Текст книги "Warsworn"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Keir stood, unmoving, watching the fray. Yers was standing next to him, his sword in his hand. Marcus was slightly behind Keir, his gaze scanning the crowd for any threat.

Prest was behind me, and Rafe stepped to stand in front of me, a little to one side. They too were tense, but they did no more than place their hands on their weapons and wait.

I clutched at Rafe’s shoulder. “She’s smaller…”

Keir understood. “He insulted her bonded,” was his soft reply.

Iften was bigger, his sword flashing in sure strokes that surprised me. But he seemed to have the use of the arm still. Isdra parried, the blade skittering off the metal studs that lined the top of the warclub. She seemed to move well, but she was breathing hard. Iften, in contrast, seemed able to stand where he was and wield his weapon with ease. His face was triumphant. He fully expected to kill Isdra.

Isdra’s next blows hit Iften’s shield dead center, with Iften grunting under the impact. Iften would wait, lunging at Isdra each time he sensed that she was vulnerable. But each time she danced back, away from his blade.

Iften smirked, and lowered his shield. “You are no Epor, woman.”

Isdra’s grim face never changed. She took a step and swung for Iften’s knee.

Iften moved, dodging that blow. But Isdra somehow used the momentum to take a step closer, and drove the handle of her warclub into Iften’s jaw.

Iften’s head snapped back. He staggered, dropping his shield. Isdra cried out in satisfaction, taking another swing at his unprotected head and connecting.

Iften crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Isdra swung the warclub high over her head, as if to crush Iften’s skull. “For Epor!” She shouted, and started the blow.

“STOP.” Joden stepped forward.

Isdra caught herself in mid-strike. She glared, her chest heaving, never taking her eyes off Iften’s unmoving body. “Who dares?”

“Do not kill him, Isdra of the Fox.” Joden took another step forward.

“He insults Epor, my bonded, the first to meet the enemy and the bravest of all that have died in this battle.” Isdra spat out her words, trembling with anger. “He held no token of mine, or any other.” Her anger shifted. “It is my right, Singer!”

The crowd shifted, uneasy. I glanced at Keir, but he was intent on the drama before us.

“The skies are clouded, Warrior, and full of turmoil.” Joden stepped forward. “I do not know the truth in this. So I will claim Singer status long enough to declare Keir’s illness is in the nature of a war wound, although the enemy is one we have never met before.” Joden turned to look at the crowd, seeking out the warleaders. “As such, he is not to be challenged in the field, and remains Warlord until we reach the Plains. It will be a question for the Elders then.”

Relief flooded through me. There’d be no further chal-lenge from Iften or any other, at least until Keir had his strength back.

Isdra snarled, furious. “What has that to do with the insult given to Epor?”

Joden raised his hand. “If the truth is to be known, then Iften’s truth must be told as well, and I would preserve his words for the Elders to hear.”

“You are not yet full singer, Joden.” Isdra’s voice rasped in her throat. “It is my right as Epor’s bonded.”

“That is true, Isdra of the Fox, and I answer to your truth by saying that I only ask this. I can not, and do not, command.”

There was a long pause as Isdra stood there, breathing hard, glaring at Joden. No one seemed to breathe. I risked moving just enough to look at Iften, to see if I could determine his injuries. He lay like a broken doll, clearly unconscious, but he seemed to be breathing.

Finally Isdra lowered her weapon. “Epor honored your wisdom, Joden. I will do no less.” Isdra drew in a deep breath. “But this carrion will answer for his insults as soon as the Elders have heard his words.”

“Iften must answer to you.” Joden acknowledged.

Isdra sheathed her warclub in its harness, turned, and walked out of the circle.

Keir stood, and spoke. “It shall be as the Singer has said. This senel is over.”

I took advantage of the distraction, and pushed past Rafe, headed for Iften. With careful hands, I moved him into a prone position.

