Текст книги "Warprize"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Only when Rafe coughed did I realize that he held my horse’s head and that we were in front of Keir’s tent. I slid out of the saddle and rubbed my forehead to ease its ache. Marcus stood just inside the tent, the lamps bright behind him. “Warprize? Are you all right?”

Keir came up behind me as our horses were led away. His hands were on my shoulders, and he directed me toward the sleeping area. I stumbled along, guided by his warm hands, over to the bed, where he made me sit down. I could hear murmurs, Keir and Marcus talking. “I’ll get kavage,” Marcus said quietly. “Maybe some bread.” I had to smile. Apparently Anna was not the only one to ease pain with food.

“No,” Keir responded. He knelt down in front of me and pulled off one of the bright red slippers with a gentle touch. “We need sleep, Marcus. Go to bed.”

Marcus gave him a doubtful look, but he left. Keir removed the other slipper as well, but I didn’t look up. “Why would he do it? Why would he burn them?” I asked.

Keir paused and glanced at me.

“They were just my notes, my observations. Scribbles really.” I stopped as the pain welled up inside my chest.

Keir snorted. I looked at him in surprise. “You are attacked in the market, insulted by the court and your brother, and what troubles you the most is the loss of some papers.” He stood rather abruptly.

Anger surged up inside me. “They may have just been papers, but they were important to me.”

Keir lifted an eyebrow. “That’s why they were burned.”

I sagged, exhaustion flowing over me like a wave.

Keir sat next to me on the bed and removed his boots. He started in on his armor, carefully removing each piece and setting it on the benches. I gathered strength, stood and went into the bathing area to remove the dress carefully. I tried to fold it, but the material slipped and slid, the dress ending up on the floor every time. Tired, frustrated and upset, I finally gave up and left it lay on one of the benches. A tunic and trous were set out for me, and I climbed into them for sleeping. After washing out my undergarments, I washed up quickly. My hair was windblown from the tower and the ride, so I gathered up a comb and returned to the other room to try to deal with the tangled mess.

Keir slipped into the room as I came out, and I heard him splash about as I tried to draw the comb through my hair. It hurt, but not as much as the idea of all that work burned, or all those herbs and mixtures destroyed. It made no sense, to ruin the stillroom. Why do it? Why think that Anna would poison me? The idea was laughable. Nor would Xymund hire mercenaries to destroy the peace. My head hurt with thinking about it, and I yanked my hair into a handful and started working at the tangles with a vengeance.

The bed sagged, and the comb was tugged out of my hand. Keir moved behind me, and wrapped me in his arms, and held me tight. I lowered my head, embarrassed at how good it felt to be held. It was strange to be held so, embraced so intimately. Yet how quickly his touch had become familiar and welcome. We stayed that way for a long moment, then with one hand, Keir swept the hair from the back of my neck, and nuzzled my nape. His warm breath stirred the smaller hairs, and I shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the touch and yet stirred by it. Keir moved his hands to my shoulders and stroked down my arms until he reached my hands.

He cradled my right hand in both of his and started caressing it, tracing each finger slowly, and moving his fingertips over my palm. I could feel his sword calluses against my skin. His lips were at my ear as he spoke. “I was taught that we are of the elements. Flesh, breath, soul, and blood.” His voice was a mere whisper as he kneaded the ball of my thumb. “Sometimes, the elements within us become unbalanced, and it takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us.” His hands continued to work on mine, rubbing the nails and working my knuckles. I felt a warm tingle building in the center of my palm.

I sighed, leaning back against his chest, and Keir switched to my left hand, moving slowly and carefully. “ The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand.” He repeated his actions, I absorbed it all in silence. “The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand.” He continued until that hand tingled as well. I felt my heart slow and my breathing fall into harmony with his. The warmth of his body seeped into me through the fabric of my tunic.

“The peace will work, Lara.” His hands took mine and wove our fingers together to form a fist. “ Together, our peoples will be stronger. A united whole, under one ruler.”

“Under your rule.” I whispered.

Keir pulled me back slowly to lay against the pillows, then moved to the end of the bed. He took my left foot in his hands and started rubbing gently. “The blood is made of water, and sits within the left foot.” His words seemed like a ritual of some kind and his touch was pure pleasure. I lay quiet, in a daze of warmth and bliss.

“Xymund has sworn fealty to me as Warlord.” Keir’s touch was still gentle, but his voice had an edge to it. “He will obey.” He flexed my foot in his hands, pulling at my toes and working his fingers into the muscles.

