Текст книги "Warprize"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

I stopped in my tracks. “What?”

Rafe chuckled. “Watch, Warprize.”

Prest was giving her a sharp eye, and grunted. I turned back to watch as the horse charged the woman. At the last moment, the horse brushed past her, and suddenly she seemed to leap into the saddle. There were shouts from the group watching as she swung the horse back toward them. She seemed pleased with her performance.

“How did she do that?” I asked.

“Practice,” said Prest.

Rafe nodded his agreement. I gave him a doubtful look as we continued walking. “No, its true, Warprize. We all practice our riding skills in the same fashion. Each is required to be able to mount a galloping horse.”

I sighed. “Rafe, you used my name in the city.”

Rafe nodded. “True. But you are now the warprize.”

Prest nodded in agreement.

At the healing tent all was well. It took almost no time to check the wounded, and take care of their needs. The worst was the one who’d been whipped, but he was still asleep, so I waited to check him. Instead, I started a pot of water boiling on one of the braziers and corralled one of the wounded into watching it. I was careful to explain that he had to add water as it boiled away. As I moved among the cots, the only problem was that I kept bumping into Prest and Rafe as they hovered over me. Finally, I turned to Prest.

“This is foolish. Go sit in a corner of the tent and watch me.” Rafe frowned and opened his mouth to protest. I snarled. “Take your big feet, and go over there out of my way.”

Prest laughed and pulled Rafe with him. They settled down off to the side. Soon, Rafe was working his sword with a whetstone. Prest appeared to be carving something from some wood. Some of the mobile wounded joined them, and they were laughing and talking quietly as I worked. But I noticed that one of them always had an eye on me.

I gathered up the boiled skunk cabbage and some clean cloths, and went to where the warrior lay sleeping on the cot. His back looked good under the bandage; the lash marks hadn’t been as deep as I feared, and there was very little redness or swelling. The warrior stirred as I started to work more of the ointment into his wounds. “I know it hurts, but it will aid with healing. Lay as still as you can.”

The warrior turned his head and looked at me with bleary eyes. “You a warrior-priest?”

Prest had moved up behind me with Rafe, who shook his head in disgust. “Sleeping on watch, Tant? When will you learn?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “When are you due back on?”

Tant blinked. “Nooning.” He glanced at me again. “Where’d the warrior-priest come from?”

“She’s the warprize,” Prest responded.

Tant jerked, his eyes wide.

“Fool.” Rafe turned. “Finish your work, Warprize. I’ll get kavage so we can get him on his feet. If he doesn’t report, its another lashing.”

“The warprize?” Tant’s voice was a squeak.

Finally, I had time to sit down and look at the supplies that were available to me. I sorted through the tables and baskets. It was pitiful. There were few herbs and none of the traditional remedies that I knew. One bottle smelled so vile that I asked one of the wounded what it was for. Turned out it was a well known remedy for coughs that was rubbed on the chest. It was made from goose grease and horse dung.

He offered to help me gather the makings. I declined, emptied the bottle and set it to soak.

A scream in the distance caught all of us by surprise. Rafe and Prest stood and moved to the tent entrance. I followed, emerging to find them gazing out at the practice field. I could just make out a crowd around a downed figure. There was all kinds of general ruckus, but no further screams.

Prest was sucking on his lower lip. Rafe looked gray. “I’ll wager it’s broken.”

Prest nodded his head. Both men looked grim. I looked, but could see no one moving to render aid. “ Will they bring them here?”

Rafe turned in surprise, his eyebrows raised. “Why? Most like they’ll just grant mercy where they lay.” I looked at him, offended, and started off immediately toward the crowd. Prest and Rafe scrambled after me. “Warprize, where are you going?”

I ignored Rafe, and kept moving onto the practice ground and right up to the milling group. They were certainly upset, so much so that I had to push my way forward to get through.

I dropped down next to the wailing figure. It was a woman, the blonde who had leaped to her horse. She lay on the ground, her hands over her face, moaning. I cast a quick look at the leg, but could tell nothing through the leather trous. “Rafe, lend me your knife.”

Silence cut through the crowd. The blonde gasped in horror and moved her hands. Even though her face was red and swollen, I recognized her. It was the woman who had grabbed my arm. Her eyes filled with fear, she covered her face again and started to wail.

Rafe slowly handed me his knife. “You’ll take the leg, Warprize?”

