Текст книги "Warsworn"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

But I had help.

Marcus came to offer me hot kavage. “Any luck?” I asked.

“Not so far. Isdra is trying to get closer, as is Rate. But they swear to me that it’s almost as if he knows what they are trying to do.”

Prest grunted. Yveni looked at him, then turned back to me. “Tell me again, why we are trying to see the Second’s arm?”

“Herself is curious.” Prest said.

I looked at him sharply, but his face was neutral. Some time after Yveni had won the combat, I’d found her with Keir, Rafe, Prest, Isdra and Marcus clustered together, their conversation serious and intent. They’d broke off their words as I approached, but I was certain that the quirks and foibles of one warprize had been discussed hi great detail.

“Ah.” Yveni nodded her understanding. “Do you wish me to try, Warprize?”

“Not yet.” I sat, watching Keir make his first move in the game. Oone was intent, but quick and the game seemed to move as fast as they could call out instructions to the ‘pieces and pawns’.

After a bit, Rafe and Isdra reported back, glum with their failure. I nodded, unworried. It stood to reason that Iften would know them, and anticipate their interest.

As Keir’s knight advanced to take one of Oone’s bishops, Cadr moved up beside me, and knelt, adjusting his boot. “I got a good look, Warprize.”

“And?”

“Not sure. He has his bracers strapped tight over his leather sleeve. He is using the hand, and flexing the fingers. I thought they looked a little swollen, but I saw no sign of pain.”

“Pity.” Isdra said.

I kept my attention on the game, and my voice soft. “My thanks, Cadr.”

He stood, and moved off into the crowd without looking back.

I settled back on my stump, and pondered what that might mean. Magical healing? I’d read about it in stories, but could the warrior-priests wield that power?

A wave of pure jealousy washed through me. To be able to heal everything with the touch of my hand. I’d give anything to be able to ease pain, mend wounds that way.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t really see the game, until the crowd cheered, and I looked up to see that Keir and Oone had reached a draw. Oone studied her remaining pieces carefully. “I could offer you a warprize.”

Keir threw his head up, and glanced over in my direction. His eyes were bright, his smile so bright it took my breath. “Oh no, Oone. I have claimed my warprize, and will have no other.”

I blushed bright red, warmed to the tips of my toes.

Keir looked back at his opponent, over the heads of the joyful crowd. “Oone, I think instead that your warrior-priests would leave you in this instance. What say you?”

There was much commenting on this. I frowned, a bit puzzled. Oone still had bishops on the board at her command. Yet she was looking at them with distrust. And the warriors portraying them were standing with their arms crossed, glaring at all and sundry from beneath lowered brows.

Keir’s bishops had been taken from the board, long before this. Yet he didn’t have the ability to force a checkmate. It was clearly a draw. Why were they—

Oone nodded her agreement. “I concede the loss, Warlord. My warrior-priests are not to be trusted.”

Stunned, I watched as the crowd erupted into cheers and Keir raised his arms in victory. I didn’t understand what had just happened, but I knew somehow that it was important. What kind of power did the warrior-priests hold that they would refuse to support a leader?

Movement distracted me, as Keir was lifted on the shoulders of some of the warriors and carried high above the heads of the cheering crowd.

I cheered as well, but groaned mentally. There’d be no living with him now.

Keir had announced a mourning ceremony for the evening before we were to leave. There had been no new cases of the Sweat since Gils had died. A full forty days had passed, and we were free of our invisible enemy.

Free of the disease, but not free of its effects. These people had been changed profoundly by what had happened here, each marked in different ways by the experience. They had confronted something unknown to them, and learned new skills as a result. I knew that I too had been affected. Never again would I walk into a situation so sure that I had a solution. A loss of confidence, perhaps, or maybe more of facing the truth of my limitations that I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before.

As the sun started to sink behind the mountains, everyone began to gather for the ceremony along the shore of the lake. This time, a minimal guard had been set, for all would mourn together. I watched the sun as I stood outside the command tent, wrapped in my cloak. The gathering warriors were bringing blankets to sit on, filling in the area, sitting close together, side by side.