It took me a bit to gather my thoughts. “Yet you deliberately provoked him this evening.”

“Yes.” Keir released my foot and moved to the other one. “I did. His actions will speak louder than his oaths.” He worked this foot as he had the other. “The flesh is made of earth and sits within the right foot.”

I focused on him and smiled, feeling safe and lethargic. Keir’s eyes glittered, and he released my foot and crawled up the bed to lay by my side. He hovered there, looking down, his eyes glittering. I looked up, expecting, waiting…

He sighed softly, and eased back to the foot of the bed. It seemed somehow that I had failed him in some way, but I wasn’t certain what made me think that. I stared at his back as he sat there. I had to say something to break the silence. “And Durst?”

Keir’s head came up with a jerk. He sighed and shook his head, turning slightly to look at me. “A mistake. I knew it even as I pulled my sword free.” He got off the bed. Marcus had stoked the braziers before he had left, and they radiated warm heat into the room. Keir moved over and threw a handful of leaves into the closest one. It flared up, but the flames died quickly. The room gently filled with a soft spicy scent that hung in the warm air. Amazing how much warmer a tent was than a stone castle.

Keir settled on one of the benches, pulling bottles and cloths from a small chest below. His sword was there, and he took it up, looking at it ruefully. He started wiping it with one of the cloths. I curled on my side to watch him as he wiped the sword with careful attention. There was a long silence between us before he spoke. “I ask my warriors to change their ways, and yet in the heat of anger I strike according to our tradition.”

I didn’t have an answer to that.

He set aside the cloth, and started to work the edge with a stone, making a soft ‘shushing’ sound. One of the bottles was open, and I got a faint whiff of clove oil. I yawned, watching him in the faint light.

“Go to sleep, Warprize. I will sit for a while, and think on my errors and how to learn from them.”

I had melted down into the bedding, and hadn’t the strength to get under the blankets. Even with blurry eyes, I saw the lines on Keir’s face. “He didn’t die.”

Keir’s hand stopped moving. “He lived?”

“Othur said he was still alive before we went to the kitchens.” I closed my eyes, and started floating off.

The ‘shushing’ sound started back up. “So. Tomorrow will tell the tale. I’ll send for word, or go myself. Sleep now.”

I tried to resist, but the darkness won out.

I swing my leg up and out, the horse shies and moves away. I lose my balance and drop back to the ground abruptly.

The lance passes by my head.

“Death to the…” The lead man never finishes his cry. Keir smashes through his defenses and plunges into the man’s chest in one quick stabbing motion. With his fierce quickness, he moves to strike at another.

I press against the wall, trying to stay small and out of the way. The only sounds are those of clashing blades, heavy breathing, and boots looking for purchase on the surface of the street.

“Wake up. Open your eyes.”

The four remaining attackers shift their focus without a word. Prest has one opponent. Two now press Keir. Rafe faces one as well.

Prest bashes his opponent with his shield and rams him hard enough to get him off-balance and a sword between his ribs. I assume that Prest will aid Keir. But he stays where he is, scanning the street, weapon at the ready.

Keir is in no need of aid. He knows his opponents’ moves and blocks them with ease. His attackers breathe heavily, and move slowly. When one makes the mistake of stepping back when his fellow shifts forward, Keir does not hesitate. But it is a move his opponents are waiting for and in an instant Keir is down on the street, bleeding from his chest.

“Wake up, Warprize.”

I cry out and kneel at his side. My hands reach out, but they cannot stop the blood as it gushes forth.

“I’m fine. All’s well. Wake up.”

Keir turns his head, but his eyes are wide and unseeing. I scream, cry out, but there is no help, no aid, all is sorrow, all is death…

Chapter 8

I awoke screaming, sitting up in the bed and covered in sweat. My heart thundered in my chest.

Keir’s arms gathered me close. As my vision cleared, I could make out the tent, with Marcus standing not far from the edge of the bed, holding a small lamp. The flame flickered, weak and feeble, and the shadows danced with it. I turned, fumbling at Keir’s chest, checking the wound. I had to stop the bleeding, Goddess please, I had to stop the…

Keir kept his arms around me, but gave me the room I needed as my hands fumbled over his chest, the skin supple, the scars old and healed. Frantically, I checked, then raised my eyes to his. “There was blood, so much blood. I couldn’t stop it.”

“A night horror. Just a night horror.” His strong arms enfolded me, and I allowed myself to be pulled into his embrace. I felt Keir gesture for Marcus to return to his bed, and then tensed as the light receded. “ Marcus,” Keir called softly. “Leave the lamp.”

