Warprize (31 page)

The bed was empty, and I could tell that it was fairly late in the day. My stomach was reminding me that I had missed at least two meals. I stretched under the blanket, being careful not to include the arm. The worst of it was my neck, stiff and sore. The arm hurt as well, and I really didn’t want to move.

The tent flap from the main room opened, and Keir stuck his head in. “You’re awake.”

I nodded as I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling heavy and dull. I still had my trous on, but my shirt had been removed. My breast band had dried blood on it, and I made a face.

Keir pressed his lips together as he studied my throat. I grimaced, imagining that the bruising was at its worst now. “I’ll get Marcus for hot food, and kavage. We’ll send for Gils.”

“I want a bath.”

Keir cocked his head. I repeated my request. He frowned. “Marcus can bring warm…”

“No.” I gripped his arm with my good hand and tried to pull myself up. Keir helped me without even thinking about it. “I want a bath now. I stink. I don’t care what the water is like.”

Keir blinked. I stood there for a moment, getting my balance and waited to see if I would be dizzy or nauseous. Yet another effect of the drug.

Keir frowned. “Gils needs to check—”

“Gils can check it after I have bathed.”

“Gils said—”

“Who is the healer here?” I took a step.

His lips quirked. “Master Healer, if I remember right.”

I smiled. “The Master wants a bath.”

He smiled. “Then Master, you shall have one.” He wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked together to the privy. Thank the Goddess for his people’s attitude toward cleanliness. I was grateful that he didn’t question my need to be clean any further.

Once inside, Keir placed one of the wooden blocks on the washing platform, and I sat to strip off my trous and breast band. They were both soiled, but not harmed. As long as I moved slowly, the pain was no more than a dull ache. Keir put water within my reach, then handed me soap and a cloth. I got a whiff of the soap and held it to my nose. It smelled like vanilla. I looked at him, but he wore an innocent expression on his face.

Marcus called from the other room, and Keir moved about, taking a bucket of hot coals for the brazier, and more water. I washed out my breast band as the room warmed. I lathered up the soap and started on my face and neck, enjoying the scent of home. The arm wasn’t a problem, as long as I didn’t try to raise it, or use that hand over much. I hummed quietly to myself as I washed. The tepid water felt wonderful on my skin, and I was careful to keep the wound dry as I worked.

Keir came back in and settled in the corner, where the shadows were deepest. I glanced over quickly, but could only make out his eyes, gleaming in the darkness. I blushed slightly, bit my lip, but kept going. It felt uncomfortable to be watched so, but it was also somehow satisfying, to know that I was the object of his interest. My feelings confused me, so I concentrated on getting clean. When I reached my groin, I sensed a slight movement in the corner, but I moved on quickly to legs and feet and toes.

Keir did move forward at that point, bringing another bucket of water over to me. It had been closer to the brazier, which meant the water was slightly warmer. I used a bowl to rinse with, for fear of getting the wound wet. Once done, I wrapped up in the towels that he gave me. I decided against washing my hair. I was tired and felt a trembling that indicated I needed to eat. Instead, I grabbed a comb and tried to stand.

Keir swept me up, and carried me into the bedroom, placing me on one of the stumps close to a brazier.

“I can walk, you know.” I started to comb my hair. “Your turn.”

Keir made a negative gesture.

I lifted my head, sniffed the air, and raised an eyebrow.

He took the hint. He went out and brought in two more buckets of water, and fed the brazier again. Then he returned, stood in the center of the room, and looked at me.

I rested my eyes on him. He was glorious in that black leather, which fit him like a glove yet let him move like a cat. He lifted a hand to his collar and started to loosen the lacings of his jerkin.

I couldn’t look away. He pulled the lacings out ever so slowly, pulling them out to their full length, then starting on the next one. When he finished, he lifted the ends of his shirt, and ever so slowly pulled the leather up and over his head.

I stopped combing.

The man was certainly healthy. I swallowed hard. The faint light of the brazier shone over his muscles as he carefully placed his leather jerkin on one of the benches. He sat to remove his boots, and the thick socks underneath. He sat for a minute and wiggled his toes. He stood and nonchalantly started to unlace his trous. Slowly.