Keir emerged from the tent with blankets and a bundle in his arms. He’d released my guards to join the grieving, and Marcus had indicated that he would remain in the command tent with Meara. Without a word, Keir took my hand, leading me toward the rise that overlooked the edge of the lake.

I saw Iften and the Warrior-Priest standing outside Iften’s tent. It almost looked as if they were hiding something, the way they looked about them as they talked. Iften threw open the tent flap and vanished inside. The Warrior-Priest walked off, disappearing behind the tent in the directions of the herds. I was surprised that they didn’t join in the ceremony, but it certainly didn’t bother me.

Keir stopped. I looked around to find that we weren’t far from our tent, and were really at the fringes of the crowd. “Aren’t we going to sit closer?” I asked.

Keir shook his head. “I think for this ceremony, we’d be better off here.” He shook out one of the blankets and spread it on the ground. “Besides, we are not the focus of this gathering. The dead are.”

I sat next to him, and he pulled me close, drawing an-other blanket over us. He leaned in, and spoke for my ear alone. “When you grow uncomfortable, we will leave.”

An odd statement. I would have questioned him, but a drummer had stepped out into the clear area at the lake’s edge. He sat, a large drum before him, and pounded sharply four times.

Everyone stopped talking.

Joden stepped forward, followed by four warriors, carrying small braziers. He faced the crowd, the warriors placing their burdens at the compass points around him, with Joden at the center.

Joden raised his right palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”

The response rose. “We will remember.”

Joden lowered his arm and spoke again. “Birth of fire, death of air.”

One of the warriors knelt, and blew on the coals within, feeding fuel that caused flames to leap up and dance.

“Birth of water, death of earth.”

The second warrior knelt, dipping her hands and letting the water trickle back into the brazier.

“Birth of earth, death of fire.”

The third warrior knelt, raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall back into the brazier.

“Birth of air, death of water.”

The fourth warrior knelt. He too blew on coals, but the fuel he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.

The four warriors stood, bowed to their elements, and melted back into the crowd.

“We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead.” Joden spoke again, his voice melodic and beautiful. In the silence, every word carried, clear and firm. “All life perishes. This we know. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall.”

The drummer started a beat then, a slow but steady pulse.

“But we are also more than our bodies. This we know. That which is within each of us, lives on. Our dead travel with us, until the snows.”

Joden paused, then continued. “How can we mourn then? How can we sorrow for what must be? If our dead are with us, and we will join with them when our bodies fail, how then do we weep?”

The drummer’s beat continued behind Joden’s words.

“We grieve for what we lost. For the hollow place within our hearts. For the loss that is felt each time we turn to confide a secret, to share a joke, or to reach for a familiar touch.”

My eyes filled. I remembered Epor, his flashing grin. Gils’s serious face. Father’s joy when he won at chess, his mind sharp even as his body failed.

“This is our pain, the pain of those left behind. Let us share it.” Joden began to sing then, lifting his face and voice to the sky. It was the same song that he’d sung in the throne room of Water’s Fall, and my tears flowed when I recognized the words.

I was not alone. Others, too, wept, clinging to those around them, offering and receiving comfort. I sheltered a bit deeper within Keir’s arms and felt his rough breathing as his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

At the end of the song, Joden started a chant, similar to the one that I’d heard when I’d been ill. The phrases repeated over and over, to the rhythm of the drummer’s beat.

“Death of earth, birth of water, death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth.”

A movement caught my eye, and I turned my head to see Isdra rise and walk past us, away from the area. Her face was stoic, but her sorrow hung about her like a cloak. She staggered slightly, but walked swiftly away.

I moved to follow, but Keir held me back. “Don’t.”

“But she’s so sad,” I started, but Keir shook his head.

“Nothing you can say will ease her pain, Lara.”

I eased back into his arms with a flash of guilt. I had my heart’s fire. Living, breathing, sitting beside me, his arms around my waist. Isdra had lost that. Keir was right. I’d probably just remind her of her loss.

