Текст книги "Warsworn"
Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Meara shook the bells and laughed, letting us share a rare smile as well.
Her laughter reminded me of something else. “Joden, I forgot to tell you, Simus sent a letter for you. He asked that I read it to you, so that you had his words for your song.”
I expected a positive response, but Joden didn’t even look at me. He stared at the babe, his face grim, “Joden?”
“I do not think I can craft that song, Warprize.”
Puzzled, I studied his broad face, trying to figure out what he meant. “Of course. You’re tired. Now’s not the time to create a song. I will save the letter, Joden. For later.”
Joden ignored me, addressing Marcus instead. “My thanks, Marcus. I have the strength to continue in my task.”
“No need of thanks, Singer.” Marcus gave him an odd look, but didn’t press the matter.
“What are you doing, Joden?” I asked.
“I am seeing to the dead, Lara. Someone must sing for them, even if just a snatch of song.” Joden straightened his back and stood. “Give me some good word, one that I can carry in my heart.”
“It’s slowing, Joden.” I answered. “The number of newly ill is falling off.”
He took a deep breath, nodding. “That is good, Warprize. I will take that with me.” He looked down at the child, still shaking the bells. “The Warlord was right to hold us all here. I can’t imagine this horror in the Plains.”
“Among the children and theas.” Marcus’s voice was hushed. “It would destroy them.”
“Destroy the very future of the tribes.” Joden spoke with a cold voice. “With a city-dweller affliction.”
“Joden?” His tone puzzled me. But Joden only gave me a curt nod, and then turned and left.
So the hours flowed, with no real sense of time. Warriors came and warriors died, and jars of fever’s foe and sleep-ease passed through my hands. I worked, slept when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and ate when Marcus put food in front of me. There was an occasional glimpse of Keir, as he worked to keep his army together. Which is why I cannot say when Marcus appeared at the entrance to the stilltent, babe in hand, his face mottled and pale.
“Lara? She won’t eat.”
“Perhaps she’s finally noticed just how bad gurt tastes.” I kept my voice light as I moved to his side.
“I thought she was sleeping. I checked on her regularly, but she slept on. I didn’t think to touch her.”
I placed my hand on the babe’s forehead. The heat of her skin burned my fingertips. She didn’t open her eyes at my touch, just whimpered slightly.
“Goddess. The lake, Marcus. Now.”
Marcus turned and ran into the sunlight.
I grabbed a jar of fever’s foe and followed, gasping for air as I ran behind him. My legs trembled, but I forced them to move. Others raised their heads as we passed, curious.
Marcus never stopped. He splashed right into the lake, up to the waist, submerging himself and the babe in his arms. He was balancing her on one arm, stripping away her blanket and swaddles, letting them sink as I entered the water. I ran to him, the cold water pulling at my legs. The little one kept her eyes closed as the cold water hit her skin, but there was no cry, just a slight whimper. Hands trembling, I got a dab of the dark brown paste on my finger, and placed it in the babe’s mouth.
Those dark eyes opened, and hope blossomed in my chest. She looked so sad, but I held my breath, waiting for her to protest the taste of the medicine.
Instead, she hiccupped once and closed her eyes.
A crowd had gathered on the shore as word spread that the babe was ill. Marcus continued to bathe her, cupping water in his free hand and pouring it over her head. He held her carefully, keeping her eyes and nose above the waterline.
The sound of running feet brought my head up, and Is-dra burst through the crowd, splashing into the water. “Meara?” She asked as she came close.
“She’s sick.” Those were the only words I could force out. The babe lay so limp in Marcus’s arms, her entire body flushed, as if burned by the sun. Isdra, breathing hard, held her cold, wet hands to Meara’s cheeks. “She’s on fire.”
“Lotus?” Marcus asked.
I shook my head. “Not for babes. Too dangerous.”
I’d brought the feeding cup, and Isdra filled it with water, trying to get her to drink. But the little lips were limp, and she did not swallow.