The light remained, even as Marcus left. We stayed that way, as my breathing and heart slowed. Finally, I pushed back a little, pulling my hair off my sweaty forehead with shaky hands, and croaked out a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. I am acting the fool.”

Keir pulled me down under the furs, refusing to release his hold. “It’s not a foolish thing. Night horrors are very real.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling heavy and tired. “When I was very small, Anna would hold me when I had one. She would hug me, kiss my forehead, and stay with me til I slept.”

Keir chuckled softly. “Go back to sleep.” He brushed his lips against my forehead.

Comforted, I closed my eyes.

At some point I found myself awake, lying in the dark. There was enough light to see Keir lying next to me, on his back, close enough to touch. I closed my eyes and listened to his regular breaths and reveled in the sheer comfort that it brought. The nightmare had been so real, so terrible. I wanted to believe that my fears in the dream had been for the peace between our people, but concern for the man had been there as well.

Keir murmured and shifted his weight slightly. I opened my eyes, studying his face, trying to gauge his age. He was no youngster, but it was hard to tell. Older than Xymund. Not so old as Warren. I yawned, letting my eyes drift closed. Caring for broken and ill bodies doesn’t teach the joy of shared warmth under covers. So far, that seemed the only use for a warprize.

“WHERE’S HIS TOKEN!”

I jolted up, clutching the blankets, to find Keir half out of bed, sword in hand. There were sounds of many men outside and grunts, as if they were carrying a heavy load. “MARCUS!” The voice bellowed again. “WHERE IS THAT FOOL OF A WARLORD?“ The very walls of the tent seemed to tremble.

Keir collapsed back on the bed, still clutching his sword, his face twisted in a grimace. “Simus must have talked to Joden.”

“SILENCE!” I jumped again as Marcus called out, his voice loud enough to rival Simus’s. “I’d no sleep last night and none this morn, thanks to your bellowing!”

I flushed, and looked at Keir. “I’m sorry about last night.”

He turned his head and gave me that impish smile. “I’m not. Since it means that you were in my arms most of the night.”

More heat flooded my face.

“Get me in this tent, and bring me his damned-by-the-snows token,” Simus bellowed again. “I’ve a few choice truths to tell.”

Keir stood, and shouted back. “You’ve not bothered to use my token in years, why start now?” Keir grabbed up a tunic and belted on his sword.

“Easy! Be careful, I’m a wounded man, not a dead deer!”

A man backed in through the flap, carrying Simus on a cot. Simus was sprawled on his stomach, holding on to the sides. There were four men carrying him, but they only seemed to be getting in each other’s way. “Here,” Simus directed. “Put me down here.” The cot was dropped, and before Simus could complain, the men were gone. Simus growled, since he was half in, half out, with the flap laying on the small of his back. He fixed his glare on Keir. “What, your brain was in your sword last night?”

Marcus appeared from the other entrance and thumped a pitcher of kavage on the table, along with mugs. “I suppose you’ll be wanting food, now that you’ve frightened the herds with your cries?”

“I’ll need it to keep up my strength so that I can beat sense into this one’s head.” Simus adopted an air of injured dignity. I clutched at the blankets, and ran my hand through my hair, trying not to give into hysterical laughter.

Marcus snarled and clucked like an old chicken as he turned to go. “Body can’t get any rest, what with the screaming and the crying out all night.” He stomped out of the tent.

Keir poured kavage, handing a mug to Simus. “I had good reason—”

“To gut one of them? In their own throne room?” Simus rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you insulted their poor excuse of a king as well?” When I frowned, Simus glared at me. “I’m voicing truths here, Warprize, and you’ll pardon me if I don’t fear your blade.”

“How’s your leg, Simus?” Keir asked pointedly, as he handed me a full mug.

Simus ignored him. “And your reasons, oh great Warlord of the Plains? For throwing rocks at rutting ehats?”

I frowned. What was an ‘ehat’?

“The man gave insult to the warprize,” Keir responded. “He called her a whore.” He used the Xyian word.

“Eh?” Marcus was bringing in food. “What’s that?”

I took a long drink of kavage as Keir explained. How did they not have a word for that? What did that mean about these people? That any were free to lay with all? That seemed so barbaric.

“They sell it?” Marcus looked slightly ill, then moved away, muttering something about water for bathing.

Simus said nothing, merely drinking from his kavage.

