Keir is in no need of aid. He knows his opponents’ moves and blocks them with ease. His attackers breathe heavily, and move slowly. When one makes the mistake of stepping back when his fellow shifts forward, Keir does not hesitate. But it is a move his opponents are waiting for and in an instant Keir is down on the street, bleeding from his chest.
“Wake up, Warprize.”
I cry out and kneel at his side. My hands reach out, but they cannot stop the blood as it gushes forth.
“I’m fine. All’s well. Wake up.”
Keir turns his head, but his eyes are wide and unseeing. I scream, cry out, but there is no help, no aid, all is sorrow, all is death…
Chapter 8
I awoke screaming, sitting up in the bed and covered in sweat. My heart thundered in my chest.
Keir’s arms gathered me close. As my vision cleared, I could make out the tent, with Marcus standing not far from the edge of the bed, holding a small lamp. The flame flickered, weak and feeble, and the shadows danced with it. I turned, fumbling at Keir’s chest, checking the wound. I had to stop the bleeding, Goddess please, I had to stop the…
Keir kept his arms around me, but gave me the room I needed as my hands fumbled over his chest, the skin supple, the scars old and healed. Frantically, I checked, then raised my eyes to his. “There was blood, so much blood. I couldn’t stop it.”
“A night horror. Just a night horror.” His strong arms enfolded me, and I allowed myself to be pulled into his embrace. I felt Keir gesture for Marcus to return to his bed, and then tensed as the light receded. “ Marcus,” Keir called softly. “Leave the lamp.”
The light remained, even as Marcus left. We stayed that way, as my breathing and heart slowed. Finally, I pushed back a little, pulling my hair off my sweaty forehead with shaky hands, and croaked out a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. I am acting the fool.”
Keir pulled me down under the furs, refusing to release his hold. “It’s not a foolish thing. Night horrors are very real.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling heavy and tired. “When I was very small, Anna would hold me when I had one. She would hug me, kiss my forehead, and stay with me til I slept.”
Keir chuckled softly. “Go back to sleep.” He brushed his lips against my forehead.
Comforted, I closed my eyes.
At some point I found myself awake, lying in the dark. There was enough light to see Keir lying next to me, on his back, close enough to touch. I closed my eyes and listened to his regular breaths and reveled in the sheer comfort that it brought. The nightmare had been so real, so terrible. I wanted to believe that my fears in the dream had been for the peace between our people, but concern for the man had been there as well.
Keir murmured and shifted his weight slightly. I opened my eyes, studying his face, trying to gauge his age. He was no youngster, but it was hard to tell. Older than Xymund. Not so old as Warren. I yawned, letting my eyes drift closed. Caring for broken and ill bodies doesn’t teach the joy of shared warmth under covers. So far, that seemed the only use for a warprize.
“WHERE’S HIS TOKEN!”
I jolted up, clutching the blankets, to find Keir half out of bed, sword in hand. There were sounds of many men outside and grunts, as if they were carrying a heavy load. “MARCUS!” The voice bellowed again. “WHERE IS THAT FOOL OF A WARLORD?“ The very walls of the tent seemed to tremble.
Keir collapsed back on the bed, still clutching his sword, his face twisted in a grimace. “Simus must have talked to Joden.”
“SILENCE!” I jumped again as Marcus called out, his voice loud enough to rival Simus’s. “I’d no sleep last night and none this morn, thanks to your bellowing!”
I flushed, and looked at Keir. “I’m sorry about last night.”
He turned his head and gave me that impish smile. “I’m not. Since it means that you were in my arms most of the night.”
More heat flooded my face.
“Get me in this tent, and bring me his damned-by-the-snows token,” Simus bellowed again. “I’ve a few choice truths to tell.”
Keir stood, and shouted back. “You’ve not bothered to use my token in years, why start now?” Keir grabbed up a tunic and belted on his sword.
“Easy! Be careful, I’m a wounded man, not a dead deer!”
A man backed in through the flap, carrying Simus on a cot. Simus was sprawled on his stomach, holding on to the sides. There were four men carrying him, but they only seemed to be getting in each other’s way. “Here,” Simus directed. “Put me down here.” The cot was dropped, and before Simus could complain, the men were gone. Simus growled, since he was half in, half out, with the flap laying on the small of his back. He fixed his glare on Keir. “What, your brain was in your sword last night?”
Marcus appeared from the other entrance and thumped a pitcher of kavage on the table, along with mugs. “I suppose you’ll be wanting food, now that you’ve frightened the herds with your cries?”
“I’ll need it to keep up my strength so that I can beat sense into this one’s head.” Simus adopted an air of injured dignity. I clutched at the blankets, and ran my hand through my hair, trying not to give into hysterical laughter.
Marcus snarled and clucked like an old chicken as he turned to go. “Body can’t get any rest, what with the screaming and the crying out all night.” He stomped out of the tent.
Keir poured kavage, handing a mug to Simus. “I had good reason—”
“To gut one of them? In their own throne room?” Simus rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you insulted their poor excuse of a king as well?” When I frowned, Simus glared at me. “I’m voicing truths here, Warprize, and you’ll pardon me if I don’t fear your blade.”
“How’s your leg, Simus?” Keir asked pointedly, as he handed me a full mug.
Simus ignored him. “And your reasons, oh great Warlord of the Plains? For throwing rocks at rutting ehats?”
I frowned. What was an ‘ehat’?
“The man gave insult to the warprize,” Keir responded. “He called her a whore.” He used the Xyian word.
“Eh?” Marcus was bringing in food. “What’s that?”
I took a long drink of kavage as Keir explained. How did they not have a word for that? What did that mean about these people? That any were free to lay with all? That seemed so barbaric.
“They sell it?” Marcus looked slightly ill, then moved away, muttering something about water for bathing.
Simus said nothing, merely drinking from his kavage.
Keir sighed, and sat down on the corner of the bed nearest Simus. “I knew I’d made a mistake even as he slid off my blade.”
Simus remained quiet.
“How can I ask my warriors to change their ways when I couldn’t change mine in that instant?” Keir ran a hand through his hair.
“Change is easy to talk of, hard to do.” Simus’s voice dropped, his eyes serious. “You tell them the truth, of course.”
Marcus came in with two buckets, and disappeared into the privy area.
“You tell them that you regret his death, but that all must take heed from this incident.”
“He’s not dead,” I spoke up. “The last we heard, he still lived.”
“He did?” Simus asked, then let his eyes slide over to Keir. “Losing your touch?”
A cry of outrage filled the tent. I grabbed at the blanket, as Keir stood, sword in hand. Simus had two daggers that appeared from nowhere. I looked at the privy entrance, to see Marcus standing there, waving my underthings in his fist and shaking them in the air. “Where did the likes of these come from?”
I jumped up and grabbed for them, but that scarred little man dodged me. “Those are mine!” I made another attempt, darting around the bed. Simus roared out his laughter and Keir got out of the way.
Marcus danced away again. “The Warprize accepts nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” His face was bright red, the scarring a dull white against it.