“Here, let me try.” Marcus switched Meara into Isdra’s arms. The wet tip of Isdra’s braid, Meara’s favorite toy, brushed against her cheek. Meara opened her eyes to look at Isdra. The woman warrior crooned to her. “You’ll be fine, little one.”
Meara closed her eyes, hiccuped and drew a last breath.
I knew, oh Goddess, I knew. One so small, so tiny. I reached out and grabbed Marcus’s arm as he lifted the feeding cup. He looked up startled, staring into my face as I shook my head, unable to speak the words. Then he knew as well, and the pain tore though him. “Skies, no.” He raised his head, and let out an anguished cry.
Isdra threw her head back as well, wailing to the skies.
An answering lament rose from the shore. The crowd that had gathered raised their voices as one, sending a mournful cry like I had never heard into the air. For all the warriors that had died, I’d seen no outward grief. But for a tiny baby of a Xyian village, these hardened warriors raised their voices in sorrow, tears in their eyes.
But the sight of Marcus’s head thrown back, his neck taut, his pain raw filled my soul with rage. I snatched Meara from Isdra’s arms and flipped her over, cradling her chest in one hand. “No, no, no.” I denied this was happening even as I slapped my hand down on her tiny back. This can’t happen, I won’t let it happen, Goddess, please, Skies, please.
I struck her again, and again, turning as Marcus reached to stop me, calling out to any power that would hear, begging—
Meara took a breath.
I froze as I felt the movement of her chest, holding my own breath as I waited for more, turning again to avoid Isdra, hoping—
Meara took another breath, and then my heart leapt as a cry, a wonderful, angry cry filled the air.
Isdra and Marcus were beside me, and helped me lift
Meara up onto my shoulder, crying and coughing and spitting her outrage.
Joyous voices rose from the beach, and we staggered back through the water, supporting each other. Many hands reached out to help us as we drew near, pulling us onto the shore, taking great care not to disturb the crying babe in my arms. As one, we sank to our knees, as those around us knelt as well. I lay my head on Isdra’s shoulder, crying, as Meara’s keening continued and the crowd swirled around us.
Meara was furious, her eyelashes thick and dark with tears. Someone handed us a drying cloth, and Isdra took the babe to get her dry. I reached to cradle her cold foot in the palm of my hand, trying to warm her perfect little toes, never so happy to hear a baby cry. With one arm around Isdra’s shoulders, I closed my eyes, and we rocked her gently. Just a babe, the last of her village, whose name I’d lost. The scent of lavender still lingered on her skin. So close, so very close.
What’s a babe, amidst all the dead about us? Yet all hovered about, enjoying the miracle of a child almost lost to us. I drew a ragged breath, wishing I could voice my joy. But I was so exhausted, all I could do was lean against Isdra, and try to stifle my sobs.
“So this is what comes, of being accursed.” Iften’s voice cut through my sorrow. He was standing there, outside the mourners, his hands on his hips. “This city-dweller’s filth threatens children.”
Marcus glared at him. “We are not accursed.”
“Cover yourself, cripple.” Iften’s lip curled in a sneer. “You offend the skies, and the very waters of this lake.”
I caught my breath, expecting an explosion. But Mar-cus flinched back, and sagged to the ground, flinging one arm up over his head.
“We are not accursed.” Isdra spat. “It is an illness, as the Warprize has said.”
There was a rustle in the crowd about us, and from nowhere a cloak appeared. Marcus grabbed for it, and was soon wrapped in its folds. He said nothing.
“As the Warprize has said.” Iften scoffed, pointing off in the distance to the smoke rising on the horizon. “Such a comfort, her brave words. But one less body to add to her tally, eh? One more she sickened so she could claim to have healed?”
Marcus struggled to his feet, but I grabbed his arm, holding him back. Isdra glared at Iften, clutching the babe to her shoulder.