At the question, the blonde threw her hands forward, as if to ward me off. Her face was filled with horror. “No, Skies, NO!” she shrieked. “I am cursed!” She keened in an ear-piercing tone.

I winced at the sound as I cut away her trous. It was clear that it was broken, but the skin was whole. It looked to be a clean break. The woman shrieked again as I touched her knee.

“Stop that! Are you such a coward?” The blonde looked at me, frozen but thankfully silent.

I gestured to Rafe. “We need a blanket to carry her to the tent.”

“No, no, no.” The blonde sobbed. “I cry mercy, rather than lose my leg. Mercy!”

I looked at her. “Silence!”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Have I said that you will lose it? Love of the Goddess!” I cursed in my own language. “You’d rather die then let me heal this?”

Prest was standing behind me. “Heal?” The blonde’s brown eyes stared at me from her tear-stained face.

I turned my head and looked up at him. “Yes, of course.” From the expressions of those around us, I realized that there was no ‘of course’ about this for them. “A blanket. Now.”

Prest nodded and one of the men ran off.

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Lay back. Try to relax. I know it hurts, but I need you to stay still.”

She grabbed at my arm, her sweaty palms trembling. “I won’t lose it?”

“Not if you do what I say.” I looked up again and focused on the closest man. “I need rawhide. One large piece and then strips. Can you get that?”

He nodded and ran off. I raised my voice to be heard. “I need rocks as well. Good sized, about the size of two fists.” Two other men ran towards the river. “At least four,” I called after them.

The first man returned with a large blanket in his arms. We managed to get it under her and hefted her up without jostling the leg too much. I urged them to go slow and careful as we carried her to the healing tent. Once there, I directed them to put her on an empty cot and started to strip her trous off. Looking up, I realized that the entire group was in the tent, all of them, watching me work. “Out.”

“But…” Rafe objected.

“Rafe, you and Prest stay. The others leave.”

“They want to watch, Warprize. Please.”

I frowned. “Then roll up the sides of the tent, but have them stay out of the way.” I continued to remove the trous. The blonde bit at her lip as I worked.

“What is your name?” I asked, trying to get her to focus on something else.

“Atira. Warprize, I am cursed, I know it. I am cursed. The elements…” She sobbed. “Because I hurt you.”

“Hush, Atira. It’s a broken leg, not a curse. An accident.”

The other men entered, with about twenty more rocks then I really needed and lengths of rawhide. Gils popped up out of nowhere, and I had him cutting strips and wrapping the rocks so that I could use them as weights. I put Rafe and Prest at Atira’s head and went to the end of the cot. I called over a tall, husky type and had him stand next to me. Atira was big, and I would need help setting the leg. I explained what we were going to do. The silence in the tent was absolute. I ignored the looks and the whispers, but it was unnerving. Everyone was fascinated by what I was doing. For a moment doubt crept in. What if I couldn’t heal it? It was a clean break, but there were no promises with legs, and if the patient didn’t obey me, it could end up healing crooked or…

Eln would have boiled me over a hot fire. I pulled myself back and focused on my work. The future belongs only to the Goddess, I’d have to leave it in her hands.

Once I was sure that everyone understood, we got ready. The two men braced Atira’s shoulders, and she grabbed them, wrapping her arms around their hips. The other man took her foot gently in his hand and waited. I reached over and handed her a piece of willow bark to put between her teeth. “All right, Atira. Ten deep breaths, then we begin.”

She nodded, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then another. On her third breath, I grabbed her ankle with my helper and we pulled hard on her leg.

She exploded off the cot, her cries muffled by the bark. The men held her in place. My helper maintained the pull as I ran my hands over her leg. They kept the tension steady, increasing the pull until I felt the bone go together under my finger tips, and heard the familiar grating noise. Once it was in position, I secured the splints, and tied it off. I tried to move swiftly.

When the splints were in place I nodded, and they eased off the pressure. I concentrated on feeling the bone under the muscle. It felt right. They kept the foot elevated, as I wrapped the limb with a layer of soft bandages and then placed the wet rawhide over it. That was well secured with straps of leather, and we finally lay the leg back down on the cot. Atira was pale by now, and I deeply wished for a sleeping draught to give her. I tied the rocks and strips of rawhide to her ankle, hanging them over the edge of the cot. The pull would aid in keeping the leg straight.

I finally sat back on my haunches and wiped the sweat off my forehead. Atira looked at me, wide-eyed. “You lied!”

