Текст книги "Warsworn"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“There’s more,” he whispered.

I kissed him, ready and eager for more when there was an outburst beyond the bushes. Horses, a lot of them, pounding up, with warriors calling out for Keir.

Keir sprang to his feet, with sword in hand. I fumbled for the blanket, pulling it to my chest to cover myself.

“Warlord!” The voice that came from beyond the thick alders was high and tense. “I must report.”

“What news?” Keir sheathed his sword and grabbed for the rest of his gear.

“Rebellion, Warlord!”

Chapter 3

The tradition of the Plains is that the Warprize takes nothing except from the hands of the Warlord. This was not, as I’d originally thought, to keep the Warprize subservient and dependent on the Warlord. Rather, it was to allow the Warlord to demonstrate that he had the ability and strength to provide for the Warprize.

This had resulted in some rather rigorous arguments with Marcus, self-appointed guardian of the tradition, once I’d returned to my Warlord’s side. I had won on the issue of my healing equipment and supplies, since Marcus grudgingly acknowledged that Keir had purchased them for me while we’d been encamped.

Marcus had won on the issue of clothing, since that scarred little man had worked miracles in providing me with tunics and trous, and even one memorable red dress. While the clothing he provided was plain, it was also comfortable.

I’d won on the issue of undergarments.

Keeping the blanket around me, I struggled into my breastband as fast as I could, listening to the sounds of warriors and horses moving around our shelter. The leaves somehow didn’t seem as thick as they had been a few minutes ago. “Keir, it can’t be my people.”

Keir grunted, reaching for his armor, called out in a strong voice. “Yers!”

“Warlord?”

“Call senel to hear the report. Warn Marcus, and find Joden as well. Summon the Warprize’s guards.”

Yers’s voice was raised beyond the thicket, carrying out his orders, even as Keir stopped speaking. Keir continued to dress, his movements as fast and precise as a cat’s. “We’ll know soon enough, Lara.” His face was grim as he rearmed himself.

I paused, my arms buried in my tunic, fear coursing through me. “And if it is?”

“It will be answered,” was his gruff response. He gestured for me to continue, and I pulled the tunic on over my head, fighting to pull my hair free.

It had been one of my greatest fears. While I’d convinced Warren, the Lord Marshall, and the entire Council of the wisdom of accepting Keir as Overlord, we’d all known that the outlying areas might not be quite so accepting. Messengers had been sent to spread the word, but events had moved fast, even faster than the pace Keir had set for our return to the Plains. It was possible that one of the smaller villages had decided to defy the command, but I thought it unlikely. No single village had the wherewithall to close its gates and refuse to submit. The long summer of fighting before Xymund had conceded defeat had taken men from the villages. There was a question as to whether we had enough workers to take in what was left of the harvest, much less resist a foe. For in one thing, Keir was implacable: oathbreakers are punished absolutely, and completely. If a village or town swore fealty to him, and then rejected his control, he would raze it to the ground and salt the cinders.

I struggled with my hair, trying to free it from my tunic, as Keir waited impatiently. “I’m sorry. I should probably cut this mess off.”

Keir stepped forward, and eased his hands under my hair, pulling it free for me. “Don’t.” His hands were warm and I shivered as he brushed my neck. I tilted my head up and he lowered his and kissed me. There was a sense of desperation, almost fear in him, and I brought my arms up to hold him close. He wrapped an arm around me as well and deepened the kiss until I ran out of breath.

He raised his head, and we stood in each others arms for a moment, until the sounds beyond the alders reminded us of the world around us. He stepped back with reluctance. I straightened my clothing, and he waited until I finished, but stopped me when I reached for the blankets. “Leave that.” He turned, and started through the thick branches, again keeping the branches off my face as I followed. The birds protested again as we emerged from our haven to find Yers standing there, holding his and Keir’s horses. Prest, Rafe, Isdra and Epor were coming up behind him.

