. “Am I not Eldest Elder Warrior of the Plains?”
There was debate, of course. Antas acknowledged many times that it was a risk. But he countered every argument, and talked more and more of conserving the lives of warriors.
He ended the senel with promise of more talk, and thanking all for their truths.
Once the tent was clear, and the sides rolled down, his Second came to stand before him.
“Sharing with Ietha?” Antas asked.
Veritt shrugged, then gave him a considering look. “You risk much,” he said.
Antas dropped his voice, “I risk nothing.”