Warsworn by Elizabeth Vaughan
Keir glared. “Rest. Gather your strength. Tomorrow night I will give the orders. We leave on the morning after next.” He stomped out of the tent, practically tearing the flap from the tent as he left.
The fight fled my body and I grabbed at Marcus’s arms to support myself. “Marcus, he can’t mean it. Can he?”
Marcus eased me down. “Hisself is determined, Warprize.”
Gils crept into the tent, avoiding my eyes. Isdra came in, bringing the sleeping babe. She sat on the edge of the bed, and showed her to me. “She does well, Lara.”
“It takes time to know that the illness is gone.” Worried as I was, I smiled to see the babe’s sweet sleeping face. Isdra lay the child on the bed next to me. “She’s thriving, that’s true. With a strange fondness for gurt.”
Isdra nodded. “She’ll need to be marked soon.”
“Tattooed?” I looked at her in horror.
Gils laughed. “Not one so young, Warprize. We use a stain to mark babes with their tribe.”
“You must design a mark for your tribe, Lara.” Isdra seemed to be studying the floor of the tent. “The tribe of Xy. The Elders will require such before our blood combines in children.” Isdra stood abruptly. “I have some things to see to, Warprize. I will leave the child with you.”
I smiled. “Of course, Isdra. I am well tended here.”
She gave me an odd look. “That you are, Lara.”
Needless to say, the air in the tent had turned frigid since Keir and I had argued. Gils was very clever in avoiding any contact with Keir and I, especially when our tempers flared, and flare they did over the course of the evening. Marcus just grumped at both of us. Isdra kept her distance as well. I wasn’t so occupied with arguing with Keir that I didn’t notice the distant expression on her face. I thought she was thinking on Epor’s death, and Keir’s folly, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Later the next day Isdra walked into the tent, her face so sorrowful, it scared me. She looked different somehow, but it was the reaction of the others that brought me up short. Keir sat up a bit straighter, and Marcus stopped what he was doing. Gils looked up from the book of herbs that I had him studying and closed it slowly. At their reactions I looked again. Isdra wasn’t wearing any weapons or armor, just a plain tunic and trous. Although she carried Epor’s warclub in one hand, she looked naked to me, as if the warrior had been stripped away somehow to reveal the vulnerable woman underneath. She looked at each of us in turn, then focused on Keir. “Warlord.”
“Warrior.”
“It is time, Warlord. Past time. I’ve completed our tasks, Epor’s and mine.”
Keir stood. “A task well done, Isdra of the Fox. I thank you for your service, and wish you well.”
I looked from one to the other, puzzled. “What’s going on? Are you leaving, Isdra?”
Isdra looked at me, but then looked back at Keir. “I’d ask that you give this to Prest, Warlord. He’ll wield it with honor.” She held out Epor’s warclub.
Keir stepped forward, and took the weapon with a nod. My heart started to pound in my chest. “Isdra?”
“Safe journey to the snows, Isdra.” Marcus spoke softly. “And beyond.” The sorrow in his face and eye reflected hers.
Gils stood as well, his face a mask of stoic pain.
“No.” I cried out, certain now what she intended. I pushed the blankets off my legs and tried to stand. “No, Isdra, you can’t.” I stood, swaying and reached a trembling hand toward her.
Isdra stepped up to grasp my fingers. “Warprize, I’ve seen to your safety. Epor awaits, and I’m eager to join him.” She hugged me tight. “Lara, this is our way. Try to understand and accept.”
I pushed her back, holding on to her arms for support. “No, I don’t accept it. Keir, tell her not to do this. Command her—”
“Lara.”
I looked over my shoulder to find Keir shaking his head. “In matters of bonding, I cannot command.” His gaze flicked over to Marcus then back to me. “The choice is hers and hers alone.”
I turned back to her. “Then choose to stay. I need you, Isdra.” A soft cry rose from the blankets, which caught my attention and hers. “The babe needs you, too.”
With a patient look, Isdra gripped my forearms and lowered me to the bed. “Lara, you are well cared for, as will be the babe.”
