“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.
I nodded. “I feel the same. It spoiled the day, didn’t it?”
The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled. “Yes. It did.” He leaned in and gently kissed me. Just a touching of lips. “I’m looking for Joden.”
Joden emerged from the healing tent. “Warlord?”
“We’re going to the castle, to learn firsthand what is known of the attack. I want you with us.”
Joden headed for the spare horse that Simus was leading. I frowned to see Simus mounted. “Is your leg well enough for this?” I asked Simus, as Keir mounted his horse.
Simus shrugged. “It will have to be, little healer.” He flashed a smile. “Someone has to make sure that Keir doesn’t rage through the city, slaughtering everyone in his path.”
Keir glared at Simus, as the rest of the group chuckled. I smiled, even though I could sense that to some degree Simus was serious. Keir pulled his horse around, and they headed out, the horses’ hooves churning up the dirt. I took two steps around the tent, standing where I could see Water’s Fall in the distance, and the road that led to the main gates. Epor shifted with me, watching my back.
The city walls and the castle gleamed in the sun. The scattered greenery on the mountain held the first faint traces of yellow. Soon the first snows would come, the water falls would freeze, and for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t be here to see it. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
The wind caught my hair, whipping it into my eyes. With a last look, I returned to my work.
“I have given up expecting you to remember the nooning.” I looked up as Marcus entered the tent with food and drink.
“I’m sorry, Marcus. I lost track of time.”
“Sorry, sorry, that doesn’t fill a body.” He shed his cloak and fussed, clearing space for his load. “And what is that awful smell?”
“A potion for the—” I frowned, not knowing the right words. “For an illness of the bowels.”
He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Eat. If you can.”
I dug in and smiled at him. His face remained stem, but his eye twinkled. “You are in a better mood, eh?”
“So are you.”
He mock-glared at me. “I managed a nice nap, thank you kindly.”
“Has Keir returned?”
Marcus shook his head. “Hisself is probably making them miserable up there, poking and prodding for answers. Don’t be worried for him.” He moved off toward the tent entrance. “See that you bring the dishes back with you this evening.”
I kept working, cooling the potion and storing it away. The liniment took more mixing then anything, and I made up multiple bottles, including one for myself. I rubbed it on my throat, feeling the warmth as it worked into the tender flesh.
I contented myself with smaller tasks until Gils returned. Atira was more than ready for a bath, and we made quite a mess between getting her clean and soaking the leather. Gils and I were tired when all was done, and I sent him to fetch some kavage for us from the cook tent. Horsemen came thundering by as he returned.
“The Warlord’s be back,” Gils reported as he served. “Looking awful mad.”
Someone had brought Atira a bunch of daggers to sharpen to keep her busy. She and Gils both worked on them as I read to them from the Epic, translating as I went. Atira and Gils were fascinated, by both the story and by the oddity of the written word. The poem was entering the planning part of the expedition, and while I was bored to death with the number of bales and pack mules, my audience was absorbed in the telling. I’d reached the part where Xyson was expelling the evil creatures from Xy when the sound of an approaching horseman interrupted us. Someone had come up to the tent and was speaking to the guards.
I closed the book. “Enough for one day.”
Atira nodded. “Maybe tomorrow we can start reading?” She used the Xyian word.
I nodded, stood, and stretched. Joden stuck his head in. “Warprize, may I talk to you?”
Gils objected. “The bandage’s be needing changed, Warprize.”