Yers handed Keir his reins. “There’s a large willow at the top of a crest down the road. I’ve called the senel to meet there, and have summoned the scouts.”

I stood there, breathing hard, trying to braid up my hair. “What has happened?”

Yers shrugged, his crooked nose twitching. “All I know so far is that the scouts were attacked by Xyians.”

“Injuries?” Keir asked.

“Unknown.” Yers responded.

“Send word to Ortis that I want the scouts involved at the senel.” Keir mounted, the leather creaking as he pulled himself into the saddle. “We’ll go on ahead.” He turned to speak to Prest and Rafe as Yers mounted his own horse. “Gather up the Warprize and her things, and bring her along. All four of you with her at all times. If they are offering challenge to me, they may well target her.”

Epor nodded. “Marcus has gone ahead to prepare. Something about ‘doing things right by Hisself.’”

Keir gave a grim smile. “Marcus would serve drink in the midst of battle, if he could.”

“Keir,” I stepped forward, but he cut me off.

“Lara, there’s no point discussing this until we know more.”

“Keir, I—”

Keir shook his head, and his horse jumped forward. Yers was quick to follow, leaving me standing there in the dust. I put my hands on my hips, glared at their backs and called out to them as loud as I could. “The least you could do is let me ride my own horse?”

Yers had described it perfectly. The willow was old and bent, its long branches trailing on the ground, moving slightly in the breeze. I could make out people moving within its shade, and there was a smell of kavage in the air. As we rode up, Iften and Yers emerged from behind the branches, and Iften’s voice was raised in complaint. “—wasting time, neglecting his duties, all he thinks about is plants and illness. Pah.”

Yers responded mildly. “You’d not think it a waste, were it to your benefit.”

They turned to look at us as we brought the horses to a stop. Iften had the usual sullen look that he carried whenever he saw me. I was riding behind Rafe. And saw him turn his head to look at Prest. Then they both seemed to glance at Epor, who nodded. The silent communication somehow also included Isdra, who rode up next to us and dismounted. Epor and Prest dismounted as well. Prest led off their horses, and Epor stepped to my side. “May I assist you, Warprize?”

I was about to protest the need for help, but something in his eyes stopped me. I accepted his assistance, and he lowered me carefully, keeping his body between me and Iften. Rafe moved off, and Isdra stepped up behind me.

“What is this?” Iften growled. “You have no place at senel, Epor.”

Epor nodded, calmly accepting Iften’s challenge. “True, Warleader. But the Warlord has trusted us with the safety of the Warprize, and commanded two of us at her side at all times.” He said nothing more, merely adopting a neutral look. I took my cue from Epor, and remained silent. A quick glance behind me showed that Isdra was also keeping her face bland, looking almost bored.

“It’s an insult.” Iften spat, his cheeks flushing red under his beard. I wasn’t sure, but I had the impression that Epor had managed to offend him somehow.

“It’s a precaution, and a wise one.” Yers countered.

“It’s the Warlord’s command.” As if that was the end of the discussion, Epor inclined his head to the two leaders, and moved forward. They gave ground, moving with us under the branches. Iften’s face was still red and angry, but Epor’s remained bland, offering no offense.

There was a warrior there, holding a pitcher and a cloth. As I washed my hands, thanking the Goddess under my breath, I realized what the silent exchange had been about. Rafe and Prest had known that Iften would be difficult. Epor, older and with higher standing, had stepped in to handle the problem. Status was a critical part of Firelander Me, although I had yet to really understand it.

Marcus had set two folded blankets at the base of the tree, and had arranged others in a pattern fanning out. He was waiting for me there, his cloak off, and frowning. “Sit here, Warprize. Ravage? Gurt? How are your feet?”

I sat, folding my legs under me. “Just kavage, Marcus, please. And they’re fine.”