I looked at her in surprise. “I did?”

“You said ‘ten breaths’.” She glared at me.

I maintained my expression for as long as I could, then grinned at her. She was starting to relax and was fighting sleep. “My leg, Warprize?”

“Atira, it is a simple break. We will be careful, and go slow, but all should be well.” I smiled at her doubting face.

“How long, Warprize?”

“It will take forty days to heal completely, Atira.”

“Forty days?” Gils looked at me with horror in his eyes. “Forty days in this cot?”

“No, not forty days in the cot. Forty days to heal completely. She’ll be able to use a crutch but that will be at least half of that. You can’t risk putting weight on it before then.”

“I will keep it.” Atira’s voice held awe. The men standing around remained silent, exchanging glances.

“You must lay still, as still as possible. It will mend. It will take time, bone is slow to grow. You must be patient.”

One of the men let out a nervous laugh. “That will be hard for her. She is not the most patient of women!”

The resulting laugh released some of the tension in the tent. But everyone, the men, the wounded, Prest and Rafe, all had the oddest look on their faces. Her friends handed Atira her weapons, and to my horror, she placed them on and under the bedding well within reach.

“You’ll get hurt!” I didn’t like the idea of sharp blades so near her skin.

Atira shook her head. “Couldn’t sleep without them.” She arranged things to her satisfaction, then settled back. I knew she’d sleep. I gestured to everyone to clear out, and they moved quietly, talking amongst themselves.

Gils lingered by the table with my meager supplies. “Warprize?”

I smiled, trying to encourage him. He sat on one of the other stumps, his knees almost up to his chin. “It’s forty days?”

“Yes, for the bone to heal. Then she will need to exercise the leg to regain its strength.”

He leaned forward, intent on my answers. “You won’t cast spells to make the healing go faster?”

“No.” I smiled. “I can’t force the body to heal any faster. I merely make sure that the leg stays straight as it grows back together. There are some salves that I can make to heal the bruising, keep the skin supple and ease some of the pain, but that is all I can do. Time takes care of the rest.”

Gils looked at me. “You can heal everything?”

I shook my head, ruefully, remembering the blood that had welled up through my fingers just days ago. “ No, Gils. There are some things I can’t heal.”

Gils watched me closely. “How did you learn this, Warprize?”

“My name is Lara.”

He looked at me as if I was out of my mind.

I sighed. “I was apprenticed to a healer who agreed to teach me for my services.” I smiled as I remembered the fuss that had caused. Eln had been nonplused by a Daughter of the Blood wanting to be a healer. Father had been incensed. I looked away for a moment, blinking hard. Three years, and I still missed him.

“What’s ‘apprentice’?”

I gave Gils a stern look. “Won’t you be missed in the kitchens?”

He grinned. “I’s say you needed help. And I’s did help.” He looked at me defensively.

“True.” I chuckled. “Well then—” I spoke softly as I explained how the process worked. Gils was filled with all kinds of questions that spilled out of him like beans from a jar. He was older than the healing apprentices that I had worked with, but his curiosity was just as strong. We were deep in conversation when Rafe clapped his hand to his forehead. “The senel!”

With that, I was hustled back to the tent. Marcus was waiting, and rushed me past Keir and into the privy area. There was warm water waiting. Marcus fussed about my tunic and trous, but satisfied himself with brushing me off. I ignored him and washed quickly. I could hear Rafe talking to Keir as I piled my hair up in a knot on my head.

Keir was waiting when I re-entered the sleeping area. I could hear the main area of the tent filling with people. He gestured me to his side. “I understand that you have a new patient in your tent.”

I nodded. “One of the warriors broke her leg. It was a clean break.”

He had a very slight smile on his face. “You healed it?”

I shook my head. “I set the bone. Bone healing takes time.”

“It will heal? She will use the leg again?”

“Yes.”

Marcus had moved to stand by the tent flap. Keir looked at him. “This should prove to be an interesting senel.”

Marcus’s lips twisted. “Aye to that. Ready?”

Keir nodded.

Marcus stepped to the table and picked up something that was decorated with feathers and beads and a small string of copper bells. He moved through the tent flap first, and called everyone to attention. “Rise and hail Keir, Warlord of the Tribes and the warprize.” Keir went first, and I followed.

