Spells? Magical healing? I turned my head to look at the man. “Could I watch? Could I watch the spell casting?”
Eyes popped open on every face, including the Warrior-Priest’s. He looked so astonished I almost laughed, but then his eyes turned mean. “No.”
“But—”
The squeeze of Keir’s arms warned me before the response of the warrior-priest. “You are of Xy, and offensive to the elements.”
Keir bristled, and the others too were looking damned angry. The warrior-priest tossed that matted hair of his. “Come, Iften of the Pig. I will hear your truths, and heal your wound.”
They walked off, Wesren but a step behind. I opened my mouth to make a comment, but Keir swept me into the sleeping area, and set me on the bed. He knelt, taking my feet in his hands and rubbing some warmth into them.
I leaned back, propping myself up with my elbows. “So, Iften is of the Pig. That explains a lot.”
Keir’s head jerked up, and he laughed out loud. I loved his face in that instant, happy and relaxed. But then he shook his head. “You have the word wrong. These are not the pigs of your land, Lara. These are wild boars, fierce, fleet of foot, and dangerous. Have a care when you face one.”
Isdra had appeared, and stood sentry at the door, with Marcus at her side. Marcus growled. “I’m more than willing to hunt one particular boar.”
Isdra nodded.
Keir kissed me. “Get dry and warm. I will deal with this.”
“Keir, I’m sorry. He scared me and I didn’t think, I just threw—”
Keir flashed that boyish grin. “Ugly, isn’t he. They all are. And do they offer their name? Or ask permission for anything? Ah, I couldn’t ask for better, my heart’s fire. He reeks of that foul smelling goo.”
I rolled my eyes. “And he will for some time. That odor doesn’t really wash away without strong soap.”
“Which will be in short supply.” Keir kissed me again, then whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry I was late for your bathing. Next time, send word.”
I blushed, but sat up to grab his arm as he turned to leave. “Keir, for all your pleasure he has been exposed to the plague. He needs to know the symptoms and the ways to treat—”
Keir turned back, knelt down at my feet, and took my hands. “Lara, you must understand something. He does not care, as you do. He is not a ‘healer’. Warrior-priests use their magic only as it profits them.”
“But if he has magic, Keir, I want to learn.” I tightened my grip on his arm. “Imagine what I could do with that power? I could have healed Atira’s leg, maybe even saved my father—”
“They do not share knowledge, Lara. I have doubts about their powers.” Keir looked at me intently. “You must promise me that you will not attempt to talk to him, not even with all your guards with you. He despises any who are not of the Plains. But he will hate you more for the gifts you bring us. Do you understand?”
Marcus moved slightly, and I looked over at him, remembering the cold blade at my throat. I looked at Keir and nodded. “I understand. Death can come in an instant.”
Keir smiled, and then lifted my hands to kiss them. “We will watch him carefully for signs of illness.” He stood, looking down at me. “I will make sure that the rest of his party returns to the Plains, Lara, with messages for the Elders.” He hesitated slightly. “Isdra.”
“Warlord?”
“Make sure that any who tend to Meara are such as can face a warrior-priest.”
I shivered at the very idea that any would harm the child. Marcus sucked in a breath and Isdra looked shocked. “Warlord, not even they would dare—”
Keir was grim, the hate in his eyes flaring. “I’ll not give them a chance.” He left, with a swirl of his cape. Isdra followed him out.
Marcus had drying cloths, and dropped one on my head. “See to your hair, Warprize.” He knelt at my feet, and started to rub them roughly with another cloth. “I’ve hot kavage fresh brewed, that will warm you.”
I sighed as I toweled my hair. “I certainly made a mess of things.”
“A mess of that arrogant fool, yes.” Marcus paused, looking up at me intently with his one eye. “But you did well, Warprize. You distracted him with what you had at hand, and used that advantage to flee.”
I smiled, warmed by his praise. “Still, I angered the warrior-priest. That won’t help Keir.”
“There’d be no help regardless. Hisself makes no secret of his hatred.”
“Because of what happened to you?” I asked quietly.
“There are other reasons.” Marcus stood. “I will fetch the kavage. Be warm and dry and tucked within the bedding when I return, eh?”
He left without another word.
The next morning the final winners of the combat rounds stood before us, both smiling. I couldn’t help but smile back, enjoying their obvious pride. The man, Ander by name, was older than most warriors, although clearly not as old as Epor. He was bald, with thick bushy white eyebrows and hazel eyes. The woman, Yveni, was tall and thin, her skin as black as Simus’s. I’d seen her around before. Her hair was black and cropped close to her skull, and her brown eyes had flecks of gold.
“Heyla!” Keir called out, and the crowd around us returned his call with a loud shout of approval.
“Behold, the last two that contest for the position of the Warprize’s guard. They both meet with my approval, and so the winner of this combat shall have the position.”
Another cry of approval went up. Keir had met with each of the candidates the night before, talking to them about their duties and responsibilities. The man he knew from other campaigns. The woman had battle experience, but this was her first time under Keir’s command. Yers had given them both praise and Isdra told Keir she could work with either one. Marcus hadn’t had anything negative to say, other than his usual complaints.
“But this position requires one who is sharp of skill and wits. Who can both attack and protect. So, I have decided to change the rules.” That brought quiet, as everyone leaned forward, intent on Keir’s words. He smiled, his dark hair shining in the sun. “Marcus. Rafe.”
Marcus and Rafe moved to stand together, back to back, with something in their hands. They each paced out five steps, and then knelt to press something into the ground.
“Hear now the rules for this combat. Behind each warrior is a horsehair braid, tied between two stakes, a hands-length above the ground. The goal is to cut your opponent’s braid. Do you understand?”
Ander and Yveni both considered the ground as Rafe and Marcus moved away. They studied the stakes and the braids, and then took positions in front of them, facing each other.
Sal was to judge the combat, and she stepped forward at Keir’s nod. “Are you ready, warriors?”
They’d barely nodded when Sal cried “Begin!” They sprang forward, their blades clashed, the crowd roared, and the fight was on.
They were both using swords and shields and moved so fast I was sure to miss something if I blinked. The location of the stakes restricted their movements. While there was no formal circle, the warriors never wandered far from their braids. Keir and I were seated on a bit of higher ground, giving us a better view. Rafe and Prest were behind me, Isdra at my side, watching with a careful eye.
Iften and the Warrior-Priest were off to one side, also using the rise to their advantage, but making sure not to come close to Keir and I. The warrior-priest had a sullen look, but Iften seemed to be awfully pleased with himself, almost happy. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at his arm, which was hanging loosely at his side. I’d been told that the healing had taken place, with the sounds of chanting coming from Iftens’s tent, with clouds of purple-blue smoke billowing from the tent. But I couldn’t get a very good look, with all the people in the way.