He nodded, served me and moved off. Epor and Isdra took up positions behind me, but Marcus didn’t offer them anything. I’d learned that they wouldn’t eat or drink while on guard duty. But I noticed for the first time that he never really looked at them at all. Just past them, as if it was too painful to see them standing there. I looked into my cup of kavage and sighed. I’d been so lost in my petty misery. What else had I missed?

I could almost hear Great Aunt Xydell scolding me. “Pay attention, chit.”

Keir was obviously taking precautions. The senel and the tree were surrounded by guards, watching over us and the horses. Rafe and Prest were beyond the branches, but had positioned themselves so that they could see me clearly. It was comfortable here under the tree, but a tightness had crept into my neck and shoulders. If some of my people were resisting, after they’d pledged their fealty to Keir, the consequences would be severe.

The area was starting to fill with the members of the senel. They stood, mugs in hand, as Marcus moved among them. I watched and considered.

Senels are basically councils for the army. I still hadn’t figured out the details of the command structure, but I’d learned that the army had one Warlord, who had ten War-leaders under him. Each Warleader had command of a section of the army, and additional duties as well. Simus had been Keir’s Second, Iften his Third. Their ranks were determined through a series of combats, not necessarily by the Warlord’s choice alone.

I glanced to the left of Keir’s ‘seat’, where Simus would normally reign. I missed Simus. His laugh, his smile, his eyes gleaming in his dark face, his overwhelming confidence. As Keir’s Second and as his friend, he’d sat at Keir’s left hand in senels before this. But Simus had remained behind in Water’s Fall with half of Keir’s forces to secure and protect the City, and be Keir’s voice in Council. I’d had one letter from Othur, the Warden I’d left in my place, which indicated that things were going well. Beneath Simus’s smile and good humor was a man of honor and wisdom. I felt the lack of his presence and voice.

I looked back at the others milling about. I was familiar with a few of the warleaders already. I’d met Sal when she’d come to me for advice on equipping the army and dealing with the Xyian merchants and traders. A stocky woman, with weathered skin and grey hair turned white by the sun, she loved to bargain for supplies. Yers, an average-sized man with brown hair and a crooked nose, had been Gils’s Warleader, and had been involved when

Gils had surprised everyone with his intentions of becoming my apprentice.

Iften made himself known by being rude and obnoxious, something he was skilled at. He’d shown early on that he despised me and all things Xyian, and didn’t hesitate to voice his opposition to Keir at every opportunity.

I smiled to see Joden enter the area, and he smiled back. Joden was not a warleader, but was acknowledged as the potential Singer that he was.

The others I was less sure about.

“Isdra?”

“Warprize?” Isdra took a step forward and knelt by my side.

“Can I ask you about the warleaders, without bells?”

She chuckled, keeping her voice low. “Yes, Warprize. You know Yers, and?”

“Iften.” We exchanged wry glances. “Sal, I’ve met before. She takes care of supplies for the army.”

Isdra nodded. “Aret is standing with Iften.” She was referring to a tall, thin woman with short, curly brown hair. “She’s in charge of the horses, and the herds when in camp, seeing to their well-being. Yers has the training and discipline of young warriors. Iften is now Second, so the senior warriors are also in Yers’s care.”

Iften had that position because Simus of the Hawk had remained in Water’s Fall.

Isdra continued. “Wesren is the warleader in charge of encampments, Ortis, the large man at the back, is charged with the scouts.”

Wesren was a short, thick man with thick black hair and beard. Ortis was a huge, lumbering hulk with a shaved head. He made Wesren look like a boy.

“Uzaina and Tsor are warleaders in charge of the army when on the march. Uzaina takes the lead, Tsor works the rear.”

I looked over, studying them. Tsor had skin the color of kavage with milk in it, and short black hair with traces of grey at the temples. Uzaina caught my eye, for she had her black hair in what looked like hundreds of small braids, each ending in a bead. They brushed her shoulders when she moved her head, making an odd clicking sound. Her skin was the color of dark amber, and the combination was very striking.