The meeting area was filled with men and women, all standing about the room. There was a path down the middle to the raised platform, where two stumps sat slightly off center. Keir moved forward to stand before the stump closest to the center and faced the room. He gestured for me to be seated to his right.

Marcus had followed us and moved to place the thing in his hands on an empty stump in the center of the room. I got the impression that the stump had been placed there for that purpose.

“Where is Simus?” Keir asked.

As if at his command, the flaps of the main entrance opened, and there was a commotion as Simus was borne aloft on a cot by four men, like the roast pig at the mid-winter festival. I had to smile, and saw that others in the crowd were not immune to the humor of the image.

“Make way!” Simus boomed out, his voice filled with laughter. “Make way!” He grinned like a fool, white teeth gleaming in his dark face, carried aloft over everyone’s head, propped up with brightly colored pillows. But his joy changed to a yell of panic when one of his bearers stumbled slightly. This caused an outbreak of laughter in the crowd, as Simus berated his bearers for their clumsiness.

Finally, Simus was settled next to Keir on his left. Once that was done, Keir looked at me, and I sat down. Keir sat, and the crowd followed after.

Keir spoke as they settled down. “I have called senel, to speak of events, to hear your views, and to make my decisions. Let us eat as we talk.”

Marcus and three others started to pass through the crowd with pitchers and wooden bowls. I noticed that one was Gils, who carried his pitcher with extra care. Each person held out their hands and washed in turn as water was poured over their hands. Each uttered soft words that I couldn’t hear.

Marcus served Simus and then moved to stand before me. It surprised me, since I had washed moments ago. He glared when I did not hold out my hands. Feeling awkward I leaned forward slightly and whispered to him. “Marcus, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say?” Marcus darted a glance at Keir, who was talking to Simus, and then focused back on me. “You give thanks, Warprize. You say what you wish.” He kept his voice down, and drew no attention to us.

With relief, I held out my hands and thanked the Goddess as the water was poured. Keir was the last to wash, and as soon as he was done, food and drink were served.

There weren’t as many people as I’d first thought. I counted heads and came up with ten people seated before us, spread out so that each could rest his plate and cup on a nearby stool. An equal number of men and women, all veterans by the look of them.

As soon as everyone had food in hand, Keir started asking questions concerning the status of the army, the camp, and the herds. The talk was casual, with each individual joining in with no regard to status or degree. It was clear that they felt free to talk, expressing opinions, and not hesitating to discuss the bad as well as the good.

I listened, interested in the discussion, comparing it to what I knew of my father’s councils. The talk here seemed free, easy. Unlike the Court, where every statement seemed to hold hidden meanings.

A cough interrupted my thoughts. Marcus was standing next to me. His eye caught mine, flashed down to look at my untouched plate, then back up to my face.

I started eating.

A tall, thin woman with short, curly brown hair was speaking. “We’ve three injured horses and five dead, Warlord. Crossbow bolts, shot from cover.” She scowled.

“They attacked in the darkness and fled before the herders could react.”

“What do you need, Aret?” Keir asked.

“More watchers spread about the herds,” she responded quickly. “Since the attacks come from cover, maybe a squad to patrol the tree line.”

“Doubt they’ll use the same move twice,” Simus offered.

“Not the first time an enemy’s made mistakes,” a man with darker brown hair and a crooked nose replied. “Let me take some archers into the trees. We’ll set them up high and let them wait out the night. With starlight, we’ll spot them first and that will end it.”

Aret nodded. “I like that, Yers. But you may have a long night of waiting.”

“Me? Not so.” Yers grinned. “I’ll send the young ones, full of enthusiasm and energy. It’ll teach them patience.” That drew chuckles.

“This morning I sent Iften to speak to the Xyian King about these attacks. Iften, tell us what you learned.”

It was the blond I’d encountered in Simus’s tent. He rose from his seat near the center of the room, a smug look on his face. “I went into the city with an escort and demanded speech with the defeated king.”

Simus guffawed. “That attitude made your welcome sure.”

Iften didn’t look at Simus. “I gave him the courtesy that the Warlord bade me. Not that he deserved it.”

Keir frowned, and Iften continued hurriedly. “I told him of the attacks, and he denied knowledge of them, and also denied that his people would do such a thing.” Iften turned slightly, as if addressing the room, rather than reporting to Keir. Behind me, Marcus muttered something under his breath. “I told this city-dweller that to murder a horse is to murder a child, and that swift and deadly punishment would fall on any who so dared. The defeated king said that he would investigate the matter.” Iften’s disdain was clear.