“I am the Warprize. I can—”
“You cannot.” Isdra stood. “None have the right to interfere in a bonding, Lara. Not even a Warprize.” She took a step back, and bowed her head to Keir. “Warlord.”
“Warrior.”
Isdra turned, but before I could protest, the tent flap opened. Chill air flowed into the tent and Joden appeared, his broad face grim.
Keir spoke first. “Joden? What is wrong?”
“The plague. It’s in the camp.”
8
My father loved to dance. On impulse, he’d command the musicians to play, and would join the lords and ladies in cavorting around the throne room, anything from a stately promenade to a sprightly jig. One of his favorite dances was where everyone held position when the music stopped unexpectedly. It reduced his normally stuffy court to giggles and guffaws when they tried to keep still until the music started again. Due to Father’s illness, and my less than popular position at court under my brother’s rule, I hadn’t seen that dance in years. But that was the memory that swirled in my head when we all froze as Joden’s words sunk in.
Keir was the first to react, sweeping up his swords and strapping on the harnesses. “Horses?”
“Outside.” Joden stepped further into the tent. “Enough for all.”
“We’ll go.” Keir jerked a blanket from his bedroll and moved to my side. He snapped the blanket out, and wrapped it around my shoulders. I stared at him, numbed at the idea that this might have made its way to the camp, but he gave me no chance to speak.
“I’s got the supplies.” Gils started packing even as Marcus moved toward the babe.
Keir had me bundled up and in his arms before I could say a word. I wrapped my arms around his neck and used them to pull myself higher so that I could look over his shoulder. “Isdra?”
As if my voice had cut off the music, everyone froze again.
Isdra stood in the center of the tent, weaponless, looking naked and vulnerable. I’d never seen such pain as I did on her face. She was torn right in two, longing pulling her in both directions. She hesitated, licking her lips, indecisive for the first time since I had met her. Joden’s face held a puzzled look as his eyes took in the scene, until a brief look around the tent answered his unspoken question. He closed his eyes in pain, and the loss of Epor stabbed at my heart all over again.
In that suspended moment, Keir’s lips brushed my ear with the barest of whispers. “I can’t ask. You can.” He turned slightly so that I faced Isdra.
“Isdra.” I made my voice firm. “I need you. You’ve been through this, can speak of it to the others. I need you to stay. Please.”
The pain was still in her eyes, but the uncertainty vanished. “For now, Warprize.”
As if the music started again, we moved. I tightened my grip as Keir spun for the tent entrance, with Joden right behind. Marcus and Gils scrambled to follow. Isdra calmly stepped into the corner of the tent and grasped Epor’s warclub as the flap fell to cut off my view.
There were seven horses waiting outside. One, a big black horse, neighed a welcome, and advanced to meet us. He was followed closely by my own brown mount, with the scarred chest. Keir handed me to Joden, then swung up into the saddle of the black. I opened my mouth to protest, since there was a horse for me to ride, but one look at Keir’s face and I decided it wasn’t the time to press the issue.
I did take advantage of the slight delay. “Joden, how many are sick?”
“Ten, Warprize. The longest for half a day.”
“Half a day?” Keir growled. “Why wasn’t word sent?” He leaned over to take me.
Joden said nothing unt
The black stamped, reacting to Keir’s sudden tensing. Keir shifted in the saddle, easing the beast, adjusting me in his arms, even as his eyes glittered with rage.
Joden stood there, his face bland. “I would have brought others with me, but none could disobey.”
“Except you?” I asked.
“There are benefits to being almost a Singer.” Joden’s teeth flashed as he gave me a rare smile. “Almost the same as being Warprize.”
“Where is Iften?” Keir ground the words out. Even in his fury, his arms cradled me gently.
“In your command tent.” Joden’s face was a polite mask once again, but I knew that his choice of words was deliberate.
I shivered, fearing Keir’s reaction. But he surprised me as he snorted, more amused than offended. He gave me a look, and I caught a glimpse of impish humor lurking in the back of his eyes just as he called out. “Marcus!”