“For myself, I will offer to the elements to protect what is left of this army. And leave you to your business.” Iften turned, and stalked off.
Marcus collapsed back onto the ground, and I leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around me, sharing his cloak. We sat in silence for long moments, the crowd about us quiet, as if in shock.
Warm hands touched mine and I turned my head to find Ortis kneeling next to me, that huge, lumbering man with the deep voice. His hands were a warm contrast to mine. “Joden is not here. May I do the honor?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but Marcus and Isdra both nodded, so I did too. Ortis sat back on his heels, and spoke. “The fire warms you.”
The crowd responded, their voice in such unison that it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “We thank the elements.”
“The earth supports you.” Ortis said, his voice a bit louder and stronger.
“We thank the elements.”
“The waters sustain you.”
“We thank the elements.” I joined in, stumbling over the phrase.
“The air fills you.”
“We thank the elements.”
Ortis stood. “We thank the elements, for the life of this child and the power of the Warprize.”
A loud cry of triumph and thanks rose as people stood and somehow made their way to Isdra’s side, to touch the baby’s foot or cheek in farewell. There were no open smiles, but many faces filled with a quiet joy and tears. Many nodded to me as well, although I was too numb to appreciate it. When the crowd was down to just a few, Ortis spoke again. “You are exhausted, Warprize. Let us tend to her.”
“She needs to be upright, Ortis, and her lungs kept clear.” I looked up at him, my tears falling down my face.
Meara’s cries were softer now, and her coughing was mere hiccups. Isdra had her on her shoulder, patting her back gently. Someone provided a warm blanket and Marcus draped it over Meara carefully. My tears spilled as they worked, watching as Isdra made sure her tiny feet were well covered against the cold.
We stood, but when I reached for the babe Marcus put his hand on my arm. “No, Warprize.”
“You have been ill.” Ortis used the Xyian word. “Many hands will care for her, Warprize. It will raise our spirts to tend her.”
Isdra looked over at me, the bundle in her arms. “I’ll make sure she is cared for, Lara.”
I nodded, biting my lip, noting the lines of pain on her face. As she turned I managed to croak out her name, unable to voice my true fear. “Isdra?”
She stopped, but did not turn for a moment. Then she turned her head and gave me a grim smile. “I’ve given you my word, Lara.”
Marcus stood, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she and the others carried Meara away.
“Strip. You need to be out of those wet clothes.” Marcus urged me into the stilltent.
I was so numb it was all I could do to stand there. “You’re just as wet.”
Marcus chuffed at me. “I’ll send for clothes for both of us.” He stepped outside the tent for a moment, calling to someone. I managed to lift my hands to the collar of my tunic, but stopped there, unable to move. Marcus entered, and without a word lifted the tunic off and over my head. “The living need you, Warprize. More than the dead. You should return to the command tent. I’ve cleaned any trace of that fool.”
“I need to be here, Marcus.” I wanted the familiar surroundings of my medicines and herbs, more comforting by far. I shivered, and he pulled a blanket from my pallet and wrapped it around me. The rough blanket warmed quickly against my skin.
Without a word, Marcus reached under the blanket and pulled down my trous, then sat me down on a stump so that he could remove my boots. He didn’t give me time to be embarrassed, just matter-of-factly removed my wet things from around my feet. “Kavage. Kavage, soup and sleep. Best thing for you now.”
I clutched the blanket tight around me, knowing that his fussing covered his own exhaustion. “You’re tired too, Marcus.”
“I have not been ill.” Marcus pulled off my boot. “And have no plans to be, either. What will Hisself be thinking, if he sees you like this?”
Tears filled my eyes at the thought. He’d blame me for the babe, blame me for all of this and rightly so. “We should send word. Tell him what happened before someone else does.”
“I did, Warprize.” Marcus’s voice was soft. “He will be told.”
There was a noise at the tent entrance. Marcus intercepted whoever it was quickly. “Here now. Herself has rules about privacy, yes? Don’t come barging in without asking, eh?”