Keir drew me closer, and pointed toward the lake.

Two cloaked warriors stood, and were making their way down to stand at Joden’s side. He bowed to them, and they dropped their cloaks. Each was dressed in plain black tunic and trous, no armor or weapons. Joden stepped back to stand at the drummer’s side. As the last of the chant faded, the standing warriors threw back their heads, and wailed, lifting their arms and crying out. They started to dance, using their bodies to express their grief, tearing at their clothing until they were nearly naked, crying out for their loss and pain.

The drumbeat grew faster, and their wails turned angry, now howling their rage to the skies. The crowd joined in, shouting and cursing the elements and the skies. Even Keir spit out a curse. The emotion startled me, but I felt my anger too, at a disease that I knew little about and had no way to defeat.

The man kicked over the brazier of fire, and stomped out the flames. The woman overturned the brazier of water, and then did the same to the one with the earth, stomping the clods flat to the ground.

The brazier of air received the same treatment. Their hands moved to dissipate the smoke that rose from the coals. Their angry howls filled the air, and with a final beat of the drum, they dropped to their knees, and embraced one another.

I was crying openly now, sobbing in my anger and pain. Keir produced the bundle of clean cloths he’d brought from the tent. I fumbled with one to clean my face, when the silence was broken by another drum beat, and Joden, calling out to the people.

“Death and pain are a part of life. But not all of it, People of the Plains! Joy is also there, to be enjoyed and shared! Rejoice!”

I looked up to see the dancers moving, embracing one another, kissing, rubbing their…

I blinked.

The drumbeat was getting faster, and the dancers moved with it, their hands stroking one another, removing their torn clothing. The man was kissing the woman’s neck and…

Goddess.

I looked away, only to discover from the movement around me that the dancers weren’t the only ones seeking ‘comfort’. People were embracing their neighbors, hands reaching out, clothing being removed, caresses being exchanged. There were two men near us, and to my amazement, one reached for the other, stroking and kissing and…

I hid my face against Keir’s chest.

He drew the blanket up over my head, chuckling softly. “My shy one.”

“Keir,” I whispered in his ear. “Men with men?”

He shrugged. “Each to their own preference. It’s not one I share.” He helped me to my feet, then swept me up and started toward our tent.

I pressed my face to his neck, hiding my eyes, embarrassed by what was happening, but also embarrassed at the heat growing within me, a hunger for him, for life. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Keir. I know this is your way, but—”

“It is not yours.” I felt the movement of his head as he nodded his understanding. “They but celebrate life, Lara.” His breath tickled my ear.

“I don’t mind celebrating life.” A laugh escaped me as he picked up his pace. “Just in the privacy of my own tent.”

“As you wish, my Warprize.” His voice was low and hungry and I felt my own desire flare within me.

We’d reached the entrance, and I was so distracted by the look on his face that I didn’t see Marcus standing there until he spoke. “Warlord.”

Keir turned, and my stomach dropped as I saw the look on Marcus’s face. “Oh no,” I whispered. “Not the Sweat. Please, Marcus, don’t tell me it’s returned.”

“No, Lara.” His face held a strange look of regret. “It’s not the disease.”

They’d found Isdra sprawled on the ground, a dagger in her stomach up to the hilt. There was a lot of blood, and she had a puzzled expression on her face. I didn’t have to touch her to know that she was dead, but I did it anyway. There was warmth in her flesh, but no life.

“No, no, she promised to stay with me.” I cried as Keir pulled me back to his side. Marcus had come with us, and he’d managed to find Rafe and Prest as well. I looked at Marcus. “She promised, Marcus.”

“Epor’s call was stronger, Warprize.”

“As it should be.” The Warrior-Priest walked up. “Her place was at her bonded’s side.”

“I would have done the same.” Keir said.

I looked at him in horror, but he met my eyes calmly. I looked away, angry at his acceptance. “Before, she was ready for it—even offered Epor’s weapon to Prest. Why would she do it this way?” I scowled, wiping my tears with my hands, then turned to look at Prest. “Do you believe this?”

