Текст книги "Warsworn"
Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Most everyone was watching the contests, except those on guard duty. Prest and Rafe followed as I walked to Iften’s tent, and pushed through the flap with no ceremony.
He was there, seated on a stump, eating gurt with his left hand. The right was held against his chest, close to his body. I stepped far enough in to allow Prest to enter behind me, but stopped there, since Iften’s expression made it clear that I was not welcome.
“Iften.”
“Xyian.”
I stiffened. His tone, and choice of address was as clear an insult as I had heard. Prest put his hand on his weapon. Iften’s eyes flicked, but he looked away, and spoke grudgingly. “Warprize.”
Prest lowered his hand.
I cleared my throat. “Iften, I want to speak to you about your injury.”
“I want nothing from you, Warprize. Not your healing, not your words.”
“If you reject my care, I can’t inflict it on you. You are free to make a choice, good or bad. But my oaths require that you know the consequences of your choice. So I will speak. Listen or not, as you choose.”
“I will not—”
Prest spoke. “The wind will teach, if we but listen.”
I looked at him, startled. It wasn’t like Prest to speak up that way. The words he’d uttered sounded like a saying of some kind. But Prest’s face was bland and composed.
Iften was taken aback as well. He looked at Prest, and then looked away, as if ashamed. “I will listen.”
“Your arm is still badly swollen and the flesh is discolored. Your hand and fingers are numb, and it hurts to move them. There is no strength in the arm.”
Iften eyed me, but made no response.
“If you don’t let me set it, you may heal, but you will not heal true. You may lose all use of your hand, or never regain the strength in it again.” I paused. “It is your sword arm.”
He responded then, glowering in my direction.
“If you allow me to care for it, the chances are good that the arm will heal true. If you wait to see a warrior-priest, the damage maybe too great for them to fix.”
“You’d cast your spells, eh, Warprize.” He mocked me.
“I cast no spells, Iften. I have only the skills and knowledge of my craft. The rest is in the hands of the Goddess. Or the elements.”
There was a long pause, and for a moment I held the hope that he would agree. But his face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. I’d lost.
He spat out his fury. “I’ve listened, and the wind has brought me nothing. Leave.”
“Fool,” Prest said.
Without a thought, Iften reached for his weapon, but the pain caught him even faster as the arm began to move. He hissed, drawing the limb back against his chest.
I turned and left without another word. As we emerged and headed toward Keir’s tent, I questioned Prest. “What was that?”
He smiled, the wind catching his braids. “A teaching tool.”
“For children.” Rafe shook his head. “For a quiet man, you can sure make someone froth at the mouth.”
Prest grinned.
Rafe turned back to me. “It goes like this, Warprize.
The wind will teach us—if we but listen.
The stars will guide us—if we but look up.
The waters will cool us—if we but seek it.
The fire will warm us—if we are wary.
Remember this, Child of the Plains.
I nodded, then looked over at Prest. “You insulted him.”
Prest shrugged, but there was no grin this time. “How long, Warprize?”
“Before he loses the use?” At his nod, I continued. “It depends on the swelling. But the damage will be permanent if he doesn’t get it seen to within the next week or so. And even then, I might have to re-break the bone.”
Prest grunted, but he looked oddly satisfied.
The combats proved to be both unsettling and exciting.
Unsettling because these warriors went at it tooth and nail, with bare steel and grim faces. I was used to watching practice sessions, but that didn’t prepare me for naked combat. True, they were to first blood, but they took the fighting deadly seriously. Each combat had a judge, usually one of the warleaders, or Keir himself.
Exciting because each combat had warriors watching, warriors who yelled out their support, their criticisms and encouragement. More mob than audience. The first one or two, I had sat there in fear, waiting for one to kill the other. But Isdra pointed out the level of skill that the warriors were using, and Yers explained that it was considered disgraceful to kill someone in these types of fights. So I started to relax. The noise was startling but the fever was catching, and I found myself yelling as well. Keir, laughing at my enthusiasm, had reminded me that it would be best if I showed no favoritism. It was hard to sit there and watch without really participating, so I spent more time in my stilltent. Because the combats accomplished more than just determining a winner: They also had warriors seeking me out for aid. The last one for today was standing before me, holding his right arm in his left hand.
“That looks deep.” I reached for his arm, to see it better. The blood was oozing through his leather armor. It looked clean, thank the Goddess, and I looked up to offer reassurance. Large brown eyes stared at me glumly through fairly long brown hair. “I made it through four rounds, Warprize, but Ander’s blow went right through the leather.”