“So each has a duty beyond fighting. Right?” I asked.

“Yes. Except Seconds, who have the duties as the Warlord assigns. Duties do not change, ranking does. You understand? If Keir were to fall, skies forbid, Iften would lead.”

“Become warlord?”

“No. That requires the Elders.” Isdra made a slight snorting sound, which I interpreted to mean that event was unlikely.

Marcus approached, and frowned at Isdra.

Isdra made a face at him, but stood and stepped back, which seemed to appease him.

Marcus knelt to fill my cup. “Hisself will be here shortly.”

I looked him in the eye. “And if it’s true rebellion, Marcus?”

He shrugged. “It will be as it must.” He rose, cutting off the conversation, and moved away.

I took a sip of kavage. Why would a village of farmers and their families defy the Warlord? Did they think to use pitchforks and hoes against him? It made no sense.

But then Xymund had shown me that there was little ‘sense’ to be had in war.

Keir strode in, signaling me with a hand to remain seated. He accepted kavage from Marcus, nodded to a few of the leaders, and then moved to kneel next to me. He shook his head at the question in my eyes. “I know no more. The scouts are outside, we will hear their report together.”

I leaned forward, speaking in Xyian. “Keir, Iften is talking against Gils. I’m afraid that he will try to use him as a pawn against you!”

Keir frowned, and replied in the same language. “What is a’pawn’?”

I blinked, then shook my head at my own stupidity. How could he know, since I doubted he knew the game. “It’s a piece in a game. A pawn is an unwitting tool. An innocent person used against a friend.”

“Ah.” Keir stood and moved to stand before his blanket, waited until he had the attention of the group, and then sat, sinking down onto the pad. While Iften was second in command, there was no place made for him at Keir’s side.

The rest seated themselves, and Keir waited a breath before calling them to order. There was less formality at this senel then there had been in the past, but I could see Marcus at the back, and he had Keir’s token in his hands.

Keir spoke, silencing the group. “I have called for the scouts who met with violence, to hear their truths.” Keir gestured to Marcus, who pulled aside the leaves. Two men entered, walked to stand before Keir, and knelt, heads bowed.

“Ortis.”

At the sound of his name, Ortis stood. “Warlord, I assigned the scouts sent to cover the front. I sent these two warriors, Tant and Rton forward along the road to the village.”

“A village sworn to us?” Keir asked.

“Aye. The headman, the leader…”

“The mayor?” I asked, using the Xyian term.

Orris nodded. “That is the word he used, Warprize. The mayor had sworn fealty to you some weeks ago, Warlord. The walled village, where the goats roamed around the well.”

Keir chuckled. “I remember. They called it Wellspring. The mayor almost soiled himself during the oath.” There was a soft murmur of laughter at that.

A walled village meant that it was a remnant of my ancestor, Xyson. Few of those guard forts remained on the main road, fewer still had managed to retain a complete set of walls.

“Tant. Rton.”

The other two men lifted their heads. I recognized Tant, since he’d been the scout that found me on the road, following Keir. His eyes widened to see me sitting there, and he looked down, clearly uncomfortable.

The other man, Rton, spoke first. “We approached the village to find the gates closed, Warlord. We hailed them with a shout, but there was no response.”

Rton glanced at Ortis, and continued. “We moved closer then, and I dismounted to approach the gates, when someone started throwing rocks at us from the walls. A voice cried out, and then more rocks, and finally an arrow arched over the wall.”

“What did the voice say?” Keir asked.

“I have no city talk, Warlord. But it sounded angry and defiant.” Rton gestured nervously. “I mounted, and we moved off but there was no pursuit.”

“Our orders are, we meet resistance, we retreat and report.” Tant spoke up quickly, almost defensive. “So we circled round the walls and came back at a run.”

“How many warriors were on the walls?”

Tant and Rton exchanged looks. Tant shrugged. “Didn’t see any, Warlord.”