Keir sighed, and sat down on the corner of the bed nearest Simus. “I knew I’d made a mistake even as he slid off my blade.”

Simus remained quiet.

“How can I ask my warriors to change their ways when I couldn’t change mine in that instant?” Keir ran a hand through his hair.

“Change is easy to talk of, hard to do.” Simus’s voice dropped, his eyes serious. “You tell them the truth, of course.”

Marcus came in with two buckets, and disappeared into the privy area.

“You tell them that you regret his death, but that all must take heed from this incident.”

“He’s not dead,” I spoke up. “The last we heard, he still lived.”

“He did?” Simus asked, then let his eyes slide over to Keir. “Losing your touch?”

A cry of outrage filled the tent. I grabbed at the blanket, as Keir stood, sword in hand. Simus had two daggers that appeared from nowhere. I looked at the privy entrance, to see Marcus standing there, waving my underthings in his fist and shaking them in the air. “Where did the likes of these come from?”

I jumped up and grabbed for them, but that scarred little man dodged me. “Those are mine!” I made another attempt, darting around the bed. Simus roared out his laughter and Keir got out of the way.

Marcus danced away again. “The Warprize accepts nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” His face was bright red, the scarring a dull white against it.

“Give me those!” I went after him again and this time managed to wrestle the cloth from his hand. Flushed and breathless, I shoved them behind my back and faced down Marcus, toe to toe. “You have no business—”

“Nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” Marcus roared out, spittle flying from his mouth.

“You bragnect! I bought them with his coin!”

Marcus blinked. Apparently it was an effective curse in their language, since it seemed to leave him speechless. His recovery was quick. “Could have asked Hisself or 1.”

I rolled my eyes, just imagining that conversation.

“No more than she could tell us about the dress, apparently.”

My turn to lose my tongue. Keir’s tone was mild, but his look sharp. Simus was watchful, his two daggers gone, and the kavage back in his hand. “Tell us, Warprize. Tell us what you did not tell us yesterday.”

Marcus scowled, eye darting between the two of us. “Dress? What was wrong with the dress?”

“We don’t have cloth like yours, with the colors so strong, so bright.” I ran my free hand through my hair, pulling it back.

Marcus snorted. “City folk all dress like drab, dull geese, waddling about, squawking at—”

Keir had seated himself at the table and was filling his plate. “They acted as if I had branded you, marked you somehow.” He tilted his head. “Did I?”

Marcus snorted, turning to Keir. I took the opportunity to tuck my underthings under one of the pillows on the bed. “It’s a fine dress, the color of flame, it honored her. How is that a problem?”

“For us, it is an honor.” He pinned me with his eyes. “For you?”

I sighed. “In Water’s Fall, only a whore wears red.”

Marcus’s eyebrow shot up, and he glanced at Keir before he looked at me. “A whore? That insult?” I nodded. Marcus turned to face Keir, placing both hands on his hips. “Do you hear this? We do not have such a word, thanks to the skies.” He threw his hands up in the air. “This will never work. Bringing together their ways and ours, it cannot hope to—”

Keir slapped the table with his open palm, rattling the dishes. Marcus and I both jumped. “It will work.” Keir stood there, grim and determined. “I will weave a new pattern between these ways.” He glanced at Simus. “I will use my mistake as an example for my people.” His eyes flashed at Marcus, who stood, radiating disapproval. “We will learn of our differences, ask questions when needed.” His glare centered on me now. “Offer information freely, with no fear.” I flushed and looked away. “Am I understood?”

Simus and Marcus both bowed their heads. “Yes, Warlord.”

I did the same, biting my lip.

Keir settled at the table and reached for bread. “Simus, have your men return you to your tent. Marcus, the kavage needs warming.” Marcus retreated. Keir didn’t look at me. “If you wish to bathe before eating, you may.”

I fled to the privy.

Keir and Simus were gone when I emerged. Marcus wasn’t there either, but I could hear him rattling dishes beyond the tent walls. I rummaged in the saddlebags, and put a touch of vanilla oil on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the warm fragrance. Just for a moment, I was back in Anna’s kitchen as a child, hearing her laughter and the jingle of her keys, surrounded by those I loved. The tightness in my shoulders eased. I took a few deep breaths before sitting at the table.

Marcus entered, placing a heaping plate down before me. “Warlord’s gone to send a messenger to the castle.” He poured kavage in my mug, hesitating before setting it down. “I meant no offense, Warprize.” I looked at him, puzzled. “The dress. I meant no insult.”