If he was twenty, I’d be surprised. A warrior, and his disappointment was obvious. I turned the arm carefully, to look at it closer. “A nasty cut. Sit here, and let me see to it.”
The lad shifted from foot to foot before sitting down rather slowly. I called to Rafe, standing guard outside, then turned back to my patient. “What is your name?”
“Cadr, Warprize.”
With Rafe’s help, we eased the young man out of his armor. Rafe whistled when he saw the cut through the leather. “Who was your opponent?”
“Ander.”
Rafe nodded. “He’s a strong one. How many rounds did you make it through?”
The lad looked up. “Four, Warrior.”
“Well done, to make it that far.” Rafe gave me a nod, and went back out to his post.
The lad straightened at Rafe’s parting words. I started to clean the arm, although it wasn’t all that dirty.
“Gonna use bloodmoss?”
Startled, I look at him. “Why, yes, I think so.”
He nodded. “Gils told me. Told me that the wound had to be clean.” He gave the wound a critical look. “Looks clean.”
“You knew Gils?”
He nodded, and used his good hand to open a pouch at his side. He pulled out a small package of bloodmoss, wrapped carefully in a clean cloth. “Gils and I were friends, Warprize.” His face was stoic, but I could hear the pain in his voice. “I wanted to take his place as your guard.”
“Gils wasn’t my guard, Cadr. Gils was my apprentice.” I choked a bit on the words.
“Guardian of your knowledge.” Cadr answered quietly.
I reached for the dried leaves as I blinked back my tears. Cadr watched in silence as I packed the arm carefully, pressing it tight to the wound. The familiar moldy smell filled my nose as the plant did its work. As soon as the color changed, I pulled the leaves away to reveal the pink skin beneath it. “Favor the arm for a day, Cadr.”
“I will.” He adjusted his seat as he struggled into his tunic with my help. “Warprize, what Gils told me was interesting, and I’d like to leam more. Not sure I want to give up being a warrior… ”
I looked at him and smiled. “If you want to learn more, that’s fine. Come when you have time, and I’ll be glad to teach you some useful things.”
Cadr nodded, picked up his other bits of armor and turned to leave. But a memory came to me, something Gils had said. “Cadr?”
He turned, with an enquiring look.
“Didn’t Gils tell me that you had a boil?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I tried to deal with it myself, Warprize. Thought you’d be angry. But it’s back, and bigger, and hurting.”
“Drop your pants, young man.” I moved to get my lances, a sense of quiet joy in my heart. Here was something I could cure. “I’ll explain about boils while we take care of this problem.”
Cadr sighed, and dropped his pants.
After dealing with Cadr’s problem, I returned to the command tent. Keir was still out, but Marcus had promised to have four buckets of hot water waiting, with my soaps laid out for me, and drying cloths. Keir’s people may be comfortable bathing together naked in the river but not me. While a hot bath might be out of the question, using the drain in the privy room to shower myself with warm water was the next best thing. Rafe and Prest took up position by the tent entrance.
Marcus was waiting inside. “Everything is laid out, Warprize. If you need help with the water, call.”
“I will.” I turned and glared at my guards. “No interruptions.”
“Even the Warlord?” Prest asked with a sly grin.
“The Warlord may enter.” Actually, I was hoping the Warlord would enter. I’d not seen him most of the day. “No one else, unless they are ill.”
“As the Warprize commands.” Prest bowed, as Rafe and Marcus chuckled.
Once in the privy, I checked the water temperature, set my bag on a bench and started to undress. I did miss the hot baths under the castle of Water’s Fall. Soaking in their warm depths was a luxury that I had taken for granted. But given the living conditions in this camp, I was grateful for what I had. Remembering the temperature of the water in the lake made me shiver.
I took my time, hoping that Keir might appear. I removed my tunic, combed out my braid, and eased my trous off. As I bent down, it seemed to me that my waist was a bit thicker than I remembered. Of course, Marcus had been feeding me on a regular basis but—
I paused, thinking back. When had I last had my courses?
The last I’d thought of it had been the day when Keir and I had eaten by the lake. I flushed at the memory of our tryst. We’d taken advantage of the sun and the water and the privacy. I’d been due then, and here I was, weeks later, with no sign of them. Admittedly, I’d been sick, which could cause a delay, but still…
Could I be pregnant?