“What was his manner?” Keir’s voice was soft.

“As one who brushes aside a fly,” Iften snarled. “I told him to report to you and he said that would be done.”

Keir sat quiet as the room stirred about us. I half expected an explosion of temper from him, but none came. “Aret, set the extra watchers. Yers, your idea is a good one, but I want patrols as well. You and Aret decide the placement and timing.”

Aret seemed well satisfied, as did Yers. Iften, as if realizing Keir was done with him, moved to sit down with a disgruntled look.

“Iften.” Keir’s voice carried over the heads of everyone present.

“Warlord?” Iften stopped and rose to his full height.

“Have a care, Iften, for Xymund is my defeated king, and you will offer him respect or answer to me.”

Everyone fell silent, and seemed to study their kavage closely. Iften gave Keir a nod, then settled back on to his stool. I noticed that the disgruntled look had become more pronounced.

“Sal?” Keir turned to an older, grey-haired woman. “Supplies?”

They launched into a discussion of food and gear, and I was stunned to learn that the Warlord’s army was paying for supplies. While the conversation had moved on, clearly Iften remained unhappy. But I had other concerns. There was such a need for medicines and the like, but I didn’t know my place at this meeting. I felt more prize than participant. The Warlord had a temper, that much was clear, one that flared fast and hot. I shuddered inside, remembering his fury at the sight of a few bruises. How angry would he be if I spoke out now?

Keir finally sat back, and handed his empty plate to Marcus. “We’ve covered the concerns I had. Before I speak as to my plans, is there anything else?” The other servers were passing though the room with fresh kavage. Marcus was leaning over to get my plate when-he stiffened. I looked around him to see a man step forward, and pick up the bundle from the stool in the center of the room.

“Wesren?” Keir’s voice held a questioning tone.

He was a short, stocky man with thick black hair and beard. “I hold your token, Warlord. I give voice to one truth.”

Marcus moved back beside me, handing off the plates to another server. His eye was firmly fixed on the speaking man.

“You’ve said there’s to be no releases from regular duties, or leave of camp.” Wesren drew a quick breath. “Been some time since that’s been granted, and that’s passing hard, Warlord.” He shifted, uneasy under Keir’s stare.

Keir paused for a long drink of kavage, looking at the man over the rim of his cup. “Any further truths to voice?”

Wesren stood, holding the token. “No, Warlord.”

“You felt the need to hold my token for this?”

Wesren stiffened. His movement jangling the bells of the token. “Ways are changing under your hand, Warlord. Felt the need to be careful.” Keir’s gaze never wavered and Wesren shifted his weight again, his eyes darting about the room as if looking for support.

Keir put him out of his misery. “I will speak to your truths.”

Wesren nodded, placed the token back on its stool, and returned to his seat.

“Although it appears that we have won, still I have doubts about this peace.”

I jerked, alarmed at his words. If he noticed, Keir did not react. “This peace calls for their king to acknowledge me as Warlord of this land. His oath has been given, yet out horses are attacked in the night. Until I am satisfied of his obedience and our safety, we will remain on alert and on guard, as if in enemy lands.” Keir held up a hand to control reactions, since the decision was not popular. “Besides, I remind you that their ways are not our ways. Before our peoples intermingle, we need to make sure that there is understanding. For example, Xyian women do not lay with men until they are bonded.” That set them all aback, and every eye focused on me. The expressions ran the gauntlet from pity to amazement to mirth. I flushed at the attention, and focused on my shoes.

“To prevent problems, everyone remains in camp.” Keir emphasized his order.

“What of a pattern dance, Warlord?” Simus flashed his grin. “That would work off excess energy.”

That was met with laughter and smiles. Keir laughed as well. “Good idea. What say you, Wesren?”

“We’d all enjoy a good pattern, Warlord.”

“Announce it then, for two days hence. Plenty of time to weave new patterns.” Keir stood and stretched. “If there are no further—”

“I hold your token, Warlord.”

Conversation stopped. Iften was standing with the bundle in his hand. I caught Keir and Simus exchanging a glance as Keir sat back down. Iften lifted the item in his hand and shook it slightly so the bells chimed.

“I give voice to two truths. Joden remains unpunished for his violation of our ways.”

There was a stir at this statement.

“The other truth?” Keir’s voice was very non-committal.