Joden had picked up his sword. “He will not thank you, Warprize.”

“I did no less for Simus.” I didn’t bother to look up. “I

will do no less for him.” I pressed my fingers gently to his jaw, but it wasn’t broken. The bruising had started, and I was certain that the arm would be badly bruised as well. I started to unlace the armor from his forearm. “Marcus, would you fetch my bag?”

There was no response, and I looked up to see quite a few people looking very unhappy. I returned scowl for scowl. “I have my sworn oaths, as you all know. He needs my aid. I will give it to him.”

Keir’s face was grim, but he nodded. “We remember, Warprize. And honor your oaths to heal all in need.”

I bit my lip, conscious that I had quite an audience around me, conscious that Keir was making a point. But my attention went back to my patient in an instant as Jo-den knelt beside me, and reached to unlace Iften’s bracers. Iften’s breathing was even, and I’d seen no blow to the chest or ribs. I concentrated on the head blow, and his sword arm. Without shifting him too much, I pried back first one eyelid and checked his eyes. They were unfocused and dazed, with no sign of awareness. Probably for the best right now.

Joden had his sword arm bare, and the forearm was beginning to blacken and swell, but the skin wasn’t broken. I took his arm carefully in my hands and felt along its length, using a firm pressure. There, right in the center, where the blow had landed. The top bone was badly cracked, but still in one piece. The bracers had probably kept the bone from shifting, but it needed to be set.

Someone placed Gil’s satchel by me. I turned to it quickly. “Splints. Gils, I need—”

There was a silence about me, and I closed my eyes as the loss of Gils coursed through my heart all over again.

There was silence all around me. I didn’t look up, I just wiped my tears, and cleared my throat. “I need two pieces of wood, flat and straight if possible. Bandages and a length of leather.”

“I’ll see to the wood.” Marcus growled. “Hie to the tent, Rafe, and get the rest.”

Rafe set off at a run.

Iften groaned, moving his head slightly. He was going to be in a lot of pain shortly from that blow to the head. I was tempted to dose him with some of my remaining lotus, so that I could set the bone in peace, but I resisted the urge. Besides, I was fairly sure the medicine would be wasted if I did.

“Broken?” Joden asked.

“Yes.” I rummaged in the bag for the bandages that I had there. “Help me hold his arm still.”

Joden reached over, and we got the forearm in the right position for binding. I started at the base of the thumb and began to wrap. Marcus and Rafe returned at the same time, and aided me to bind the arm, secure the splints, and then protect it with the leather over all.

I finished as Iften began to come around, which gave me a chance to place him on his side before the inevitable happened. Sure enough, after a bit of moaning and groaning, he vomited into the dirt.

“Move slowly. You’ll be dizzy from the blow.” I cautioned.

I was ignored. Iften struggled to right himself, trying to crawl onto all fours. I managed to steer him away from the mess, but he struggled up to his knees, hissing when his arm came into contact with the earth. He knelt there, clutching his head with one hand, holding out his sword arm and staring at it. “What happened?”

Joden put his hand on Iften’s back. “I’ll explain once you are in your tent.”

Iften’s eyes were dazed, but he managed to focus on his arm. “What is this?”

“A splint.” I stood, brushing off my knees. “Your arm is broken.”

Iften blinked, taking in the crowd, all eyes on him. Keir in particular was watching closely. Iften’s eyes widened as his memory returned, and he snarled, swaying as he tried to get to his feet. Joden offered support, and Wesren moved in to help as well.

Iften shrugged them off, and took a tottering step toward me. “I want no aid of yours, Xyian.” He tore at the bindings, and ripped away the leather. “The elements will heal it. Or I will seek a warrior-priest when we reach the Plains.”

It was my turn to glare. “Don’t be stupid. The bone must be—”

He swayed again as he ripped the bandages off, flinging them down to the dirt. “May I wander the snows forever if I accept your filthy ways, Xyian.”