Rton nodded his agreement. “They never exposed themselves to us.”

“This wall,” Iften spoke up. “How is it made?”

“Stone at the front and around the gates.” Rton spoke with confidence. “Wood to the sides and back. They’ve built wooden structures inside, that sometimes take the place of a wall.”

“Easily overcome?”

Tant nodded. “Easy enough, Warleader.”

“Shouldn’t we talk to them first,” I argued, “before you make plans to destroy the village?”

“What else can this be, but defiance of the Warlord?” Aret asked.

“So much for their pledges and honor. Typical.” Iften’s voice was scathing.

Yers spoke, his face reflecting his conflict. “If they have defied the Warlord and broken their oaths they must be punished.”

Keir looked grim. “Is there anything more to report?” Ortis shook his head, and Keir dismissed the two scouts. When they were beyond the leaves, he spoke. “Joden, what say you?”

Joden sighed. “Warlord, your path is clear. If this is defiance, and a breaking of their vows, they must suffer the penalty. But we know from experience that the different languages can cause problems of understanding.” He gave me a look, and I nodded in return, sharing the mem-ory. Joden continued. “I say, be on a war footing, but approach the village again with a speaker of their tongue. Be sure of the offense before dealing punishment.”

“I agree.” Keir glanced over at me. “We will give them a chance to explain their actions. But if they have shattered their vows, we will be ready. Ortis, what chance of ambush?”

“The scouts all report no activity, Warlord.”

Keir turned to Iften. “Ready a warforce, Iften. As many as you think you need. If we are denied again we will attack, and raze the village to the ground. Any other truths we need to address?”

“A discipline problem, Warlord. The warrior Gils—” Iften scowled, but Keir cut him off.

“Now is not the time for a discipline problem, Iften.”

“Especially when the man is my responsibility and not yours.” Yers chimed in.

Keir stood, and we all stood with him. “The senel is over. Prepare to move out.”

I moved closer to stand next to Keir, biting my lip. The warleaders left swiftly, as Iften called for them to get organized. Once the area was clear, I turned to Keir. “Keir—”

“No.” He didn’t even look at me.

“Keir, it has to be someone who speaks Xyian. It should be me. I am a Daughter of Xy. Queen of Xy.”

“And touched by the moons if you think I will allow you to approach those walls.” Keir focused on me, his gaze intent. Marcus, Epor and Isdra were glaring at me. Even Rafe and Prest, who entered the shelter of the tree once the warleaders had left, were glaring at me.

I smiled sweetly at them.

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it,” Keir asked.

“Yes,” the others chorused.

Keir growled. “Lara, if the village is rebelling, and if this is an organized response, they will try to pull others to their cause. Who would they want to kill first and foremost?”

“You,” I answered promptly.

That stopped him, but he gave me one of those patient looks. “And after me?”

“Iften.”

“No.” He frowned, upset. “Do not play with me, Lara.” He put his hands on his hips. “Perhaps the best answer would involve chains and a tree.”

I glared right back at him. “Keir, you need someone who speaks Xyian. I am the best choice.”

“You are not. A warrior, someone who speaks Xyian and can defend himself is. You would have me send a boy to do a man’s job.”

I flushed, but he held up his hand. “It’s a saying of my people, Lara. Send the right person for the task the first time. I will send a speaker of Xy. We will give the village a chance to surrender and explain themselves. You will be kept back, until we know more.” He fixed me with a look. “I will be obeyed, Warprize.”

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to argue, but the words never emerged. Marcus launched himself at my throat.

In an instant I was down on the ground, flat on my back, my breath gone from my lungs. Marcus’s thin body was on top of me, pinning me with all the considerable strength in his wiry frame. Worse, he had a blade at my throat, the metal cold against my skin.

I opened my mouth, trying to gasp in air, my heart hammering in my chest. No one else moved.

“This is no child’s game,” Marcus hissed, his voice as harsh as I had ever heard. “You have no skill, none—and death comes in an instant.”

