“I’ll let him sleep.”
“I’ll walk with you, if I may. I wish to talk to Atira.” Joden fell in step next to me. Epor and Isdra followed.
“For your song?”
Joden nodded. “1 wish to see what happened through her eyes.”
“Will you sing of what happened last night? Iften’s challenge?”
Joden snorted. “No, Warprize. The songs I create now must be great songs of great events, songs that will aid me in earning the title of Singer. I will not sing of fools.”
Gils awaited us at the healing tent, smiling next to a pile of bandages and a pot of fever’s foe. Atira was the only patient, propped up on her cot; they both looked up eagerly when we walked in. Epor and Isdra arranged themselves by the tent flap, sitting on stumps. Isdra flipped her long braid back and pulled out some leather work. Epor had some oil that he seemed to be rubbing into the wooden handle of his war club.
“You must tell me what happened!” Atira threw up her hands in disgust. “They brought me back here last night, and I only heard this morning. Is it true? Did Iften challenge?”
Joden snorted. Gils guided me to a cot close to Atira and started to help me pull off my tunic. Joden pulled up a stool next to Atira’s cot. “He did challenge. Would you hear my words?”
Atira’s eyes widened. “Please, Joden.”
Joden started speaking in his warm voice as Gils unwrapped my arm. He spoke plainly, with no embellishments, but his tone of voice left no doubt as to his opinion. Gils worked as Joden spoke, although he seemed flustered by the fact that I kept the tunic on and kept myself covered as best I could. Keir’s people may be casual with their bodies, but I was more comfortable with my own ways. I looked around, but everything had been cleaned up and set right. You couldn’t tell that there’d been an attack in this tent at all, other than the new exit at the rear of the tent where Simus had cut his way in. It had been finished off and was now tied shut.
Gils sat back, examining the exposed wounds. They looked good, but I stared at them and scowled. It would scar, I was sure of it. Two puckered parallel lines on my upper arm. Gils re-wrapped and tied off the bandage, as Joden concluded his tale.
Atira exclaimed, and I focused back on their conversation. “It’s only field discipline that saved his life.”
Joden nodded. “Aye, he’d be dead otherwise.”
“Field discipline?” I asked, struggling back into my tunic.
“All’s well?” Joden asked, looking at my arm.
“On campaign, we are under a different rule than on the plains,” Atira explained. “The Warlord was generous. Maybe overly so.”
“The elements will judge.” Joden eyed Atira, and she subsided, but I had the distinct impression that she had her own opinion in the matter. Which reminded me of something I’d meant to ask.
“Marcus said something to me last night. Something about offending the skies.” I bent to check the leather on Atira’s leg, so it took a moment for me to realize that there had been no response. I looked up into puzzled faces.
“He’d offend the skies, Warprize, to show his disfigurement,” Joden responded. Gils and Atira nodded.
“But—” I suddenly understood why Marcus stayed in the tent almost all the time. “Those are honorable scars—”
I stopped when Atira shook her head. “No. There is a difference between an honorable scar and being no longer whole.”
“So everyone who is crippled or severely injured goes cloaked?”
Joden’s face was grim. “No. They ask for mercy.”
There was no answer to that. I checked Atira’s leg. The swelling had gone down, and the leather was loose. With all of them watching closely 1 checked the placement of the leg, but it was still set and straight. I sat back on my heels, and considered. “New leather, I think. It needs to be tighter, to allow the stones to work.”
Gils shifted his weight nervously. “I’s want to help, Warprize but I’s due at weapons practice.”
“Go.” I stood up and arranged Atira’s bedding. “We’ll do it after the nooning, when you can return.”
“So Joden and I can talk now?” Atira asked.
“When one talks to a Singer, it’s usual to be private,” Joden explained. “So that the singer can focus on your words alone, and no one can influence your words.”
“That’s fine.” I smiled. “I’ve work to do in the other tent.”
Epor and Isdra rose and followed as Gils walked out with me. “Warprize, I’s be upset when I looked for things to tend you with. The stilltent isn’t as neat as you left it.” The red of his cheeks matched his red hair.
I glared at him. “How bad is it?”
He gulped. “I’s be happy to stay and help.”
“And miss practice and get us both in trouble? I think not.” I waved him off.
“You’ll be careful of the arm?”
I rolled my eyes, and he laughed as he sprinted off toward the practice grounds.
Standing in the center of the stilltent, it was easy to assess the damages. It wasn’t that bad, really, just some mess from where Gils had rifled through stuff, looking for supplies. While I got things back where I liked them, I organized my head for what I wanted to accomplish. A few jugs of liniment might be helpful. I liked having a few bottles of that available, and it would aid the bruising on my own neck. I also had the ingredients for a potion that worked well with the flux. Have one case of flux, and there’d be ten cases of flux. I lit the braziers, and started to ready ingredients. Epor and Isdra were kind enough to help me with any lifting, and soon the tent was filled with the smells of brewing elixirs and steeping ointments.
I wrote with pleasure, enjoying the scratch of the pen on the page. The work was soothing. Once again, I spread out my papers and books so I could make notes on everything I did, so that I could recall what worked and what didn’t. It was all so familiar, so much like home that I lost myself in it. Until the tent wall slapped in the breeze and brought me back. One thing I made sure to do was brew a tea from willow bark. Not as strong as the fever’s foe, still it helped with my aching arm. I sipped some as I worked.
The tea helped a little, but the truth was that a pall had been cast over the day. It all seemed so strange and disturbing. These people were so different, saw the world through different eyes, had such dissimilar standards. Yet, they bled, hurt, and healed the same way we did. Yet they were so harsh. Offend the skies? Was that any reason for a warrior, injured in service, to kill themselves? Yet an honorable scar brought admiration and praise.
Keir wanted to bind the lands together, but I didn’t see how. Xymund surely had not known of Keir’s plans. I wondered if he knew now? What he and the Council must think of that idea. Of course, no one had thought of a Daughter of Xy as a tribute, and yet here I was.
But what exactly was I? Keir seemed interested in me physically, but talked of honoring our traditions. Certainly, I seemed to have no real slave duties, other than to sleep in the same tent. Which was just as well. While I brewed an excellent elixir, Anna had despaired of ever teaching me to cook a meal. Marcus had mentioned that I had to be taken to the Heart of the Plains, but had not explained further. My imagination ran riot with ideas and images, none of them good.
I sat and stirred the flux potion, staring at the tent wall.
The sound of thunder drew me out of my trance, and I moved the pot off the fire to go outside. Epor and Isdra stood as a large group of horsemen rode up, Keir in the lead. They milled around as Keir swung down from his horse, and stalked over to me. He wore armor, helm and his black cape, and looked damned impressive, gleaming in the sun as he walked toward me. I lost myself in his blue eyes as he came to stand very close to me.
“I couldn’t leave without…” he paused. “This morning, I…” He looked away, then looked back at me.