Keir gestured, holding his hands up, palms flat. “Who can say what caused Joden to stay his hand. I can not. I have spoken to these truths, and I thank Iften for his truths.”
Simus raised his hand. “Warlord, I would speak to this truth. I would speak as to Joden’s punishment.”
Keir turned a bit, so he could see Simus. “Speak, Simus.”
Simus’s voice carried far, yet he seemed to make no special effort. “The Warlord has left to me to determine the punishment for Joden, who has violated our tradition. I say, how is one to punish the man who saved his life?” Simus shifted a bit on his pillows. “But tradition has been broken and punishment there must be. Summon Joden to stand before me.”
Joden stepped in to the tent, as if he had been waiting just outside. He looked anxious, but his step was firm, and he stood with an easy confidence. “I am here.”
Simus’s teeth gleamed as he smiled. “As I have done privately, so I now do publicly. I thank you, Joden, for the gift of my life.”
Joden smiled back, his round face made rounder so.
“Now, as to punishment. As you all know, Joden is a singer. Not yet a Singer of the Tribes, but singer none the less. So, hear now the punishment I would impose. Joden must sing of his decision on the field of battle.”
There was a stirring at this, but I couldn’t tell what their reaction was. Simus waited for a bit, then continued, “Now, the words of a singer can not be forced or dictated. That too is tradition. So I say to Joden, do you accept this punishment? Will you sing of this for all the Plains to hear?” More murmurs, more reaction. I was getting the idea that the offense and the punishment were so unusual that no one was sure how to react.
Joden nodded. “I accept the punishment. I will sing of this.”
“So be it.” Simus leaned back on his pillows and waved his cup in the air. “Bring me and Joden kavage, Marcus. This is punishing work.” There were groans at that, and Simus laughed as Joden took a stool. “I have spoken to this truth. I thank you, Warlord.”
Keir lifted a mug. “The sky favors the bold.” Other mugs were lifted in response. As they were lowered, Keir caught Iften’s eye. “I thank you for your truths, Iften.”
Marcus moved to offer more kavage to him and Simus as the rest of the room talked among themselves as if nothing had happened. Under its cover, Simus leaned over. “That one grows brazen.”
Keir made some response, but I did not hear it. My eyes were drawn to the bundle, the token, there on its stool. Maybe I could use its protections to ask for medicines and supplies. Without further thought I slipped off my stool, and moved toward the token. It was almost in my grasp when my wrist was caught and jerked back. I gasped, and shrank back from Keir, his face contorted in rage.
Chapter 6
Keir’s grip on my wrist tightened as he pulled me back to the platform. Ice cold sweat formed down my spine as a vision of the man tied to the whipping post filled my eyes.
I was pulled back to reality when Keir released my wrist and pushed me back down on my stump. “ What would you say, Warprize?” The words ground out between his teeth as he towered over me. Wanting nothing more than to sink into the earth, I dropped my eyes and caught a glimpse of Iften behind Keir, smirking in delight.
“Well?”
I glanced over at Simus, who nodded as if encouraging me to speak. Lifting my chin, as well as my courage, I met Keir’s eyes. “I have two truths.”
“What?” Keir snapped at me, and I got a clear glimpse of his teeth.
“Supplies for the healing tent.” I swallowed hard. “I can do more with medicines, herbs and equipment.”
There was a murmur of reaction to that, but Keir’s eyes continued to bore into mine. “More?” The anger that had flared seemed to smolder beneath the surface. “You would aid any who came to you?”
“Yes.” My wrist throbbed, but I sat still and straight.
One of the men snorted from the back. “Our warriors will become soft as city-dwellers if we let them complain of every ache and pain.”
“Oh, and they fight so much better when they have a rash under their arms, or flux dribbling out of their ass,” I snapped back, letting my temper flare.
The room exploded in laughter.
Simus threw back his head and roared. “Ah,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “This one’ll not let slackers lay idle. She’ll have them empty slop pots!”
More laughter. Keir’s posture didn’t relax, but there was a hint of a smile on that stern face. I carefully kept my eyes on his, not daring to look away. After a moment he returned to his stump and gestured for more kavage. “And your second truth, Warprize?”
I shifted so that I looked directly at him, but he stared ahead, so all I had was his profile. “You need to understand that I am a healer, not a—” I bit my lip, at a loss for the right word. “Not a worker of wonders. I can’t wave my hand and fix Atira’s leg so that she can jump up as if nothing happened.” I drew a breath. “I have set her leg, but bone healing takes time.” I dropped my eyes to the rough planks of the platform. “I can’t heal all illness. Would to the Goddess that I could.”
There was silence in the tent. Keir’s voice was low, but it carried. “You’d try to help any who came to you?”
I looked up, surprised he even had to ask. “Of course.”
Keir looked around the room, and I could see that some of the warriors were nodding their heads, although Iften and a few others were scowling. Keir opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Marcus approached and bowed to Keir. “Warlord, there is a man of the city outside. He says that he has business with you, as you owe him a debt. He will talk to no one but you.”
“Let him approach.”
The tent flaps parted and Remn entered, moving with quiet dignity toward the high seat. I sat up and smiled. His eyes caught mine, and a look of relief flashed over his face for just a moment. He made no sound. Instead, he focused his eyes on Keir and continued to advance. A servant followed him with a small bundle. About five steps from Keir, he stopped, and bowed low.
“Greetings, Warlord. I am Remn, a humble bookseller. I thank you for this audience. I apologize that I do not speak your language. Is there one who can interpret my words?”
Keir nodded. “I speak your language. I am told that you have come to collect a debt from me, bookseller. I owe no debt to you that I am aware of.”
“Noble Warlord, the debt is owed by one of your house.”
Keir raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Remn folded his hands in front of his chest. “Noble Warlord, one of your household came to me seeking a loan. She sought the money for the purchase of herbs and medicines for your men held captive at the time. In return, she pledged a book to me as a surety of the repayment of the debt. The book has not yet been redeemed.”
Keir glanced at me, then back at Remn. “And the name of this person?”
Remn bowed low and left his head down. “Forgive me, Noble Warlord, but by the orders of my King I am forbidden to speak her name.”
Keir frowned. The room stilled somewhat, sensing his displeasure. “It is not wise to offer insult to the warprize.”
Remn raised his head to look Keir in the eye. “Forgive me, Mighty Warlord. It is not I who offers the insult.”
I sat there, stunned.
Keir rose. The room started to rise as well, but he gestured them down. “Be at ease. I will return when I have concluded this business.” He looked at me. “Warprize.”
We moved toward the sleeping area. Remn took the package from his servant and followed.
Once in the privacy of the room, I turned, unsure of my welcome. Keir seated himself on the end of the bed. Remn ignored him, opened his arms and embraced me. Tears filled my eyes as I buried my head in his shoulder. He smelled of old books, dust, and home.