I just stared at him, his disfigured eye, his puckered skin, frightened and wide-eyed.

“Do you understand?”

I nodded carefully and swallowed hard, very aware of the sharp blade pressed against the pulse of my neck.

Marcus pulled back and just as fast as he took me down, I was up on my feet and in Keir’s arms. I clung to him, shaken. “That was harsh.”

“And the elements are not?” Keir asked me softly.

“Better you learn at my blade than at another’s.” Marcus brushed off my back.

I shrank from his touch, trying not to cry. “Keir…”

“Harsh, but the lesson is true, Lara.” He tightened his arms around me.

I buried my face in his chest and tried to get myself under control. “I’ll do as I’m told.”

Keir chuckled. “At least until the shock has worn off.” He drew in a deep breath. “It won’t stop you from flinging yourself to the aid of others, I know. All I ask is that you think before you do, and that you let us protect you. Yes?”

“Yes.”

He leaned down and nuzzled my ear. “Ah, my Lara. I took you from your sheltered den, kitten.”

“No.” I straightened, wiping my face. “I left my den and chased you, remember?”

Keir smiled and kissed me gently. “I will send someone to speak to the village. You will stay with your guards, toward the center of the main army, back from the front.”

Rafe cleared his throat. “I have enough of that tongue, Warlord. I am willing to go.”

Marcus spoke up as well. “I can fill his place as Lara’s guard.” Keir looked at him and Marcus shrugged. “You will have no need of me, and it takes four to watch over this woman.” Marcus gave me a wicked grin, but I looked away.

Keir lowered his head to speak softly in my ear. “Lara, understand this. I will send Rafe to the gates. But one rock, one arrow, one word of defiance and I will destroy the village.”

“Keir, there are innocents there.” I leaned back to look into his face. “Women and children who have no part in this. If we can talk to them, we can convince—”

“I will not take back an oathbreaker, nor will I leave one unpunished.”

“But—”

He released me. “What would the penalty be, Lara, if a village broke its oaths of fealty to the King of Xy?”

I looked away. “I do not know. It hasn’t happened that I know of.”

“Because the penalty is severe. My hand can rest lightly on this land, but not on those who defy me. I will do what must be done.”

With that Keir was gone.

I waited under the tree as Marcus hurriedly put out his small fire and two of the others gathered up the blankets. My feet were still tender, and I shifted my weight from one to the other as I stood there. They weren’t really painful, but they reminded me that they weren’t completely healed.

As we emerged from under the tree, one of Yers’s men approached me, leading a large brown horse. “For you, Warprize. From the Warlord.”

I looked over to where Keir was standing, talking to Yers, Rafe and some others. Our eyes met and Keir gave me a small, hopeful smile. I smiled back, recognizing a peace gesture, and took the reins.

The horse was a glossy brown, with a brown mane. What caught my eye about it was a white line of hair that curved down its chest to run between its forelegs. On looking a bit closer, I saw that it was an old scar. The horse shook its head as I got closer, and buried its nose in my hair and took a deep breath. The hairs on its muzzle tickled my neck. I tried to move away, but the horse followed, breathing out and in again, filling my hair with its warm sweet breath.

“He likes you.” Marcus had handed off the packhorse to another warrior, and now sat astride his horse, with a shield on his back and a sword at his side. He looked my animal over with a considering eye. “A good, steady animal. You shouldn’t have a problem with him.”

Which I took to mean that the animal would be slow, and one a sick granny couldn’t fall off of. But at least I wasn’t being toted around like a sack of flour anymore. I pulled myself into the saddle, noticing that this horse had a number of scrapes and scars on its legs and hindquarters. He’d seen quite a bit of action in his day. “What is his name?”

“Name?” Marcus gave me a funny look. “We call them ‘horses’.”