He returned with a bundle of clothes and hot kavage. He poured a cup for me, and placed a bowl of soup close at hand. He watched me take my first sip. I frowned at him, standing there in his leathers, soaked to the skin. “Change, Marcus.”
“Here?” He asked, oddly hesitant.
“ ‘Nothing there I’ve not seen before,’” I quoted to him.
He rolled his eye, and stripped off his tunic to reveal pale skin beneath. It struck me as odd, since all the other warriors, Keir included, were browned by the sun. Marcus was pure white, except were the healed burns mottled his skin. He was whipcord thin, the muscles taut. There were scars too, more than Keir had on his body. The scars of one who has seen many battles.
Marcus reached for his trous and I dropped my eyes. I stared into my kavage instead and tried not to think about anything. But all I could see were those tiny cold toes in the palm of my hand. It was hard to believe that she’d survived. I closed my eyes, and yawned again, my jaw cracking.
“Soup will have to wait.” Marcus pulled the kavage from my hand, and settled me down onto the pallet. I was so tired, so weary that it felt like the softest bed to my aching body. Marcus pulled up the bedding over me, tucking me in carefully.
I blinked up at him and protested even as my body sagged into the warmth of the bedding. “I should check the fever’s foe. And on Rafe, to see how he fares.”
“Rest, Warprize. I’ve been cooking many a year. I can watch a few pots. I’ll send for word on Rafe.”
I blinked at him, my eyes gritty. “But you’re tired too.”
“I’ll sleep as soon as Isdra returns.”
He moved a stump so that he could see the pots through the flap. I blinked a bit and yawned again. “Marcus?”
He turned almost all the way around so that he could see me.
“What does it mean? When you say ‘Beyond the snows’?”
He looked at me for a long moment, then turned back to look at the pots. I thought he wasn’t going to speak, but then he folded his arms over his chest. “We of the Plains believe that our dead travel with us, ride along beside us, unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing. Not… not their bodies, you understand? Their—” He used a word I didn’t understand.
“Their spirits? Souls?” I asked. I used the Xyian words.
Marcus hesitated, then nodded. “Until the longest night, in the winter. You know this night?”
“Solstice.” I snuggled deeper into the blankets. “The shortest day, the longest night.”
“Just so. On that night, we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars.”
I thought about that for a while. For us, the Solstice marked the Grand Wedding of the God and Goddess, the Lord of the Sun and Lady of the Moon and Stars. A long night of bright laughter and celebration. Our people were so different, in so many ways.
I yawned again, my ears popping with the effort. Marcus shifted on his seat, and the light caught his left side, where the ear had been burned away. “Marcus?”
He looked at me again, frowning. “Not yet asleep?”
“You’re not offensive, you know.”
For a moment, he was so sad, then he gave me a slight smile. “In your eyes, Lara. Sleep now.”
I nodded, and closed my eyes. “Please, Marcus, please tell me that in the morning, this will be over. That everything will be all right?”
There was a very long pause, and the despair rose in my throat. Then his voice came, quiet and low. “All I know for certain is that the sun will rise, Warprize. I can offer no more, and no less.”
Oddly enough, it was a comfort. I drew a breath and sought the peace of sleep.
I awoke at dawn when Gils showed up, looking tired and needing a fresh supply of fever’s foe. Yawning, I put my hair up and sent Prest for kavage and food for all of us. “When did you last eat?”
Gils blinked at me, and yawned. “I’s not sure, Warprize.” He dropped his satchel at his feet.
I pushed him down on my pallet. “Well, you are going to at least eat now. Tell me how things are going. And how does Rafe?”
He drew a deep breath, and started talking. First, with the good news that Rafe was doing well. Then he reported on the sick and the dying and those that were recovering. I puttered a bit, to keep my hands busy, arranging the contents of the tables, just listening to his voice get slower and softer. It didn’t take long. By the time Prest returned, Gils was fast asleep on my pallet, oblivious to the world around him.