I sat and stared at the tent wall for some time, thinking about it, trying to decide how I felt about the possibility. I
didn’t feel like I was bearing, not that I had any actual experience. But I knew the symptoms as well as any other healer, and I wasn’t feeling anything along those lines. No swelling of the lower limbs, no nausea.
I thought of how Keir had played with little Meara, how the other warriors had treated the babe as gently as any Xyian. The news would bring great joy, but troubles too. The Council of Xy had made demands, conditions on my acceptance of the role of Warprize. I hadn’t talked to Keir about them yet. It wasn’t an issue until I was pregnant and the child was due.
Which was a falsehood on my part. I worried my lip, thinking. How do I tell him what I’d promised? Before I’d seen him with a babe, I’d thought that children meant little to these people. After all, they bore children, they left them to be raised by theas, going off to serve in the army. But then they’d shown that they treasure children much as my people do, maybe even more.
I drew a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I’d tell him when I was with child, not before. Isdra would know, she’d borne before. I could confide in her, but even as I had the thought I knew I wouldn’t. It was too soon, and I had no desire to add to her pain, or worse, give her a false hope. I’d share the news when I was certain, not before.
Time would tell, of course, and I tried to be practical. But for just a moment, as I put my hand over my belly, a vision of a small boy with dark hair and blue eyes, dragging a wooden practice sword, flashed into my mind. He’d look so much like Keir…
In a bemused state, I moved to start my bath.
Of course, I was bending over, rinsing my hair, when I heard someone enter behind me.
“You came too late, my Warlord.” I stood and turned to reach for another bucket of water, a teasing smile on my lips.
It wasn’t Keir.
A man stood there, with wild tangled fur for hair and colored tattoos all over his face and chest. He was glaring at me, holding a long spear, with a human skull tied near the tip.
I shrieked, and heaved the bucket at him.
Chapter 13
The bucket hit his chest and water splashed everywhere, but it didn’t faze the wild man. He raised his spear and shook it at me, snarling and growling like an animal, his unruly hair tossing about his head.
My heart was in my throat, but I wasn’t finished yet. My bag was a step away, and a large jar of boiled skunk cabbage was the first thing my fingers touched. I threw, catching him right on the head. The jar shattered, and the stinking, gooey mess exploded in the man’s face. He roared in pain as it splashed into his eyes.
I darted around him, and ran through the door. My cloak was on the bed, I snatched it up to cover my nakedness, screaming for help. The man was behind me, yelling something that I didn’t pause to hear. I plunged through the meeting room and out the entrance.
Rafe, Prest and Marcus were there, but I only had eyes for Keir, who was running toward us, swords in hand. I ran to meet him, as the crazy man stumbled out of the tent behind me, wiping his eyes and roaring.
Keir placed himself between us, and I took shelter behind him, clutching at the cloak. Everyone was shouting and in an uproar. But Keir’s roar silenced them all. “What is the meaning of this?”
“He came in while I was bathing!” I stayed behind Keir, and wrapped the cloak tight around me. My wet hair was a mess, streaming water down my back, and the ground was cold beneath my bare feet.
“We tried to tell him, Warlord.” Rafe spoke, glaring at the man. “He would not listen.”
Marcus spat on the ground.
There was silence as the wild man stood there, dripping water and stinking of skunk cabbage.
“Why do you violate the privacy of the Warprize, Warrior-Priest?” Keir challenged.
That was a warrior-priest? I peeked out from behind Keir, to stare at the man. He looked no less crazed than he had before. The matted hair was thick, and there was fur braided into it. His tattoos were bright and vivid, colored in green, red, blue, and black. His cloak was a fur of some kind, and his trous looked like it needed a good scrubbing. That skull on the spear did nothing to reassure me.
The man drew himself up, and tried his best to look impressive. Ordinarily, I was sure that it worked, but it is hard to be dignified and awe inspiring when noxious stuff is dripping from your hair. I had to give him credit for trying, though.
“There were no bells, Warlord. A Warrior-Priest of the Plains enters where he wishes, when he wishes.”
Of all the conceited, arrogant… I opened my mouth to reply, but Keir beat me to it. His voice vibrated with anger, but his face was impassive. “The Warprize is of Xy. Xyians do not expose their bodies to others easily. You entered my command tent without invitation, Warrior-priest. That privacy requires no bells. You ignored the guards placed at the entrance.”
The warrior-priest glanced about, but made no response to Keir’s accusation. “We were sent by the Elders from the Heart of the Plains. You failed to appear, as your messages indicated that you would, bearing a warprize.”