I turned my back to him. I’d cared for many a naked man in my time, but the sight of Keir’s body was different somehow. It affected me. Made me want to reach out and touch him—to feel those muscles move under his skin. To experience more of his touch, and maybe a few of his kisses. The idea made me shiver.

I could feel his amusement on the back of my neck. There were sounds behind me, as he removed the trous. I bit my lip again, finding that the imagining might be even more embarrassing then the actual seeing. My fingers continued to run the comb through my hair, but my mind was elsewhere. The sounds stopped.

He drew my hair off to the side, and kissed my neck.

I jerked as lightning coursed through my body. Tingles ran from my neck right to the soles of my feet. I turned my head quickly, but all I saw was a brief glimpse of the tent flap falling into place behind him. I sat for a minute, waiting for the tingling sensation to pass. My hand kept combing my hair, but it took a long time for the sensation of his lips to leave my skin.

By the time Keir emerged, Marcus was loading the table with too much food, and Gils had crept quietly into the tent to change my bandage.

For something that felt like an enormous hole in my arm, the wound was small. It looked good, with no signs of angered flesh or swelling. Gils changed the bandage with meticulous and agonizing slowness. I complimented him on his work, and then meekly accepted a dose of fever’s foe. He’d brought some of the liniment, and he applied it carefully to my neck, all the while casting glances at the privy entrance as if Keir was going to leap out at any moment, battle-raged, and swords in hand.

Finally, Gils sat back on his heels, looking satisfied. “I’s checked Atira, Warprize, and she’s well. And Simus let me look at his leg.”

“How is it?” I asked.

We were both startled when Simus replied. “It’s well, little healer.” Simus entered the tent, grinning at me. “If it can take me running to the healing tent and crawling on the ground, then I think I can walk on it well enough.”

“Simus…” I chided.

His teeth gleamed in a smile. “It’s not like I’m going to join in the dancing today.” His face turned serious. “How’s the arm?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled at him. “Gils is seeing to me.”

Gils stood, gathering his supplies. “I’s see you at the dance, Warprize. I’s chores to do before then.”

Simus sat on the bed, next to me. “Marcus! I need kavage!”

I looked at them both. “I thought the dance was canceled.”

Gils stood. “Oh no, Warprize, the Warlord announced it late last night.” A slight noise from the privy and he was out and gone.

Marcus brought kavage for both of us, and grimaced at Simus. “I suppose you’ve not eaten yet?”

Simus laughed.

Marcus scowled. “I’ve bare enough for these two, much less fill your belly.”

Keir emerged, dried and dressed. “Simus, join us.”

Simus smiled broadly.

Marcus huffed and left. Keir, Simus, and I pulled up stumps and dug into the food. For many minutes, there was only the sound of chewing and dishes being passed. The bowl of gurt was offered to me a number of times, but I politely declined. Simus leaned back first. “Never could figure out how Marcus manages such good food in camp.”

“Years of practice,” Marcus said as he returned with more kavage and served us all. “There’s not much time before the dance starts.”

Keir nodded. “Any word from Warren or Xymund?”

Simus shook his head. “No.”

Keir scowled, but said nothing as we rose to leave. He merely wrapped his cloak around me, and made as if to sweep me up in his arms. “I can walk.” I fought him off as I also tangled with the smothering cloth as best I could, trying to pull it up so that I wouldn’t trip.

Simus stifled a laugh. I looked up to see that his eyes were dancing with mirth. “You look like a child playing with her thea’s cloak.” I laughed, curious as to the meaning of the word, but Simus held out his arm for me. “Warprize.”

Keir growled, and swept me up into his arms, stomping out of the tent. I looked behind to see Simus rolling his eyes and following behind with Marcus.

The sky was clear when we emerged and headed for the gathering area. The entire camp seemed to be headed in that direction, everyone armed. It didn’t look as if they were going to a dance. I wrapped my arms around Keir’s neck. “Will everyone be at the dance?”

“No.” Keir slowed his walk to allow Simus to catch up with us. “The watches will rotate.” His voice lowered. “I believe you would call that a ‘compromise’.”

The flat area in front of the wooden platform had been cleared and the area was ringed with a circle of unlit torches. We made our way onto the platform, and sat close to the front. There was no formality. We took our seats even as bodies milled in the space in front of the platform. Simus remained standing, looking off into the crowd. He laughed, then pointed. “Here they come.”

