Warprize (32 page)

Simus laughed. Keir shot me an amused glance and responded. “Practice. Lots of practice.”

The dancers were smiling, but I could see the concentration on their faces. I didn’t know whether to watch their feet, or their hands, and ended up trying to watch it all at once. Finally, just when I was convinced that fatigue would start to set in, the dancers all cried out at once, spun in place to wind their streamers around their bodies, and stood frozen, spaced evenly in a circle, facing inwards.

The crowd erupted with cries of ‘heyla’ and praise. I clapped my hands together, which drew some odd looks from Atira and Simus. “That was amazing!”

Atira sniffed. “I’ve seen better.”

Marcus was handing me some kavage. “They were slightly off, Warprize. But not by much.”

I took the drink eagerly. “When is the next one?”

But Iften had already moved into the center of the field and was pulling the next token. He waited for the crowd to settle, before calling out ‘Yellow’.

This was a larger group, some twenty people with yellow streamers came running into the field. Keir leaned over to me. “This group is trying for a very large pattern. Not so intricate but harder with so many.” The drums began again, and I tried to pay more attention to the dancers individually. Sure enough, after just a few minutes, there was a groan from the crowd, and the dancers broke apart and ran off the field.

Simus grunted when he saw my disappointment. “They stop when the pattern is broken, Warprize. The dance can’t continue if an error is made.”

The next group summoned down to the field was brown. Their pattern was intricate, but started very slowly. As the drums speeded up, so did their steps, and the blows to their sticks. I watched in anticipation, trying to see the dancers the way Keir did, but all I saw was a wonderful explosion of movement, rhythm and color. Just as it seemed to reach its peak, the drums began to slow, and the dancers slowed at the same time, until they stood in their original positions. As the last drum beat faded, the crowd erupted into cheers. The dancers ran off, and the crowd started stirring.

Keir stood and stretched. “The watches are changing.” He looked at me. “Warm enough?”

I nodded, as Marcus held a plate before me. There were small buns there, and I took one in one hand. “What are these?”

Atira grinned and reached for the plate as Marcus offered her one as well. “Warprize, take a bite.”

I looked doubtfully at her, but she bit hers with relish, so I did the same. There was an explosion of spice in my mouth and I opened my eyes wide. Atira laughed.

The spice was strong, but it didn’t burn. There was a sweetness to it that seemed strange at first. “What is this?”

“Bread tarts.” Atira took another bite and talked around her mouthful. “Rare to get them in camp.”

Keir and Simus were eating theirs, obviously pleased. Marcus had a proud look on his face, and even quirked his mouth in a grin when I took another bite. We were all enjoying the treat when a warrior came up to the platform. “Warlord, a messenger has come from the city.”

“From Warren?” Keir asked.

“From their king, Warlord.”

“Bring him here.”

The crowd was starting to settle, and Iften seemed to be looking at Keir for the signal to start. Keir gestured for him to continue, and the opening ritual was repeated. This time the dancers were wearing bells on their hands and feet, and carrying sticks. As they danced, Marcus frowned in disapproval. Apparently the bells were a distraction from the pattern, and Marcus was quick to express his opinion. Keir leaned over at one point and spoke softly, “Marcus danced patterns well before he was injured. But his eye gives him no vision on that side, and he no longer dances.” I nodded, but I liked the chiming of the bells, and was quick to call out ‘heyla’ at the end.

“Warlord.”

We turned to see the warrior standing behind us, with Heath at his side, grinning like a fool.

“Heath!” I jumped to my feet, leaving the cloak behind me. The cooler air hit me, giving me goose bumps, but I paid no mind as I ran over to greet him.

Heath was stiff, but he relaxed and brought his arms up to give me a quick hug, before pushing me back slightly. He brought his hand up to cup my neck, then let his hand fall as he stepped back. He dropped to one knee. “Warlord.”

I turned, to see Keir standing there, a dark expression on his face. I caught my breath, suddenly understanding that I’d made a mistake. Heat flooded my face. Keir pointed at the stool where I had been seated, and I returned to it. Marcus draped the cloak back over me, and made sure that it covered me completely.

“Your message?” Keir’s voice was cold, as behind us Iften called the next dance.

“Warlord, King Xymund sends word that Lord Durst still lives. Eln the Healer believes that he will recover.” Heath lifted his head. “Lord Marshall Warren and the King continue to question and investigate the attack on the warprize and will send further word tomorrow.”

Keir grunted, but I saw a brief flash of relief in his eyes.

Heath continued, “Warlord, I also beg your forgiveness on behalf of myself and your warprize. We are childhood friends, who played in the kitchens together when we were small.” He swallowed hard. “I had heard that she was hurt, and asked to carry the King’s words in order to see for myself and report back to my mother.”

Keir narrowed his eyes. “Your mother is Anna the Cook?”

Heath nodded. “She who rules the kitchens, and will beat me with a spoon if I do not report back on Lar—the warprize’s condition.”