I sucked in a breath, but Keir anticipated me. “You traveled with others? Where are they?”
The warrior-priest frowned, taken back by the abrupt change of topic. “They follow. I came ahead.”
Keir turned his head, looking around. “The perimeter guards did not stop you?”
“They tried.” That arrogance was back again. “What means this?”
Keir ignored him. “Prest, you and Rafe, head off the rest of his party. Tell them to keep their distance, and see my orders enforced.”
“Enforced?” The warrior-priest gripped his spear tighter as Rafe and Prest ran off.
“We are isolated from others, by the command of the Warprize.” Keir looked him in the eye. “You risk death entering this camp. As you were told when you crossed within.”
“I see no enemy.”
“Pray that you do not.” Keir turned. “Lara, let me return you to our tent. You are shivering.” He put his arm around me and we started walking toward the tent.
The Warrior-priest gave ground only grudgingly. “I would have a report from you, Warlord.”
“I will provide the report, Warrior-priest.” We both stopped at Iften’s words. He was standing there, Wesren at his side.
“You are Second?” The warrior-priest asked. “Where is Simus of the Hawk?”
“Simus remained behind, upon my order.” Keir growled. “I will see a tent set up for you, and will meet you there to discuss this matter.”
“Your tent—”
“You are not welcome within my tent, Warrior-Priest.”
I shivered at the look in those cold eyes. Keir swept me up into his arms, and Marcus reached over to flick the cloak over my bare feet. I could feel the tension in Keir’s body, taught and tight under my hands.
“You are welcome within mine, Warrior-priest.” Iften raised his right arm. “I would also ask that you cast your healing spells, for my arm has been injured.”
“The only honorable wound I see,” the warrior-priest said.
That got a reaction. The warriors around us all stiffened, placing hands on weapon hilts. But where ordinarily they would have all attacked for the insult, there was no movement beyond that. The warrior-priest looked around, and grunted slightly in satisfaction. “I will cast those spells for you.”
Spells? Magical healing? I turned my head to look at the man. “Could I watch? Could I watch the spell casting?”
Eyes popped open on every face, including the Warrior-Priest’s. He looked so astonished I almost laughed, but then his eyes turned mean. “No.”
“But—”
The squeeze of Keir’s arms warned me before the response of the warrior-priest. “You are of Xy, and offensive to the elements.”
Keir bristled, and the others too were looking damned angry. The warrior-priest tossed that matted hair of his. “Come, Iften of the Pig. I will hear your truths, and heal your wound.”
They walked off, Wesren but a step behind. I opened my mouth to make a comment, but Keir swept me into the sleeping area, and set me on the bed. He knelt, taking my feet in his hands and rubbing some warmth into them.
I leaned back, propping myself up with my elbows. “So, Iften is of the Pig. That explains a lot.”
Keir’s head jerked up, and he laughed out loud. I loved his face in that instant, happy and relaxed. But then he shook his head. “You have the word wrong. These are not the pigs of your land, Lara. These are wild boars, fierce, fleet of foot, and dangerous. Have a care when you face one.”
Isdra had appeared, and stood sentry at the door, with Marcus at her side. Marcus growled. “I’m more than willing to hunt one particular boar.”
Isdra nodded.
Keir kissed me. “Get dry and warm. I will deal with this.”
“Keir, I’m sorry. He scared me and I didn’t think, I just threw—”
Keir flashed that boyish grin. “Ugly, isn’t he. They all are. And do they offer their name? Or ask permission for anything? Ah, I couldn’t ask for better, my heart’s fire. He reeks of that foul smelling goo.”
I rolled my eyes. “And he will for some time. That odor doesn’t really wash away without strong soap.”
“Which will be in short supply.” Keir kissed me again, then whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry I was late for your bathing. Next time, send word.”
I blushed, but sat up to grab his arm as he turned to leave. “Keir, for all your pleasure he has been exposed to the plague. He needs to know the symptoms and the ways to treat—”
Keir turned back, knelt down at my feet, and took my hands. “Lara, you must understand something. He does not care, as you do. He is not a ‘healer’. Warrior-priests use their magic only as it profits them.”
“But if he has magic, Keir, I want to learn.” I tightened my grip on his arm. “Imagine what I could do with that power? I could have healed Atira’s leg, maybe even saved my father—”
“They do not share knowledge, Lara. I have doubts about their powers.” Keir looked at me intently. “You must promise me that you will not attempt to talk to him, not even with all your guards with you. He despises any who are not of the Plains. But he will hate you more for the gifts you bring us. Do you understand?”