Looking out, I could see that someone was being carried on a cot, much like Simus had been carried to the senel. It was Atira, laying flat on the cot as some of her friends carried her through the crowd. The stones had been removed, but her leg was still in a cast.

“Bring her up here.” Keir called out, and the cot started to head toward the platform.

“Warprize!” Atira called out when they drew nearer. “Are you well?”

“Very well. How’s your leg?” I asked, curious to see how the leather was holding up.

“It itches.” She complained as they brought her cot up and placed it next to me, so that she had a good view of the grounds. “That grey one came and looked at it, and seemed pleased. Gils has been watching it too.” She smiled at me as she propped herself up. “I’m glad to see that you are well. Scared me to the snows, let me tell you, you being attacked.” She looked around. Keir was kneeling at the edge of the platform, talking to a few of the warriors. She dropped her voice and continued. “I managed to throw a knife and take one out, but got knocked to the ground before I could do more. It was the Warlord’s raging that saved our hides.”

“Were you there when he…” I let my voice trail off, unsure how to ask the question.

“When he was standing over you?” She rolled her eyes. “Aye, half under my cot and fearing to breathe. I’ve heard tell of battle rage, but never saw it before. Knew enough to lay still and quiet. Good thing you talked him out, Warprize. Not something they can always do.” She flashed me a grin. “But never mind that, there’s a pattern dance to watch!”

Keir had risen to stand at the very edge. “Would you see a pattern?”

“AYE!” Every voice seemed to shout, and cheering began.

Keir held up a small wooden bowl. “Iften, call the dancers forth.”

Marcus was behind us, wrapped deep in a cloak. He muttered something that I didn’t hear, but that Iften picked up as he approached. There was anger on his face as Iften took the bowl from Keir’s hands. But he moved off into the center of the field without a word. Iften held the bowl before him with both hands. “Hear me!”

The crowd grew quiet.

“Heyla!” Iften called out.

“Heyla!” The crowd responded.

“Who would dance a pattern for us?”

From all around the circle, nine running figures emerged from the crowd, dashing up to Iften and placing some sort of token in the bowl that he held. As they dropped in their tokens, they continued on, disappearing back into the crowd. The last one jumped up just before he reached the bowl and dropped the token in with a flare, prompting laughter from the crowd. After a pause, Iften raised the bowl over his head. “Let the sky hear our voices.”

I was startled when a sound like a crack of thunder was heard, until I saw the drummers in the crowd, with large drums at their feet. Each had struck their drums once, and the vibration filled my ears.

“Let the earth feel our feet.” Iften made a quarter turn to face another part of the crowd. Again the drums sounded. “Let the wind sense our strength.” He paused as the drums sounded in response. “Let the flames see our patterns.” He shouted, as he made another turn. This time, in addition to the drums, the torches were lit. The crowd roared out with the drums at the last call, crying a tremendous ‘heyla’!

Iften reached in and pulled a token from the bowl. “Red, dance your pattern.” He called, then moved off the field.

Again, runners emerged from the crowd. It was a group of ten men and women. They were dressed in tunics and trous, with red headbands, and red streamers flowing behind them as they ran. They ran to the center of the field, and stood in a circle. There was a pause, then the drums began to beat a fast, steady measure.

The dancers took one step forward, linked their arms, and began to dance. It didn’t take me long to see what they were doing. I’d been taught court dances when I was a child, and seen the romps and rills that the servants danced when they celebrated the harvest. But I had never seen anything like this before. They wove a pattern with their bodies, stepping in then out of the circle then around each other to form the circle again. Just when I was sure they were coming to an end, from nowhere they produced wooden sticks, like axe handles, and started to beat out a counter rhythm to the drums. On each other’s sticks.

I watched, amazed, waiting for someone to hit a hand or arm instead of the sticks. But the dancers never seemed to miss a beat as they wove and pounded on each other. The crowd was yelling now, some calling out encouragement and others yelling insults. The group formed two interlocking circles and wove their patterns together. As each passed the place where the circles joined, they had to beat out the rhythms on the other sticks. I laughed with joy to see them move with no errors, in a perfect pattern. “How do they do that?”