Iften seemed to freeze, as if he couldn’t make a decision.
“Hell of a way to ruin a dance.” Simus grumbled, just loud enough to be heard by those closest to us. Laughter started and continued, as his words were passed on. The tension released, like water pouring out of a bowl.
Iften stood for another moment, but he had lost and he knew it. “I withdraw the challenge.” With a sullen look, he sheathed his sword and slung his shield on his back. A young man raced out and handed him the wooden bowl, and he started the ritual to begin the dance. Keir and Simus returned to their stumps. Rafe and Prest faded back to their original positions.
Marcus held a mug of kavage in front of me. “Drink this, Warprize. You are as white as snow.”
I took the mug and sipped. Keir turned, and looked at me with concern. “Are you well, Warprize?”
“He threatened to kill you.”
Simus snorted, accepting kavage from Marcus. “Iften always speaks before he thinks.”
“Still,” Keir watched the dancers as if he had no other concerns. “He did speak. There may be others that agree with him.”
Simus rumbled in agreement. “And where did he get that courage, I wonder?”
Keir shrugged, and both focused on the dance.
I watched as well, although I couldn’t remember the colors that danced or their patterns. I waited for my heart to stop racing in my chest. Everyone acted as if nothing had happened, as if having someone challenge a warlord to fight to the death were something that happened every day. I sat, trying to understand it all as the last dance ended and Iften performed some ceremony to bring things to a close. Keir was next to me before I could even stand. With a simple gesture, Rafe and Prest were called to my side.
“Take her to my tent, and guard her well.” Keir spoke in low tones. “Stay with her until I return. I’m going to walk the camp. Simus?”
Simus stood, and I noticed his hesitation. “He can’t. He’s been on that leg far too long.”
I stood, pulling up the cloak. “I’d better look at it.”
Simus wrinkled his nose, but nodded. “She’s right.”
“Take them to Simus’s tent. When she’s finished, escort her to mine. Marcus can send Gils to her.” Keir glared at them. “Don’t leave her for an instant.”
“Will you call a senel?” Simus asked, as we moved off the platform.
“We’ll talk after I’ve tasted the mood of the warriors.” He strode off into the growing darkness.
***
Simus’s tent glowed with warmth when we arrived. He eased down onto his bed with Marcus’s assistance. Once his trous and the bandages were off, I could see that the wound was healing well. “You’ ve just pushed it too hard, Simus.”
“Perhaps, little healer.” He sank back “But how could I miss a dance?” His smile grew wide, and his eyes gleamed. “And such a dance!”
Joden entered the tent in time to hear his words. “Aye, Iften is a fool.”
Simus laughed. “Iften is a good warrior, but he fears change. Keir makes sweeping changes. You’re surprised that they clash?”
“Shall I fetch Gils?” Marcus asked me quietly.
I dug through the supplies by the bed. “No, I have what I need here.”
Joden sat on a stool out of the way. “A surprise that he would call challenge.”
“That’s a truth voiced.” Simus stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “Where did he find the nerve?”
“I don’t understand what he thought he was doing.” I worked as 1 spoke. “He threatened Keir with death. According to our laws, that would make him an outlaw.”
Simus grimaced slightly at my touch. “We only give positions of power to those who’ve earned them. Challenge is a part of determining who will lead.”
I blinked at him. “Xymund rules by right of blood, as confirmed by the gods.”
“It’s not because of his skill as a warrior.” Marcus commented.
“That’s why he has men such as Warren,” I snapped, stung more by the criticism of my people than in defense of my half-brother. I looked at Simus. “So Xymund, as King, would have to face challenges to stay on the throne.”
Joden chuckled. “It’s not that easy, Warprize. One must qualify to give challenge. Iften has the right to challenge Keir, but no one may challenge on campaign.”
The silence that descended was a thoughtful one. I concentrated on re-bandaging the wound, and dosing Simus with fever’s foe. I offered lotus as well, to help him sleep, but he declined. As soon as I finished, Marcus hustled me out.
Once outside, I resisted. “I want to check Atira’s leg.”
“None of that.” Marcus barred my path. “Hisself said ‘to the tent’ and off to the tent we go.”
Rafe coughed to draw my attention and spoke once he had my eye. “It’s the Warlord’s command.”
I would’ve argued, but my arm was throbbing. We returned to Keir’s tent, only to engage in a heated discussion of just how Rafe and Prest were going to guard me. They interpreted their instructions literally, and intended to sit and watch me sleep. After some heated discussion, Rafe and Prest took up positions outside, and Marcus and I went in alone.
I folded up the cloak and laid it on one of the benches, careful not to use my arm too much. “Marcus, do challenges happen often?”
“Of course, Warprize. Before the armies are gathered, the challenges are fought to determine ranks. But that is for the early spring. No one issues challenge on campaign.”
“Iften did.”
“Iften is a fool.” Marcus chuckled softly. “Hisself took care of him without raising a sword.”
“Could someone challenge Simus? While he is hurt?”
“That’s not done, Warprize. Another would take his place while he healed. Iften in fact, since he stands third in rank.” Marcus fussed with the brazier. “Although few heal from such a wound.” He frowned into the coals, then turned, regarding me. “It’s off to bed with you. Hisself won’t be in until late, if I know him. ”
I lay awake for quite some time, wondering about a world where a warrior held his rank and title by merit instead of class or birth. My dreams were filled with the images of Xy-mund fighting Warren for the crown when I slipped into sleep.
I awoke to a warm embrace, a frowning countenance, and Keir’s voice in my ear.
“You are not to leave this bed today.”
The day deteriorated from there.
Marcus was cranky from lack of sleep. Keir was wound tighter then he had been the night before, if that were possible. I was upset because my arm ached, Marcus was cranky, and Keir was impossible.
He ordered me to stay in bed.
I refused.
He ordered me to stay in the tent.
I refused.
He ordered me to accept an escort of my guards, Rafe and ten more men to the tents, have my assistants check my arm, and return to his tent.
I refused. I asked to go into the city with him to see Warren.
He refused.
During our discussion, we bathed, dressed, and ate. And discussed the matter at the top of our lungs.
Finally, Marcus emerged from his area and roared “Enough!” We both stopped talking, and turned to glare at him.
Marcus glared right back. “You.” He said, pointing at Keir. “Go to the city with some men and find out what Warren has learned.” He turned and pointed at me. “You. Go to the tents with your guards.” He glared at both of us. “Damned fools.” He stomped off. “And don’t come back ‘til after my nap!” he yelled from the back.
Keir grabbed up his cloak and sword, and stomped out. I glared at the tent wall as I finished my kavage, then grabbed up my cloak and stomped out. Epor and Isdra were waiting outside, and they eyed me with trepidation as I walked past them. They fell into step behind me, and were smart enough to stay quiet as we walked.
I strode to Simus’s tent, wanting to check his wound, but Joden was emerging as I walked up. “He’s sleeping, Warprize. He and Keir were up late, talking.”