Marcus moved slightly, and I looked over at him, remembering the cold blade at my throat. I looked at Keir and nodded. “I understand. Death can come in an instant.”
Keir smiled, and then lifted my hands to kiss them. “We will watch him carefully for signs of illness.” He stood, looking down at me. “I will make sure that the rest of his party returns to the Plains, Lara, with messages for the Elders.” He hesitated slightly. “Isdra.”
“Warlord?”
“Make sure that any who tend to Meara are such as can face a warrior-priest.”
I shivered at the very idea that any would harm the child. Marcus sucked in a breath and Isdra looked shocked. “Warlord, not even they would dare—”
Keir was grim, the hate in his eyes flaring. “I’ll not give them a chance.” He left, with a swirl of his cape. Isdra followed him out.
Marcus had drying cloths, and dropped one on my head. “See to your hair, Warprize.” He knelt at my feet, and started to rub them roughly with another cloth. “I’ve hot kavage fresh brewed, that will warm you.”
I sighed as I toweled my hair. “I certainly made a mess of things.”
“A mess of that arrogant fool, yes.” Marcus paused, looking up at me intently with his one eye. “But you did well, Warprize. You distracted him with what you had at hand, and used that advantage to flee.”
I smiled, warmed by his praise. “Still, I angered the warrior-priest. That won’t help Keir.”
“There’d be no help regardless. Hisself makes no secret of his hatred.”
“Because of what happened to you?” I asked quietly.
“There are other reasons.” Marcus stood. “I will fetch the kavage. Be warm and dry and tucked within the bedding when I return, eh?”
He left without another word.
The next morning the final winners of the combat rounds stood before us, both smiling. I couldn’t help but smile back, enjoying their obvious pride. The man, Ander by name, was older than most warriors, although clearly not as old as Epor. He was bald, with thick bushy white eyebrows and hazel eyes. The woman, Yveni, was tall and thin, her skin as black as Simus’s. I’d seen her around before. Her hair was black and cropped close to her skull, and her brown eyes had flecks of gold.
“Heyla!” Keir called out, and the crowd around us returned his call with a loud shout of approval.
“Behold, the last two that contest for the position of the Warprize’s guard. They both meet with my approval, and so the winner of this combat shall have the position.”
Another cry of approval went up. Keir had met with each of the candidates the night before, talking to them about their duties and responsibilities. The man he knew from other campaigns. The woman had battle experience, but this was her first time under Keir’s command. Yers had given them both praise and Isdra told Keir she could work with either one. Marcus hadn’t had anything negative to say, other than his usual complaints.
“But this position requires one who is sharp of skill and wits. Who can both attack and protect. So, I have decided to change the rules.” That brought quiet, as everyone leaned forward, intent on Keir’s words. He smiled, his dark hair shining in the sun. “Marcus. Rafe.”
Marcus and Rafe moved to stand together, back to back, with something in their hands. They each paced out five steps, and then knelt to press something into the ground.
“Hear now the rules for this combat. Behind each warrior is a horsehair braid, tied between two stakes, a hands-length above the ground. The goal is to cut your opponent’s braid. Do you understand?”
Ander and Yveni both considered the ground as Rafe and Marcus moved away. They studied the stakes and the braids, and then took positions in front of them, facing each other.
Sal was to judge the combat, and she stepped forward at Keir’s nod. “Are you ready, warriors?”
They’d barely nodded when Sal cried “Begin!” They sprang forward, their blades clashed, the crowd roared, and the fight was on.
They were both using swords and shields and moved so fast I was sure to miss something if I blinked. The location of the stakes restricted their movements. While there was no formal circle, the warriors never wandered far from their braids. Keir and I were seated on a bit of higher ground, giving us a better view. Rafe and Prest were behind me, Isdra at my side, watching with a careful eye.
Iften and the Warrior-Priest were off to one side, also using the rise to their advantage, but making sure not to come close to Keir and I. The warrior-priest had a sullen look, but Iften seemed to be awfully pleased with himself, almost happy. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at his arm, which was hanging loosely at his side. I’d been told that the healing had taken place, with the sounds of chanting coming from Iftens’s tent, with clouds of purple-blue smoke billowing from the tent. But I couldn’t get a very good look, with all the people in the way.