Simus chuckled. “Never anger a good cook, Keir.”

Keir still looked grim, but his voice was polite. “Stay then, and talk with the warprize. Would you see a dance?”

Heath smiled, stood and moved to sit on the platform, leaning back against the side of Atira’s cot. He looked at her leg, and grimaced. “Broken?” I nodded. He smiled at Atira, and pointed at her leg and then at his. “I remember what that is like. Tell her she has my sympathy.”

I translated for Atira, and she nodded her thanks, eyeing Heath’s leg and its apparent health.

Keir and Simus settled back down as the next dance was called. Atira propped herself a little higher when Iften called the color. “These are my dancers!”

I quickly explained things to Heath as the dancers ran out on the field. Their ribbons were blue, and they formed a square in the center of the field. But instead of sticks, they carried what looked like rocks. We watched as the drums pounded and the dance began. The dancers wove a pattern for some time before they raised their rocks and cracked them together. The sound it made was far different from the sticks, and the crowd cried out in astonishment as sparks flew from the dancers’s hands.

Keir and Simus stood, and Marcus moved to the front of the platform to get a better look. I stayed where I was, not wanting to block Atira’s view. The dancers beat out the pattern with their feet, the drums seemed to build in intensity, and every so often the sparks flew as the rocks were struck. The crowd started to stomp their feet in time with the drums, and seemed to be chanting ‘heyla’ over and over to their beat. The sound was infectious and I clapped to the rhythm. Atira was grinning, and Heath seemed spellbound by the sight.

At last the dancers came to the end, and the crowd cried out their approval. Atira collapsed back onto her cot, letting out a large nervous laugh.

Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. “Well done, pattern weaver.”

She smiled at him with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“It was your pattern?” Simus asked, visibly impressed.

“My first.” Atira grinned. Heath was looking puzzled, so I translated for him. By this time, the dancers had run to the platform and formed a group in front of Keir. The tallest one stepped forward. “Warlord, may we take Atira? We wish to praise our weaver to the skies.”

Keir gestured to the cot, and the breathless men and women swarmed the platform to lift her high. “Have a care of that leg!” I called.

One stopped and bowed toward me. “We’ll take her to the healer tent, Warprize and celebrate there. We’d not risk that she’d not dance again.” With that, they disappeared into the crowd.

Heath stood and moved next to me. “I should go as well, for Anna is dying for news.”

I smiled, but refrained from hugging him. “I’m fine, Heath.”

He smiled back, and cupped my cheek again before turning to make his respects to the Warlord. Keir signaled for someone to escort him, and he too disappeared into the crowd.

I knew I had a broad grin on my face, but I didn’t care. I loved the dancing, like nothing ever seen in the Kingdom of Xy before. I looked about to see if the next dance was about to be called, but the crowd was still moving around. I noticed that Keir was watching me intently, his expression stern. I ignored him, not wishing anything to steal the pleasure of the next three dances from me.

The crowd settled, and once again Iften moved to the center of the field. This time, he had no bowl in his hand, but stood with naked sword in one hand, shield in the other. “Warlord!” His cry echoed over the field. Keir and Simus both stiffened. “I cry challenge on you.”

All was quiet and movement ceased.

“The time of challenge is in the spring, Iften.” Simus rose and moved to the edge of the platform. He limped slightly and I suspected he’d pushed the leg too far. His strong voice carried easily over the crowd. “Your challenge is improper.”

Iften stayed where he was. “I cry challenge on you, Keir of the Cat, named Warlord of the Northwestern Range for this Season of War. I cry challenge for all the elements to see and witness.”

Keir spoke. “There is no challenge on campaign, Iften. You’ve sworn oaths to follow me until you are released from my service.”

“That woman beside you is no true warprize and of a people who use assassination and treachery as their weapons. Are these the ways you wish us to learn?” Iften beat his sword against his shield, and I jumped, startled by the sound. “I swear I will kill you and the woman and lead this army to take what is ours by right. Come and fight me, Keir! Fight and die!”

In an instant Rafe and Prest stood beside me, weapons drawn. Marcus shifted as well, standing at Keir’s side. I sat frozen, not understanding how everything could change in an instant.

Simus spoke softly, turned slightly to look at Keir. “Do you think he’s behind—”

Keir responded in the same tone. “I don’t know.” He stayed seated, raising a voice that held a clear disdain for the man before him. “I’ve made no secret of my intent, Iften. I will bind these lands together, weave new patterns from our ways and theirs.” His voice carried with no difficulty. The watching warriors had their eyes on him, and few stirred. There was only the soft breeze and the fires of the torches that moved and crackled. Keir continued. “We will be stronger for it. Take back your flawed challenge. You swore an oath for all the elements to see that you would follow me. I hold you to your oath.”

“Their ways are foul and tainted. I cry challenge now, before you destroy us all.”

Marcus snorted. “His wits have been scattered by the winds.” Keir grunted but didn’t turn his head.