Marcus entered with Prest, carrying food. He glanced at Gils and nodded as he set the kavage down. “Good for him, to get some rest.” Prest took his food outside, but Marcus handed me a mug of kavage, and a bowl of soup, and pointed to the stump. I sat, and started to eat, looking at Gils sleeping so soundly. He looked even younger, his tousled red curls falling about his face. My gaze wandered about the tent, coming to rest on the large basket under one of the tables.
Meara’s basket.
The soup in my mouth turned to ashes, and I choked it down as I remembered. How could I have forgotten?
Marcus followed my gaze, and sighed when he saw the basket. He reached under the table and pulled it out. “I should have said. She is fine, Warprize.”
“You were just as exhausted, Marcus.”
He grunted, pulling the blankets from the basket. “Eat something, then we will go and check on her.” His tone was gruff, but I noticed that he smiled gently as he folded and smoothed the small blankets as he removed them from the basket. A few pieces of dried lavender fell to the ground, and I gathered the dried flowers up, and held them to my nose. The scent was sweet, and I put them aside. We could use them to freshen the clean swaddles.
A noise made both Marcus and I look at the entrance. Prest was standing just inside the tent, his face grim.
“Prest?”
“You must come, Warprize.”
“Who’s—”
“The Warlord.”
Chapter 9
“Keir?”
My heart in my throat, I entered our sleeping area, blinking to adjust to the cool darkness within. Marcus had followed me, and he paused behind me as well, trying to catch his breath.
Keir was seated on the bed, head hanging down, bracing himself with his hands on his knees.
I jerked to a stop, my stomach clenching. Keir looked up, and gave me a weak smile, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. I forced myself to slow my breathing, and calmly moved to sit next to him on the bed. My nose picked up the familiar stink and I placed my hand on Keir’s forehead. “How long?”
“Not long.” Keir answered.
“You think.” Marcus knelt and started to unlace Keir’s boot. He pulled off the boot with a jerk, letting Keir’s foot fall to the floor. “You’ve been working yourself ragged for days. Who’s to say how long?”
Prest spoke from behind us. “I’ll wake Gils.”
“Iften must be told as well.” Keir’s voice was rough. I looked at him in horror, but he frowned at me. “With Simus gone, he is Second. He will have command.”
With a nod, Prest left the tent.
“Should have killed him when he challenged.” Marcus grumbled, working at the other boot.
“Who’s to say that would have been best?” Keir sighed and closed his eyes. I moved closer and placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me. “Lara, I heard. About the babe.” His eyes crinkled slightly in the corners. “So now you raise the dead?”
I shook my head, choking on my tears. How could he jest when—
Keir continued, clearing his throat, trying to strengthen his voice. “We must discuss what happens in the event that—”
“Nothing is going to happen to you.” I snapped, cutting him off. “If Meara can live through this, you can.”
Keir chuckled at that, but I wasn’t laughing. My fingers trembled as I unbuckled his armor.
“The best of warlords plan for all possibilities.” He paused for a moment, gathering strength. “I will plan for the worst, yes? Then it will not happen.”
I pulled his tunic over his head. His head emerged, that dark hair all rumpled and mussed. I ran my fingers through it, feeling the heat of his damp scalp. He grabbed my hand and held it to his cheek. “If it turns to the worst, I want you to leave this camp before I draw my last breath.”
“I will not leave you.” I whispered.
“Stubborn. So very stubborn.” He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his cheek against my palm.
“Your head hurts.” I leaned forward, seeing the pain in the lines etched on his face. He murmured agreement softly.
“We’ll get you into bed and get you some sleepease. It will help with the headache.”
“Not until I have spoken with Iften and Isdra.” Keir tried to raise himself up, to help Marcus remove his trous, but his arms trembled with the effort. Marcus made no comment, merely went about his business. When all was done, I lifted the bedding and Keir settled back, his hands reaching to place his weapons at hand.