Marcus opened the tent flap. “We’re packing as fast—”
“Leave it. I will send others to aid Isdra and Gils. I need you with me.”
“Eh?”
“Iften set himself up in the command tent.”
Pure rage danced over Marcus’s face. He disappeared, only to pop out a breath later, fully cloaked, heading for a horse, muttering something under his breath. Isdra looked out, even as Joden and Marcus mounted.
“Isdra, I will send others to break this camp. Bring Gils and the babe to the command tent as fast as you can.”
If she replied, it was lost as the black horse surged forward.
The wind whipped around us as we moved at a gallop. The camp was in the distance, spread out by the shores of a small lake, its waters a clear, cold blue. I was glad of the blanket and the warmth of Keir’s strong arms. But he was grim and silent as we rode. Joden and Marcus followed, and to my surprise, my horse was behind them, riderless, but following his herd.
Once we entered the encampment, the warriors about us started to react, calling greetings to Keir, and making those warbling cries. Keir didn’t slow the horse, but he responded to the calls, calling out names, summoning warleaders. I had glimpses of people scrambling for horses and running off, obeying his commands.
A familiar voice caught my attention, and a smiling Rafe rode up next to us, seeming almost to dance in his saddle. “Heyla, Warlord!”
“I call you back to duty, Rafe.”
“Good.” Rafe turned in his saddle to look behind. “Prest and I can give Epor and Isdra a rest, yes?”
“Epor is dead.” Keir’s voice was flat, but Rafe’s head whipped back in shock, his eyes wide. “Find Yers, Rafe. Bring him to the command tent.”
Rafe turned his horse off. “I’ll find Prest as well, Warlord.”
As we raced closer, I could see more and more tents around us. Keir had split the army, leaving about half of his troops in Water’s Fall with Simus, but he still had a large number of warriors with him. If the plague had truly reached the camp, the deaths here would make the village seem like nothing. I swallowed hard as the horse came to a stop in front of the command tent.
Joden and Marcus rode up behind us as Keir dismounted. He wouldn’t let me walk the few steps to the tent, lifting me without even asking permission. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Save your strength for what lies ahead.”
The guards at the entrance held back the flaps, and Keir strode into the main room of the tent. Without stopping, he headed for the sleeping area. As he pushed through that flap, I heard an odd grunting sound. I caught my breath at the sight of Iften bare-assed and plowing a woman in our bed.
Our bed!
Thankfully, the glimpse was brief. Keir spun on his heel, taking me back into the meeting area even as I let out an exclamation. Marcus, on the other hand, stepped right into the smaller room and I heard voices raised in anger. I peeked over Keir’s shoulder to see a woman warrior leaving the tent, her gear in hand, naked as a babe.
Keir seated me on the platform. I glared at him, but he used his body to shield me from view, and placed a finger over my lips. In the background, I could hear Marcus yelling at the top of his lungs. A few more warleaders had entered the tent, listened and smirked. There was anger in Keir’s eyes, but there was also a glint of humor there. I gave him a questioning look. He leaned a bit closer. “Marcus does with words what I’d use a sword to accomplish.”
Marcus’s voice was sharp as a dagger and Iften’s defensive. Iften was trying to justify his actions without much success. Of course, Marcus was giving him no quarter, no chance to put in a word edgewise.
I snorted softly, but then reason reasserted itself as I remembered our situation.
Keir sensed the change. Even though I was already wrapped in a blanket, he pulled off his cloak and swirled it out and over my shoulders. It settled on me gently, wrapping me in his warmth. I reached to pull the edges closed, but Keir knelt and did it for me. His head was close to mine, his breath warm on my cheek.
I clutched at him. “Keir, I—” I couldn’t continue for the fear that clogged my throat.
He gathered my cold hands in his strong warm ones. “What happened in the village will not happen here.”
I swallowed hard, and stared at him, unable to speak.
Keir kept his voice low. “You lived, Lara. Isdra and the child never sickened. Take hope from that.”