I stared at my plate. “I should have said something, Marcus. You were just so proud for having found it, I just couldn’t—”

He shook his head and grimaced. “Not the first time my pride got in the way, won’t be the last.”

“Marcus—” I pushed the food around on my plate. “Marcus, do you support Keir in this peace? Does the army?”

“We’re a people who’ve known nothing but battle and raiding. Conquering and holding land, the blending of our ways with yours is a new idea. And one Hisself is bent on.” Marcus’s eye was lost in the distance, and his fingers drummed on the pitcher. “All knew of his plans for this place, and followed in that understanding, but there’s miles between knowing and doing.” He wrinkled his nose as he focused on me. “Hisself holds the reins, but there’s always someone that frets at the traces. Iften would gladly see Hisself fall off this horse.”

Marcus sat on one of the stumps, slumping. “Then there’s you.”

“Me?”

“Aye. A warprize must be taken to the Heart of the Plains. That’s a month of travel at the start of the snows. You, who’s never lived beyond stone walls for all her days.” Marcus shook his head. “Hisself is a good man to follow, to trust with your life, but the risks on this path are far greater than the one’s he’s taken in battle. As I’ve followed him in war, who am I to refuse to follow him in this?”

“But you don’t think it will work.” I breathed, my heart sinking.

He stood quickly, scowling at me. “You should see to Atira. Eat now, Rafe and Prest will be here soon, and the food does no good to the plate.”

Try as I might, I could get no more from him.

With Gils’s help, the morning flew swiftly, what with washing, bandaging and the like. I was amazed how quickly Gils learned. He would recite things back that I had told him, word for word, but even with his memory, hands on learning was necessary. It’s one thing to be able to recite how to clean a wound. It’s another to have a living patient who wiggles and complains as you do it. Halfway through the process, I heard noises coming from outside the tent, as of men working. I looked over but Rafe and Prest showed no signs of concern, so I ignored it.

My patients were progressing well, and there were only two left, including Atira. She was also coming along nicely, although she was uncomfortable when I adjusted the tension on her leg. The ache seemed to ease once she was settled again, with her weapons arranged in proper order. Privately, I conceded that having one’s patients naked under the blankets was a time-saver, but not one that I’d be able to introduce to my Xyian patients.

That thought brought me up short. I’d lost myself in the comforting routine of caring for people, forgetting that I’d never have Xyian patients again. A wave of homesickness came over me, and I had to bite my lip to prevent tears. I felt lost and alone and—

I wrenched my thoughts back to the moment, and concentrated on the tasks at hand.

I desperately wanted to ask Atira questions, about the Heart of the Plains and her life there, and what she thought of the Warlord’s plans, but she had her planning board out, and was moving stones around. Besides, there were listening ears all about us. I was afraid that Marcus was right, that Keir’s plans to unite our peoples and learn each others ways was doomed from the start. What would happen to Keir if he failed? What would happen to me? I flushed, feeling sheepish. Later, I’d ask, when Gils was gone and everyone was drowsy. I’d ask for Atira’s token.

Once all were settled, I pulled out The Epic of Xyson. I’d managed to hide it from Marcus and smuggle it down to the healing tent with no one the wiser. “I have a surprise for you all.” I smiled as I opened the book. “I thought I would read this to you. It’s a story of one of my ancestors—”

There was a crash. Startled, I looked up. Gils had dropped the pitcher. Everyone was staring at me. Atira, propped up on her elbows, was pale and wide-eyed. “Warprize, you keep your songs on paper?”

I nodded and turned the book so they could see the writing.

Gils looked at it carefully. The other patient came over, straining to see. Even Rafe and Prest left their positions by the door for a closer look.

“I have heard of this, but the sky as my witness, I thought it a fable told to children.” Rafe frowned. “ How can the marks hold your songs?”

“Listen.” Returning the book to my lap, I read out loud, “Hear now the tale of Xyson, Warrior King, and his defeat of the barbarians of the southern lands. Xyson, tall and strong as the mountain had led his people well for ten years before the barbarians fell upon the villages and raided his people.” I paused, suddenly unsure. It occurred to me that the barbarians the book talked about were Keir’s own people.

Prest snorted. “How old?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“The story is almost four hundred years old. Xyson is my father’s father’s father back some nine generations.”

Prest looked impressed. Atira lay back against her blankets. “A song so old. You do us honor, Warprize.”

“Don’t be so quick to say that.” I smiled at her and the others settling around us. “You haven’t heard it yet.”