Before I could say anything, Marcus covered Keir’s hand with his own. Keir’s face held a particular look of pain as he realized what had to be done. Marcus murmured something I didn’t catch, and Keir seemed reassured, pulling his hand away from the swords. Those blue eyes, cloudy with fever, watched as Marcus left the tent.
Keir looked at me with a grimace. “You must restrain me.”
I sat at the side of the bed, and put the back of my hand against his forehead. The heat was starting to rise. “Not just yet, Keir.”
Keir brought one bare arm out from under the covers and curled it around me, trying to pull me down onto his chest. I went willingly, taking comfort from his closeness.
“So. You are cursed.”
The smug voice came from behind us. I turned my head to see Iften standing there behind me, Isdra and Gils just visible behind him. Isdra was glaring at the back of Iften’s head, and Gils did not appear to be pleased with him either. I stood slowly, feeling uneasy with my back to the man. Iften stood there and oozed his glee, making no secret of his pleasure at Keir’s condition.
Keir had his eyes closed, his hair plastered to his head. He didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Iften. You have command until I am through this.”
“But not the tent.” Marcus growled as he entered from his quarters, bring a bucket of cold water, and cloths.
Iften shot him a hateful look. “As if I need the tent, crip—” He cut himself off, then—pasted a satisfied smile on his face. “Have no fear, Warlord. I will summon the warleaders and inform them of this.” He turned, and moved to push past Isdra.
“Hold, Iften.” I snapped. How dare he treat Keir that way?
Iften stopped, then turned slowly. “Yes?”
“You may summon them, but I will speak to them for Keir.”
Iften’s brown eyes flashed. “I am Second.”
I drew myself up straight, and gave him a glare right back. “I am the Warprize, Iften.”
Iften’s eyes were filled with hate, but he bowed his head, turned and left, pushing past the others.
“May the elements afflict him.” Marcus muttered.
Isdra nodded her agreement as she and Gils entered. Gils was fumbling in his satchel, pulling out the items that we would need.
“This is not an affliction. Or a curse.” I reminded him gently. “It’s an illness.” The cold cloth in my hand, I sat back down and began to wipe Keir’s brow.
Keir turned his head and opened his eyes to look at me, catching my hand. “Singers will praise my Warprize for a thousand years to come.” His eyes were shining with the fever.
Guilt rose in my breast. It was more likely I’d be known as the woman who killed an entire village and army with her arrogance and pride. “No. No, they won’t.”
Gils handed me the cup with the dose of sleepease, but Keir pushed it away, and turned to Isdra. “I have no right to ask this of you, but I am going to. Not as Warlord, but as a friend. Please—”
“There is no need to ask.” Isdra cut him off, putting her hand on her sword hilt. “I will see her safe before I go to the snows.”
“As will I.” Marcus added.
“As will I.” Gils echoed, his voice cracking. Keir looked at him oddly. “No, Warlord, I do understand. Better than you think.”
Keir nodded. “My thanks.” Nothing more was said, but I let my confusion go as Keir reached for the cup with shaking hands. I helped him, and he drank it quickly, grimacing at the taste. Something about that teased at my memory as he smiled at me and spoke.
“I will fight this.”
The bile rose in my throat as he repeated Epor’s very words. I jerked my head up, meeting Isdra’s eyes, which held the same horror that mine did. But the others did not know and I managed to control my face before they could see.
Keir was relaxing, letting the sleepease do its work. “Warprize.”
I leaned over him. “Keir?”
“As Warlord, and Overlord of Xy, I command your obedience to my will. Return to Water’s Fall.”
I lowered my lips to his ear. “My heart’s fire, there is only one way to make me obey your command.”
He turned his head slightly, his eyes unfocused. But I could see the question in his eyes.
“Live.”