The Warrior-Priest was unhappy because Keir had warned off the rest of his party. He’d told them to return to the Plains, bearing the message concerning what had happened here. By the time he’d crawled into our bed, he’d been hoarse from the shouting. But the messages had been understood, and they departed in haste from the area. Apparently warrior-priests travel with some kind of servants, who care for their needs. Being without didn’t strike the wild man’s fancy.
In the morning light, my first impression still stood. The man wore only leather trous, and a ratty fur cloak. The colors in the tattoos were very bright, and I wondered how that was done. I didn’t recognize any of the designs. And his hair! I thought it looked remarkably like a rat’s nest, but I kept my opinion to myself. From the way people were standing upwind, he still hadn’t gotten rid of the skunk smell.
I forced my attention back to the fighting. Ander and Yveni moved, considering one another, each looking for an advantage. They’d exchange ringing blows, and then break off. To my eye it seemed they were evenly matched, with no one having a true advantage over the other. Ander seemed to have a bit more power behind his blows, but Yveni had greater speed. The fight continued, but my gaze was drawn back to Iften. Was it possible that he’d been healed? I looked back just in time to see the warrior-priest hand him something that looked like gurt, only brown in color. Iften placed it in his mouth, and started chewing.
I stiffened. His right hand, his sword arm. He’d used it with no obvious pain, grasping the food with fingers that I’d seen swollen and numb. The same arm that Isdra had broken.
How was that possible?
THWACK.
I flinched, and turned at the sound. Ander’s sword had bit deep into the wood of Yveni’s shield. He tugged hard, but the blade did not come loose.
Yveni moved back, trying to pull the sword from Ander’s hand. He followed, trying to rock the blade from its prison. Ander concentrated on his sword, never once watching his feet. She yanked the shield back again, dancing a few paces sideways. Ander followed, intent on his weapon.
It was the laughter from the crowd that finally drew his attention, making him look up and take stock of his situation. Yveni had danced him around, moving both of them, until she stood a mere step from Ander’s braid. Her sword arm was extended, the tip of her blade just under the taut braid.
Yveni grinned at him, her teeth flashing.
Ander shook his head, then laughed, raising both hands in the air.
A roar of approval went up as Yveni cut the braid.
In Xy, chess matches are quiet things. Two players, sitting at a table in silence, making moves on a board,
It was an entirely different matter for the Firelanders.
If I’d thought the crowd noisy for the combats, I wasn’t prepared for the enthusiasm for this new game. Aret’s idea for a living chessboard had been a good one, and the warriors chosen as pieces had decked themselves out in their very best armor, with a shine and a polish to the weapons that told me they’d been worked on for hours. They’d used armbands to designate their color, and the ‘pawns’ had tried to make themselves look as uniform as possible.
But under all the noise and bustle and laughter was an underlying tension. The division that I’d seen in the war-leaders was starting to be seen in the army. Oh, no obvious insult was given to Keir or myself. On the surface all seemed well. But the games of chess were seen as being
Xyian, and many had decided not to participate or watch for just that reason.
Not that the game seemed Xyian any more. To my horror, the time-honored pieces known as ‘castles’ had been replaced. Instead, the pieces were called ehats. I hadn’t heard of this change until the pieces took the board. Four warriors, two for each side, had stepped forward with fur cloaks wrapped around them, and huge horns carved from tree branches. The other warriors had to duck as they moved on the board, holding their heads low, and sweeping the area around them with their horns. Laughter filled the air as the ehats snorted and pounded the earth with their feet.
The players strode at the ends of the boards, some pacing back and forth as they shouted their moves. The crowd then would chant the words, until that ‘piece’ moved into its proper place.
Warleaders, warriors, and even Keir had entered the chess tourney. The games had taken days, and had absorbed everyone’s attention. Keir managed to win all his games and was in the final match.
His opponent was a woman that I didn’t recognize, whose name was Oone. She was a muscular, thoughtful woman, almost as big as Simus, with short red hair and brown eyes.
I was watching the game board from the rise, wrapped in a cloak against the chill wind. Prest and Yveni had the watch, and were standing behind me, acting as a wind break. The game area had been laid out with stones, and they’d managed to make the squares big enough that the knights could be mounted on horses. Which meant that the ‘pieces’ had to deal with some obstacles not normally found on a chess board. Still and all, it was an amazing spectacle.
Iften and the Warrior-Priest were avoiding the games, and were very vocal in their opposition. They wanted nothing to do with me, or anything remotely Xyian, which frustrated my efforts to get a good look at Iften’s arm.