I read for about a half hour. My audience hung on every word, even though the tale talked about numbers of troops, supplies, and the appointing of a Warden for the kingdom.

Dull as the story was, it forced me to learn new words as I translated. Rafe and Prest took their positions back at the entrance, but when I saw them straining to hear, I raised my voice slightly. There was silence when I finally stopped and closed the book. Atira cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what your custom is, Warprize. Normally we would give thanks to the singer.”

“Thanks is good.” I stood and stretched. “I’m glad to share it with you. But now I am hungry. Is the nooning close?”

Gils jumped up. “I’s be checking.” He darted out the door and ran into someone coming in. “Sorry, Warlord!”

“Watch where you’re going, boy,” came the gruff response. Rafe and Prest stood as Keir entered the tent. His face was clear of the anger he had shown this morning. “How goes it with—” He stopped abruptly when he saw the book in my hands.

It was time to confess. “I bought this with your coin yesterday.” I smoothed one hand over its cover nervously. “It’s an old story called The Epic of Xyson. I thought it would distract—”

“You’re reading to my people?” The surprise in his voice was clear.

I nodded. “I also bought a primer. A teaching tool. So that I could teach Gils to read my book on herbs.” I chanced a glance at his face.

Keir looked very satisfied. “You would teach him?” He moved over to gaze down at Atira. “Could she learn as well?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “If she is willing.”

Atira’s eyes got even bigger. “Warlord, at your command, I’ll try.”

Keir narrowed his eyes, nodding. “That is all I ask, Warrior. This is no easy horse to master, but it would please me for you to learn.”

She nodded her acceptance of the charge.

Keir arched an eyebrow. “I’ve announced a pattern dance for tomorrow night.”

Atira brightened, but her face fell quickly. “I’ll miss the dancing, but it’s my pattern they’ll be weaving.” There was pride mixed with the disappointment.

Keir smiled. “If Simus can be carried to the senel, why not you?”

I frowned, considering. Keir watched me, focused on my face. “Explain to her, Warrior. Tell her why it is important to you.”

“Warprize, it’s an honor to be asked to design the pattern.” Atira pleaded with voice and eyes. “To not see my first pattern woven, it’s like a dagger thrust here.” She put her hand over her heart.

“The leather has dried and hardened. If we are careful, and if you swear that you will not move, and let yourself be carried…”

“All that, all that, I swear, Warprize.”

Atira was so serious, so earnest, that I had to smile.

“Well then, if all is well here, I have something to show you.” Keir tugged on my sleeve and pulled me toward the entrance. Prest and Rafe were also standing there, grinning like fools.

I gave them a narrow look. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” The reply was in unison. My skepticism must have been obvious, because they all laughed.

The day had turned overcast, and held the promise of rain. Keir took me by the shoulders and turned me to walk around the corner of the tent. Prest and Rafe were slightly ahead of us.

There was a second, smaller tent there, that had been put up recently. I looked at Keir, who smiled. Prest and Rafe stood next to the tent flap. “Look!” said Rafe as he pulled the flap aside. Keir gave me a light push and I entered the tent. They followed.

I stood there, stunned.

There were all the supplies that I had requested, crates of them, everything that I had asked for, and…

Stillroom equipment. I moved forward, eyes open in wonder. There were flasks, and bowls, and mortar and pestle, and small braziers, and jars and bottles. They covered the three tables in the tent. I turned and stared at Keir. He was smiling, looking back at me. Prest and Rafe were laughing.

“When did you do this?”

Keir grinned. “Last night and this morning. When you told me of a ‘stillroom’ and what it contained, I sent Sal to your friend Remn. They gathered what I wanted and what was needed. Now, you have a ‘ stilltent’, yes?” His smile faded as he looked around. “I had not thought… these items are fragile. We will need a way to carry it when we move.” He moved around the small tent as he thought. “I will talk to Sal and see what she thinks.”

I stood there, a tangle of emotions. Joy at the gift. Fear at the idea of leaving. I laid a shaking hand on Keir’s arm. “Thank you.”

He smiled down at me. “I would help, but Warren is coming for the nooning with some of his men. He has sent a messenger to confirm that he will come, and to tell me that Durst still clings to life with the aid of Eln the Healer.”

I caught my breath. “Eln is very skilled. I apprenticed to him.”

Keir cocked his head. “Skilled with porcupine quills?”

I smiled. “Yes, that too.”

Keir lifted his chin, a gleam of humor in his eyes. “We will review battles and tell lies about our bravery. Do you wish to attend?”