“That your attempts to rescue Simus by going into the city alone were reckless, and showed disregard for this army and your responsibilities.”

My mouth dropped open. A statement like that would have Xymund calling for executioners. Keir merely sat up a bit straighter on his stool. “Any further truths to voice?”

Iften stood, holding the token. “No.”

“I will speak to your truths.” Iften nodded, placed the token back on its stool, and returned to his seat. “ Before I speak to these truths, I would tell you that a rider fell in practice this morning, breaking her leg.”

The overall reaction was one of dismay. One voice rose from the back. “Her name?”

Keir responded. “I do not know. We will ask it of the warprize, who saw the incident, had the warrior taken to the healing tent, and healed the leg.”

All eyes focused on me. I swallowed my food. “Her name is Atira.” There was a general murmuring at that. I darted a quick glance at Keir. “But the leg is not yet healed. Bone healing takes time.”

One woman leaned forward on her stool. “You have done this before? Healed a broken limb?”

I looked at her. “Yes.”

Talk swelled, but Keir spoke over it. “I acknowledge the truth that Joden’s actions were not of our tradition. I leave it to Simus as to what punishment there should be for the man who failed to grant him mercy in the face of capture. However, I voice the truth that had he followed our tradition, there would be no warprize.” He looked at me, a pleased expression on his face. “I think you all begin to see what I see.”

I shifted on the stool, uneasy as the object of attention.

Keir focused back on the group. “I answer to the other truth that has been raised.” He grinned ruefully. “I acknowledge the recklessness of my action. When have I not acted so?” Laughter met that statement. “I’ ll consider the truth that I had no regard for my men and my responsibilities.” I could see Iften scowling, less than satisfied. But Keir was not finished. “But do not think to turn me into a fat king that directs his men from a tower.” There was another burst of laughter at that, and from the sly looks in my direction, I had a feeling they were talking about Xymund.

Keir gestured, holding his hands up, palms flat. “Who can say what caused Joden to stay his hand. I can not. I have spoken to these truths, and I thank Iften for his truths.”

Simus raised his hand. “Warlord, I would speak to this truth. I would speak as to Joden’s punishment.”

Keir turned a bit, so he could see Simus. “Speak, Simus.”

Simus’s voice carried far, yet he seemed to make no special effort. “The Warlord has left to me to determine the punishment for Joden, who has violated our tradition. I say, how is one to punish the man who saved his life?” Simus shifted a bit on his pillows. “But tradition has been broken and punishment there must be. Summon Joden to stand before me.”

Joden stepped in to the tent, as if he had been waiting just outside. He looked anxious, but his step was firm, and he stood with an easy confidence. “I am here.”

Simus’s teeth gleamed as he smiled. “As I have done privately, so I now do publicly. I thank you, Joden, for the gift of my life.”

Joden smiled back, his round face made rounder so.

“Now, as to punishment. As you all know, Joden is a singer. Not yet a Singer of the Tribes, but singer none the less. So, hear now the punishment I would impose. Joden must sing of his decision on the field of battle.”

There was a stirring at this, but I couldn’t tell what their reaction was. Simus waited for a bit, then continued, “Now, the words of a singer can not be forced or dictated. That too is tradition. So I say to Joden, do you accept this punishment? Will you sing of this for all the Plains to hear?” More murmurs, more reaction. I was getting the idea that the offense and the punishment were so unusual that no one was sure how to react.

Joden nodded. “I accept the punishment. I will sing of this.”

“So be it.” Simus leaned back on his pillows and waved his cup in the air. “Bring me and Joden kavage, Marcus. This is punishing work.” There were groans at that, and Simus laughed as Joden took a stool. “I have spoken to this truth. I thank you, Warlord.”

Keir lifted a mug. “The sky favors the bold.” Other mugs were lifted in response. As they were lowered, Keir caught Iften’s eye. “I thank you for your truths, Iften.”

Marcus moved to offer more kavage to him and Simus as the rest of the room talked among themselves as if nothing had happened. Under its cover, Simus leaned over. “That one grows brazen.”

Keir made some response, but I did not hear it. My eyes were drawn to the bundle, the token, there on its stool. Maybe I could use its protections to ask for medicines and supplies. Without further thought I slipped off my stool, and moved toward the token. It was almost in my grasp when my wrist was caught and jerked back. I gasped, and shrank back from Keir, his face contorted in rage.