I scowled, offended by his foolishness, and opened my mouth to argue the point. But Iften took a few steps away from me, staggering like a man in his cups. Joden took Iften’s good arm and pulled him toward his own tent, and Keir was shaking his head. So I stood, amidst the bandages and watched the idiot walk away.

Gils was the last to take ill.

It took me the better part of two days to confirm it, but the plague claimed no new victims since his death. Once I told Keir we could start counting the forty days, he called for a senel. Joden attended without being asked. He wouldn’t take a seat, but he stood at Keir’s side, a silent sentinel over the meeting.

The warleaders were uneasy and uncomfortable at first, but Keir made his normal inquiries and they relaxed. Having received satisfactory answers, Keir spoke. “I feel that we have the need to purify ourselves after this war that we have fought. For make no mistake, this land of Xy has challenged us in ways that no warrior of the Plains has had to deal with in hundreds of years, if ever. We have fought a war and our dead have fallen honorably,” Keir raised a hand when Joden opened his mouth to protest. “Although I understand that the Elders will make the final determination concerning that matter.”

Joden relaxed, satisfied.

“So, for a ten-day period, we will purify ourselves. Not because I believe that we bear any curse, or the ill will of the elements. I call for purification to ease our spirits, and to balance the elements within us. However, I forbid any warrior to fast, for fear of weakening those who recover.”

That had been my condition when we had discussed the matter.

Keir continued. “After the ten days, we should all be back to our regular strength. I would offer a contest then, to determine a new bodyguard for the Warprize. Epor has gone to the snows, and I would honor his memory by offering all a chance to combat for the position. I reserve the right of final approval of the winner. All combats to the first blood.”

There were nods at this, and looks of approval. I bit my lip, but kept silent. I’d resisted this strongly, not liking the idea that Epor could be replaced. But Keir had overruled me, and when I’d turned to Isdra for support, she’d agreed with Keir. Three guards were not enough, and someone had to be chosen to work with Isdra.

Keir had promised that he would consult Isdra on the final candidate, making sure that it was someone she could work with. He’d pointed out that the combats and eliminations would take about twenty days and keep the warriors well occupied as we waited. Isdra thought the idea of the competition was a tribute to Epor. So I’d been forced to agree. But it would seem odd to have someone else at Isdra’s side.

“Further, I propose that we have what the Warprize calls a chess tournament, to determine a champion within our ranks.” Keir’s grin was positively wicked. “Open to all, just as the combat.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. The game was sweeping the entire camp, and every warrior seemed to have at least one game going on in their head at all times. If Ken-thought the combats would be good for morale, then I was sure that a tourney was an even better idea. Certainly, there’d be less injuries as a result.

Iften looked sour. As far as I knew, he hadn’t learned the game, which came as no surprise. I was also not surprised to see that he was holding his sword arm at an odd angle against his chest, as if protecting it. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see how bad the swelling had become. Iften caught me at it, and gave me such a glare as might curl my toes if I cared for his opinion.

Keir released the senel, and all rose to mill about. Iften and Wesren were talking with Uzaina. Others lingered to speak with Keir, and I used the opportunity to talk to Jo-den. He gave me a grave look as I moved closer, his broad face troubled.

“I wanted to thank you, Joden. For—”

He interrupted me with a gesture. “I am not so sure I did you any favors, Warprize.”

“But—”

“Had Iften challenged Keir, I would not have interfered. I am not sure I was right to stop Isdra, either.” He looked away. “All I’ve done is delay these matters until we are before the Elders.”

“But Keir will be able to speak for himself. And you will support him.”

Joden didn’t meet my gaze.

“Joden?” I asked, suddenly aware of a change in my friend.

He looked at me, his normal serenity gone. “I will not support Keir before the Elders, Warprize. I will speak against him.”

“Against him? A—a-against me?” Stunned, I could barely get the words out.