The others moved in around me. I noticed that Marcus placed himself so that his blind side was covered by Isdra. “I know they are horses, Marcus. What is this one’s name?”

“I suppose you will now tell me that city dwellers name all their horses.” Marcus rolled his eye, and the others chuckled.

I closed my mouth.

“Tens of thousands of horses,” Marcus continued, “and we should name them all. Pah.”

Rafe laughed out loud. “Now tell all, Marcus. We name stallions and mares.”

“Lead stallions. Lead mares. Not entire herds.” Marcus gave my horse a withering glance. Its ears were flicking back and forth, as if following the conversation.

“But how do you tell them apart? Or get them to come to you?” I asked as I mounted.

“What’s to tell?” Marcus asked. “Rafe’s black, Prest’s brown with the notched ear, Isdra’s roan with the scarred whither. And they come because that is the way of things. And while you might think so, they don’t all look alike. Any more than people do.”

I gave him a look, and would have asked more, but I was interrupted. “We’re to move to the center, Warprize.” Epor’s tone was firm.

“I understand.” We headed out to join the main body of the army. “How far to the village?”

“Not far,” Isdra replied. “The Warlord will take the warforce and form up before they send Rafe to the gates.”

“He will send word, Warprize.” Marcus added.

Resigned, I nodded, and concentrated on guiding my mount.

We traveled for sometime before we passed a stone pillar, about waist high, with a hollowed top, which marked the boundary of the lands claimed by the village. A glint of light off the tip caught my eye. It could just be rainwater, but…

I tugged on the reins and started to work my way through the other warriors, urging my horse into the gaps between riders. He went willingly, shouldering aside the ones too slow to get out of our way. There was some loud swearing behind me, Epor from the sound of it, but I didn’t stop. Marcus, too, was cursing, but it was too late for him to try and stop me. I broke through the line of warriors and turned my horse back. Urging him to a canter, I headed back to the pillar. Marcus and Prest were behind me, I could hear them urging their horses on.

I reached the stone to see that the hollow was filled to the brim. I didn’t bother to dismount, just leaned over and dipped my fingers in the fluid. If it was water, well and good. But it hadn’t rained, and…

Breathing hard, I lifted my fingers, and the tang of vinegar filled my nose, making my eyes water. Vinegar, one of the strongest cleansers known. Vinegar, which, when placed in the hollow of a boundary stone, turned it into something else entirely.

“… one rock, one arrow, one word...” Keir’s voice rang in my head. Goddess, I had to reach him before it was too late. I yanked my horse’s head around, forgetting to be gentle. The horse fought me, tossing its head in protest, but it turned nonetheless. Marcus and Prest came up, their faces drawn into scowls, their horses snorting in protest.

“Warprize,” Marcus started, but I cut him off.

“I need to talk to Keir. And that scout. Now, Marcus.”

Marcus gave me an odd look. Prest turned a bit, scanning ahead down into the valley. Epor and Isdra galloped up, both frowning. “That was not well thought out, Warprize.” Epor scolded.

“It was stupid,” Isdra added.

“I need to talk to Keir. It’s important.”

“Do you see him?” Marcus asked.

“No,” Prest replied.

Marcus tilted his head back, and warbled out a long, trilling cry.

A response rose from the mass before us, and Marcus responded again, making a slightly different sound. He turned toward me. “Come.”

He urged his horse into a gallop, and I followed right behind.

Keir sat on his horse in the midst of turmoil, as the war force prepared to move out. Yers and Iften were near by. The village was not yet in sight, for which I was thankful.

“Keir!” I called out as Marcus led me to his side.

Keir turned in our direction, frowning. “Lara, this is not safe—”

Iften was close at hand. “If she were a warrior, she’d be whipped.”

Keir snarled, and lashed out at Iften, hitting him full in the face. Iften crashed to the ground. He jerked to his feet, hands curled into fists. Keir’s hand was on his sword, his horse solid beneath him. “You take a hand to the War-prize and you die.”