Prest let his eyes flicker over the crowd that had gathered, but said nothing. With a long step, he took the war-club off of Isdra’s body, and walked away.

The sun was rising as we prepared to depart.

As was her preference, Isdra was given to the sky. A platform was erected, with her naked body exposed to the elements. At my insistence, they’d placed it in the center of the burned village, by the stone well. As close to where Epor had burned as I could arrange it. I’d dug through my supplies to find those few dried lavender flowers to place around her body. Joden chanted a soft, sad song in the crisp, cold air.

I stood there in the blackened ruins. I’d known, of course, that the village was being used for the pyres of the dead. But that hadn’t prepared me for the sight of black cinders and ashes, spread out over such a large area. The smell of smoke seemed overwhelming. I stood next to Keir, and leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and held me close. Rafe and Prest were there, with Marcus. Some others were in attendance as well. Yveni was behind us, with the horses. Ander was there as well. Keir had summoned him, and asked him to take Isdra’s place, and Ander had agreed.

The last notes of Joden’s song hovered in the air. In the silence, we all turned and walked to our horses. The crows were already gathering as we left.

I did not look back.

With Isdra gone, I’d made the decision to send little Meara back to Xy, to Anna’s care. The babe had recovered well, although she’d been quieter than normal. But she had a ready smile for all of her theas. I couldn’t ask for better caretakers than the fierce warriors that had surrounded her. But despite their protests, she was a child of Xy, and I wasn’t sure of her welcome in the Heart of the Plains. The comments by Iften and the warrior-priest’s attitude made me nervous. Keir agreed with my decision. He’d gathered a swift group of riders to escort her back, and they had left with the dawn. I had no fears for her safety.

The command tent was being dismantled when we returned. Marcus started to complain about the way they were loading the horses before he even stopped his horse. Everyone dismounted to pitch in, and the remaining gear was loaded very quickly.

This time I was to ride by myself, and I was delighted to find that it was the same brown, with the scar on his chest. He seemed happy to see me, sticking his nose in my hair and snuffing me. Greatheart checked me over throughly, and then promptly fell asleep. He never stirred as I gathered up Gil’s satchel and tied it firmly to my saddle. Tears filled my eyes, but I resolutely turned and watched as the others prepared to mount. Keir had indicated that I would be in the center of the army again, so it would be some time before we took our position.

Iften was waiting at the head of the army, ready for the command to move. I’d never seen the blond look so confident or proud. The warrior-priest was there beside him, a stony look on his face. Neither had attended the funeral. I focused hard on Iften’s right hand, but he seemed to be using it normally. He was chewing something, and I assumed it was gurt.

Without any further ceremony, Keir gave the signal, and the forward scouts sprang to a gallop, taking their lead positions. Once they were out of sight, Keir gave another signal, and Uzaina started the front riders at a walk on the road. Slowly but surely, the long line of riders headed out.

I stood for a while, watching them gradually leave. Rafe and Prest had mounted already, and Yveni and An-der were close at hand. Greatheart was still fast asleep, his head hanging, ears flopping over, eyes closed. He’d put all his weight on his left leg, his right hind foot cocked behind him. I reached over to give his ears a good scratch when his head jerked up, his eyes wide. He snorted, his stance changing in a moment, on guard for an attack.

Even as I turned to look, I could hear the drumming of hooves. I fully expected to see one of the scouts, except the sound was louder, stronger…

There were four of them, galloping hard, sending men and horses scattering out of their way. Four warrior-priests, two men and two women, with long spears held at the ready. All were riding dressed in nothing more than trous and a long cloak. Even the women had the matted long hair, and tattoos that covered their breasts, but one had also added colored streamers and some kind of white paint on her dark face. I had a moment to wince at the tattoos that covered the women’s breasts. But then I realized that their target was Keir.

I took a step to run to his side and ran smack into Prest’s horse as he moved to block me. Yveni and Ander mounted in a heartbeat, covering my back. They formed a circle around me, with Marcus next to me, a firm grasp on my arm. Greatheart stood at my side as well, head held high as if to see.