That heady feeling of command that I’d had a few days before had been replaced with bone-chilling terror. The warleaders, or their representatives, were looking to me to make decisions that affected an entire army. I felt the weight of that responsibility press down on me, knowing for the first time the burden Keir carried with him every day. I’d asked Joden to attend as well, hoping that his presence would help. But he stood to the side, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground before him.
The wind blew my hair into my face, and I pulled it back with one hand. We were outside the command tent, standing in a loose circle, as many as could gather. Iften stood to the side. Prest was behind me, as was Isdra. I’d insisted that we meet here, because I didn’t want Keir disturbed, nor did I want him to try to participate. He needed every bit of strength to fight his battles with the sickness. Marcus remained with Keir.
I was frozen with fear, standing before them. My teeth wanted to worry my lower lip, but I stopped myself. I needed to be confident and strong before these warleaders. Or, at least, to look the part. Why hadn’t I asked Marcus who to trust, or paid more attention during the senels Keir had called?
I’d managed to convince the Council of Xy that being Warprize was best for my country and myself. But I’d understood the motives and desires of the Council mem-bers, and managed to learn enough, fast enough, to make a strong argument. But I felt lost in this military setting. What did I know about the command structure, or who did what? I cursed myself for a fool, and vowed to pay more attention in the future.
If I had a future.
A mug of kavage was placed in my hand. All had been served, and now all eyes turned toward me as silence fell. Blessed Goddess, please help me.
I’d start where Keir would start. “The Warlord has taken ill.” No looks of surprise on any face, so I took a breath and continued. “So let us consider the status of the army and what needs to be done. Where is Sal?”
A woman took a step forward and inclined her head to me. “Warprize, Sal has been ill. She is in the coughing stage and sends her regrets. I am Telsi. Supplies are holding, although I fear we’ve come very close to stripping the area.”
She started to go into detail, and I blessed the precious moments it gave me to think. I looked casually about, but I couldn’t seem to remember anything about anyone. A sense of panic rose, then in my mind’s eye I saw Master Eln, standing in his still room, stirring a pot. “If the Kingdom were ill, what would you do?”
“What?”
“If the kingdom were to somehow stumble into the clinic, weak and ill, what would you do first? ”
I’d look at the symptoms and diagnose. I blinked, thinking it through. I’d determine the extent and the nature of the illness and I’d cure it.
I shifted my gaze to the side where Iften stood, a smug look on his face. No doubt there, of all the warleaders he was the sickest, his hatred of Keir an oozing, pus-filled wound. Wesren stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. He had the illness as well, but not quite as bad. It was more like Wesren agreed with everything Iften said, instead of opposing Keir.
Something eased in my chest. I could do this.
Telsi was finishing her report. “We will be fine for at least a few more days, but Sal asks that you advise when she can send out hunting parties further afield.”
“My thanks, Telsi.” I said, and she inclined her head with a smile. I decided to treat that as a sign of support, and took strength from that.
Aret took a step forward, and inclined her head. “The herds of horses are well, Warprize, and have plenty of feed and water. We’ve watched them carefully. There’s been no sign that the ‘illness’ has touched them.”
I smiled at her, but she merely inclined her head again and stepped back. I’d take that for a neutral position. I was glad to hear her report; it hadn’t occurred to me to worry about the horses but it made me feel good to know that Keir’s black and my brown were safe.
Wesren stepped forward, and spoke rapidly, without looking at me. “The encampment has been maintained as well as can be expected, but I fear problems if we remain for much longer.” He stepped back, and darted a glance to Iften, seeking approval.
No surprise there, he was firmly mired with Iften.
Ortis stepped forward, and inclined his head. His voice rumbled as he spoke. “My scouts are pulled in, as ordered, and we keep watch at the perimeter. There have been no problems, and no sightings of any potential enemy.”
I remembered him from Meara’s ceremony and hoped I didn’t imagine the look of support on his face as he stepped back.