Marcus was bellowing at the top of his lungs, something about Iften using his cooking pots. The meeting tent was still filling with warleaders, much amused by the scene. I took advantage of the distraction to lean into Keir’s arms, hugging him in return. He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, holding me like something precious. I drew a deep breath of leather and the scent of his skin, seeking a small comfort before facing what lay ahead.
Keir waited, seemingly willing to sit there all day if necessary. But I pulled back, and he released me. ‘There’s so much to do, Keir. I need—”
“First things first.” With that Keir stood and called out over the noise. “Marcus. Enough.”
Marcus got in the last word. “Clothe yourself. The Warprize will be offended by your naked ass.”
Iften emerged, still struggling into his trous, carrying a sheathed sword, his face red with anger. But everyone’s attention was now drawn to Keir.
“The enemy is in the camp. We must take action before it claims lives.” Keir stood at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “The village is dead, leaving only one survivor. Epor has fallen as well.” The response to this was immediate, with warriors stiffening all over the room. Keir didn’t pause. He turned slightly. “Joden. Where are the sick?”
“Spread out in camp.” Joden replied.
“We will gather them here. Set up the Warprize’s stilltent, and—”
“Why?” Iften stood, some of the red fading from his face. “They are afflicted. Let them crawl off, or better still, let us leave this accursed place and return to the Plains.” Wesren was standing next to him, and nodded his agreement.
“They’ll die without treatment.” I pointed out.
“So?” Iften looked at me, honest surprise on his face. “This is our way, Warprize.”
“Then our dead will dribble behind us, as water from a leaking skin.” A voice spoke from the tent entrance and we all looked to see Isdra standing there, with Gils behind her holding the babe’s basket in one hand, satchel of healing supplies on his hip.
From the look on Gils’s face, he hadn’t known of the meeting. To his credit, he didn’t pause for long. He stepped past Isdra and walked through their midst to stand by my side. The babe was kicking at her blankets, waving her arms around happily.
What astonished me was the reaction of the warleaders. Even Iften’s face seemed to soften at the sight of the child, kicking and cooing. “Is that the only survivor?” Tsor asked softly, craning his neck to get a better look.
“Yes.” Keir smiled at the basket as Gils set it down next t
Isdra had followed Gils, to stand next to me. Without their speaking, I could see the various warleaders considering her with long looks. Was it because she lived? Or because of Epor’s war club, still strapped to her back.
Iften’s eyes narrowed. “Why have you not joined your bonded, Isdra of the Fox?”
Isdra’s eyes were dark and cold and something in my stomach clenched. But she merely stood straight and still, tilting her head up a bit to look Iften in the eye, and responded in low tones. “Be wary, Warleader. For you do not hold my token, and I might take offense.”
Marcus chose that moment to emerge from the sleeping area, his arms full of weapons and armor. He moved next to Iften, and dumped it at his feet. Before the blond could react, Marcus had ducked back under the tent flap. Iften had a snarl on his face, and took a step as if to confront Marcus, but Keir stopped him. “There is no time for this.” Keir’s voice cut through us all. “This is no senel, and no truths will be addressed. The old ways of dealing with,” he hesitated slightly, “of dealing with the sick will not work, for all of us have been exposed to the enemy. Alone, we will all die. Together, we will defeat this enemy. This is battle and I will be obeyed.”
That was that for most of the warleaders, although Iften scowled and a few others looked uncertain. But all focused on Keir’s commands.
“All who are ill are to be brought here, to the shore. The lake will be used to cool the fevers.”
“Ortis, pull the scouts in. Set a guard within the camp, with no warrior alone. The rest of the scouts, send to the Warprize, to learn the signs and treatment of this illness. They will spread the word in the camp so that all learn the enemy.”
“Food, Warlord.” Sal spoke up, grim and anxious. “How can I send out hunting parties if they may die at any moment?”
Isdra spoke up. “The village had animals. We released those we found outside the walls. And there were herds beyond the walls, to the south. Cows, sheep and goats.”