They galloped in a direct line right toward Keir. Terrified, I looked on as the warriors about him merely watched, none taking any action to protect him. “Will no one help him?” I whispered.

“Watch.” Marcus’s response was soft.

Keir stood firm, his hands at his side, facing the riders. From the rigid lines of his back, I knew that his face was grim. I feared to see them plunge a spear into his chest, but at the last moment they circled him, each taking a point equal distance from the other.

One, a warrior-priestess, pulled her horse to a stop at the last moment, right in front of Keir. Keir didn’t flinch or step back. The rider’s horse reared, flailing its hooves, as the priestess plunged a spear into the ground at Keir’s feet.

“Keir of the Cat.” Her voice was shrill and piercing. “The Elders of the Plains summon you to appear before them, to answer for the dishonorable deaths of the warriors entrusted to you.”

Keir’s shoulders shifted slightly, but he made no response.

The warrior-priest to his right threw his spear, close to

Keir’s feet. “Keir of the Cat. The Elders of the Plains summon you, to answer for the dishonorable deaths of a bonded couple entrusted to you.”

The warrior-priestess behind him threw her spear with a scream. “Keir of the Cat. The Elders summon you, to answer for your failure to provide for the People.”

Finally, the warrior-priest to his left threw his spear as well. “Keir of the Cat, The Elders summon you to challenge your claim of a warprize.”

The warrior-priestess before him snarled. “The Elders will demand your life, Warlord.”

With that, she spun her horse on its heels and they galloped away.

I took a deep breath even as Marcus released my arm. But what broke the silence was the sound of Iften laughing out loud, ringing like a bell. As I looked over, the blond urged his horse to a walk, moving with the warriors of the army. I had to grit my teeth at the look on his face, and that of the warrior-priest at his side. They both rode off toward the head of the army, Iften’s chuckles still floating back on the breeze. And the expressions on the warriors as they rode past indicated that there were many that agreed with Iften in this matter as well. Some joined in his laughter, while many seemed to frown and shake their heads.

It was a long moment before everyone around us turned back to their tasks. But I noticed that a few were looking at Keir from the corners of their eyes and others were not looking at him at all.

The tension left my guardians, and Rafe and Prest moved their horses off. Greatheart relaxed and lowered his head, as if to go back to his nap. I looked at Marcus, who spat on the ground, and returned to his task, his expression grim.

Keir grabbed the spear before him, and with a quick jerk, broke it over his knee.

I took Greatheart’s reins and tugged, leading him over to where Keir stood. Greatheart shook his head in protest, stretching his neck out as far as he could before he actually picked up his feet to follow me.

Keir was holding the spear halves, and watching the warrior-priests ride away into the distance. As I came alongside, he growled, and threw the pieces down on the ground.

We stood in silence for a bit, then he turned and looked at me intently. “This will not be easy, Lara. My enemies have been at work, taking advantage of this delay.” He gave me a rueful smile. “We stand on the brink of checkmate.” He looked off toward where the warrior-priests had disappeared. “You could still return to the safety of Water’s Fall.”

I moved closer to him. Keir turned to look, and I lifted my face and kissed him, leaning into his strength and warmth. I put everything I had into that kiss, using my mouth to reassure him as to my promise. It took a long moment before I felt him relax and bring his arms up to wrap around me.

His eyes were warm and loving when I pulled away. I smiled, and turned to mount my horse. As I settled in the saddle, Keir took a step closer, and placed his hand on my knee, looking up into my eyes. “One thing I know. I have no regret in claiming you as Warprize.”

He looked so handsome in the sunlight, his hair gleaming black and teased by the wind. I looked down, arching an eyebrow. “And I have no regret making you claim me.”

Keir laughed, throwing back his head, and roaring his delight.

I leaned down to caress his cheek. “No regrets. Whatever comes.”

Keir nodded. My guards came up with Marcus leading Keir’s black. He mounted, and without another word or look, led the way to the Plains.