His face softened. “No, Lara, not against you. But,” he looked out over the area, as if gathering his thoughts. “It seems like a lifetime has passed since I crouched at Simus’s side and saw to his wound. Tradition demanded that I grant mercy, to prevent his suffering and evade capture.”

“But you didn’t kill him.”

“No,” He turned then to look me in the eye, his gaze filled with pain. “I tried to bind his wound, and we were captured.”

“Which brought Simus under my care, and to my meeting Keir.” I smiled. “We should thank you for that, Joden.”

“Would you thank me for these deaths as well?”

His question sucked the very breath from my body. “Joden…”

“You saved the life of my friend,” Joden continued, his voice cracking. “You became the Warprize, bringing gifts of your knowledge. But all I see as a result is death. Ugly, dishonorable death.”

“You blame me.” I whispered.

Haunted eyes looked into mine. “You are a gentle, caring soul, Xylara. I can lay no blame on you.” His face hardened and his hands formed fists. “I blame Keir’s ideas of combining our peoples and their ways. What happened here speaks to me of the dangers of his leadership.”

I swallowed hard. What had happened here… I blinked back tears.

“What can I say to you, Lara?” Joden’s voice, his lovely voice cracked. “You gave me hope when you saved the life of Simus, and more hope when I understood your willingness to sacrifice yourself for your people.”

“But now my people lie dead, and the smoke rises to the skies. Precious lives have been lost, and I can’t but think they are lost because Keir is trying to go against the elements themselves.”

Joden shook his head. “Keir asks that you become of the Plains, and demands that we be of Xy. No good has, or will, come of it.” Joden took a breath. “My decision is made. Excuse me, Warpr—” He stopped himself. “Excuse me, Xylara. I must tell the Warlord of my truths.” Joden’s voice was soft, but he turned and left me without another word.

I returned to my stilltent to find Isdra sitting inside, reworking the leather on the handle of Epor’s warclub. Her hands stroked the smooth leather, as if it was precious.

With leaden steps, I moved to stir the coals in one of the small braziers, adding fuel, losing myself in the task of warming kavage. I said nothing, and Isdra was silent as well, both of us lost in memories of a golden-haired man with a ready smile.

I dropped on a stump and watched the pot, numb and tired. For just a few moments, the only thing I wanted to think about was kavage. Not sickness, or challenges, or failure…

Or death.

Isdra finished the wrapping and secured the ends of the leather strip. She sat for a moment, her hands resting lightly on the weapon in her lap.

Isdra quietly started to cry.

I knelt beside her, leaned my head against her arm, and offered what comfort I could.

The rattle of the pot forced my attention back to the world around us. I poured kavage as Isdra wiped her face. She took the mug I offered, and we drank in silence.

I broke the silence. “The other day, Marcus told me ‘the sun will rise. I can offer no more, and no less’.”

“It should not.” Isdra whispered, staring into her kavage. “It should hide itself in sorrow and mourn.” She lifted her head to gaze at me. “My life is broken, yet the world goes on around me. As if it had never happened. As if he had never been.” She drew a stuttering breath. “Never to hear his voice again, or feel his touch. Not until I—”

I looked down at my hands, suddenly ashamed of what I had asked of her. “Isdra, I don’t know what to say. You are a warrior, and my guardian, and my friend.” My voice hitched, and tears welled up. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

She sat silent.

“Besides,” I tried to smile. “Who will raise Meara? Or the babe I hope to have? Who will teach them in the ways of the Plains besides you, Isdra?” I put my hand over hers. “My babe will be a child of both worlds and will need guidance in all ways.” I hadn’t thought of that before, but it was true. Any child I bore would need a thea. In my mind, I could see Anna and Isdra arguing over some point of child-rearing in the castle nursery.

Isdra’s hand moved to clasp mine. “There is that, Lara.” Her face darkened. “And my Epor to avenge.” She looked off, her eyes distant. “But there are many sunsets between now and then. Many long moments of—” she cut her words off and stood, her face taut with sorrow. “I would take my leave, Warprize.”

