Keir swerved off, following the outer edge of the troops, to a rise where the warleaders had gathered. He pulled his horse to a stop, greeting all with a smile. They greeted him in turn, with varied levels of enthusiasm. Iften had spread his discontent well, even among them.
Iften was there, of course, mounted on a big grey horse, with the warrior-priest to one side, and Wesren on the other. None of them appeared pleased to see me. Especially the warrior-priest, since he was the one I had doused with the boiled skunk cabbage. Warrior-priests don’t share their names, so I had no way of addressing him. Not that he had anything to say to me. Or I to him, for that matter.
It seemed to me that Iften was making every effort to stay away from me. That was fine, except for one thing. When Isdra had challenged him for the insult to her bonded, I was certain that she had cracked or broken his arm in the fight. But Iften had rejected my healing skills, only allowing the warrior-priest to cast ‘spells’ on his arm. He seemed to use it without any pain, but he used a leather bracer on that arm, and I couldn’t get more than a glimpse.
Yers was there, a warm smile on his face. He inclined his head to me in a respectful greeting.
That was something else that I had learned about these people. The way they nodded or inclined their heads was an important indicator of status and consent. From the slight nod of a Warlord, to the showing of the back of the neck by one of very low status, it marked your position in their world. It was also a way of showing one’s opinion about a situation. They did it without really thinking about it, and I’d only learned through watching carefully.
Because Simus had remained in Xy, and Iften was Second, Yers was now Third. A handsome man, with a rather large, crooked nose. He supported Keir, for which I was grateful.
Sal the quartermaster was there as well, and while she nodded in greeting, her position was almost completely neutral. So long as she could bargain for supplies for the army, she was content. Aret, who was responsible for the herds, was keeping an eye on both sides, and would support the winner. Tsor and Uzaina, the warleaders responsible for the warriors on the march, had also kept their distance, although they seemed to be leaning toward Iften.
Wesren, who had charge of the encampments, was clearly on Iften’s side. But Ortis, the huge man who had helped care for tiny Meara, supported Keir. He also had charge of the scouts and the messengers that Keir relied on.
Joden was there as well, sitting on his horse, looking out over the Plains. I pulled to a stop next to Joden. “Good morning, Joden.”
He turned his dark, broad face to me and gave me a nod. “Xylara.”
I showed no sign, but the greeting hurt. Joden had been a staunch supporter of Keir and myself until the events at Wellspring. But since that time, he’d changed. Joden had lost some of his fire. Caring for the dead, singing for their souls, had put a burden of sorrow on him that words could not heal. He was honest in his opposition, and he’d told me directly, but it still stung. He’d been the first to call me Warprize, and he’d been the one to explain my position to me. But now he used my formal Xyian name, and no other.
Marcus shot him a glare, but Iften smirked. The tensions were there, under the surface and still brewing. But all were to speak before the Elders, and they would decide the truths. I felt a knot of tension start to build, right between my shoulder blades.
“Are we ready?” Keir asked of his warleaders.
I glanced over, unsure of his meaning. He was looking at his warleaders, watching them nod, all with a look of eagerness about them. What in the world—
“The scouts have ranged, and found no threats, Warlord,” Ortis reported.
Yers nodded in agreement. “We are ready, Warlord.”
Keir smiled in satisfaction. “Then we will celebrate our return home, and then camp for the night.”
“We could still make time, a few hours of travel,” Iften pointed out. “At the rate you have set, we will not reach the Heart of the Plains until the new grass has grown.”
Keir gave him a long look. “After we dance, we will rest. Wesren,” Keir continued, never taking his eyes off Iften. “Make plans for a camp tonight. We will move on in the morning.”
I held my breath, for Iften had almost challenged Keir once before. But this time Iften faced a healthy Keir, fully capable of meeting him in combat. Iften looked away, and I let the breath ease from my body in relief. I was certain Keir could take him, but I didn’t wish to see it brought to a test.
Keir seemed to reach the same conclusion, turning to look out over the warriors that stretched out before us. “Marcus, you’ll stay?”
“I will.” Marcus dismounted, and removed his saddle bags. He moved over to remove Keir’s saddle bags as well.
“Keir?” I asked, concerned suddenly.
He flashed a grin at me, his face boyish and relaxed. “Off your horse, my Warprize.”
I dismounted, a bit puzzled. Greatheart seemed to know that something was up. He danced a bit as Mar cus took off his saddle bags as well. Once that was done, Marcus and I took positions off to the side, and I watched as Keir raised his face to the skies and warbled a long cry.
To a man, the warriors below turned and looked in our direction. I saw that their horses were stripped of saddle bags, even the pack horses were bare. There was a great, expectant hush that settled over all of them, man and beast.
“HEYLA!” Keir raised his arms high, palms facing out. “WE ARE HOME.”
“HEYLA!” The response was loud and thunderous, and the entire army charged out onto the Plains.
The warleaders, even the warrior-priest, rushed to join them. Marcus’s horse and Greatheart both surged forward. Keir slid from the black’s back and it launched itself forward, belling with joy.
Keir moved to my side and took my hand and we watched the spectacle unfold before us. It wasn’t the mad race out into the grasses that I had expected. It was a dance, the likes of which I had never seen. Eventually the swirling, interlocking patterns became clear, as horses and riders moved together.
The cries of joy, laughter, and the whinnies of horses came to us on the wind. Keir laughed too, a joyful sound. I looked over, and knew I was seeing a different Keir, without the weight of worries and responsibilities on his shoulders. For the moment, he was as light-hearted and happy as I’d ever seen him.
I looked back just in time to see the riders slip off their horses, as if on an unseen signal. The people started to run, forming their own patterns.
The horses danced alone now. Goddess, it was a pattern dance with the horses!
I squeezed Keir’s hand. “You should be out there.”
He looked over, his blue eyes alight with a smile. “I’d rather stand here and see it through your eyes.”
I smiled back, then turned to Marcus, who stood with his arms folded tight to his chest, under his cloak. “Marcus, you should—”
He cut me off with a jerk of his head. “In that confusion with a blindspot? Are your wits gone?”
I turned back, and knew he was right.
The celebration continued for a few more moments, then to my wonder, the warriors began to re-mount. They would come together, horse and rider both at a run, then the warrior would reach out and pop into the saddle in an instant. In awe, I watched as more and more warriors returned to their seats, with no apparent effort or mishaps.
Three horses split off from the group and headed for us at a run. Keir’s black, Marcus’s mount, and Greatheart not far behind. They came pounding toward us at a full gallop.
Keir dropped my hand, and moved a step away. The black came charging up, Keir reached out his arm—and was mounted and gone.
Marcus, too, was up and away.