I stood, and watched her take up her position outside by the fire, then I turned listlessly to plop down on a stump, facing the tables with their various bottles and jars. The kavage was bitter in my mouth. But the ache in my chest grew until the grief and the guilt welled up, and fat tears started to fall, hard and fast.

I moved, pulled the flaps down and tied them closed. I had enough sense to wrap a strip of bells in one of the ties. I wanted no visitors, well or ill.

Stumbling, I crossed to the stump furthest from the door, and sat down. Through my tears, I reached for some cloths and buried my face in them. I didn’t want anyone to hear, or know. The material stifled my sobs, and I let go, releasing all the pain. I hunched over as my shoulders shook, and I cried.

I wanted Anna, wanted home, wanted Father. It was a true pain, deep in my chest, the longing to ran home. I should never have left those safe walls, never stumbled out on the road after Keir. It was all my fault, all of it, and the pain of that truth cramped my heart and closed my throat.

I pulled the cloths back just enough to suck in a deep breath, rocking a bit to ease my anguish. But the pain and horror of Epor’s final breath wouldn’t let me go, and I pressed the damp cloths against my face and moaned.

Why had I insisted that I enter the village? Why had I let Epor and Isdra go with me? My arrogance was to blame, for his death and all the others that lay burning in the ashes of the village.

It seemed as if nothing was right. Everything was tinged with a deep blackness, and I could see no hope. There was despair everywhere I looked, or turned my head, and nothing I could do would solve anything. In fact, my actions seemed only to make things worse.

Meara, that sweet child, almost lost to us in a breath, her cold toes in the palm of my hand. Gils, oh, Gils, had I ever told him how proud I was of him? He’d collapsed at my feet, convulsing helplessly, and nothing in my power could save him. Oh, they’d been right to grant mercy, and maybe that was the only cure for my pain, for I knew of no other way to end my sorrow and grief.

All the dead, offered up in flames on the ruined village, hundreds of men and women. All taken by a disease that I was powerless to stop, for all the talk of my so-called skills of healing.

Now Iften was stronger, much stronger in his actions against change, for he had new support, including Joden.

For Joden had lost faith, in me, in Keir, in the elements themselves.

He wasn’t going to call me Warprize any more.

My stomach clenched in a knot and I swallowed hard. I’d complained about everyone using the title but Joden had been one of the first to call me that after Keir claimed me. For him to renounce me hurt terribly. And I’d poured out all my petty fears and problems in Joden’s, exposing myself to him. How would he use that? To hurt Keir? To hurt me? And Keir…

A decimated army, his warleaders turned against him, his plans for the future in ashes around us, I wouldn’t blame Keir if he turned his back on me in anger. The depression crashed down on me and I pressed the sodden cloth even harder against my face and wailed.

Oh Goddess, why had I lied to him?

He’d never forgive me for that, never. How could he, in the face of the damage I’d done to his people?

To us?

There’d be consequences, seen and unseen. Nothing I could do would bring back my friends, or repair the damage I’d created. I shook with sobs that I couldn’t stop. I’d lied and everything had gone so very, very wrong…

It was the touch of a callused hand on mine, gently tugging the cloths away from my face that brought me back. I knew it was Keir even as he knelt by my side, by his touch, by the spicy scent of his skin. I couldn’t look, couldn’t raise my swollen eyes to his face. For I knew what I would see there, knew what I deserved. Anger, contempt—at the very least he’d hate me for all that had happened.

I sat, shivering, trying to stop crying, looking at my lap where his hand covered mine. He said nothing, and I tried to get my ragged breathing under control, to face the disgust that I’d see in those wonderful blue eyes. If I was lucky he’d just go away and leave me to drown in my despair.

But those strong fingers moved and lifted my chin and I raised my gaze to face my Warlord.