“But you don’t think it will work.” I breathed, my heart sinking.
He stood quickly, scowling at me. “You should see to Atira. Eat now, Rafe and Prest will be here soon, and the food does no good to the plate.”
Try as I might, I could get no more from him.
With Gils’s help, the morning flew swiftly, what with washing, bandaging and the like. I was amazed how quickly Gils learned. He would recite things back that I had told him, word for word, but even with his memory, hands on learning was necessary. It’s one thing to be able to recite how to clean a wound. It’s another to have a living patient who wiggles and complains as you do it. Halfway through the process, I heard noises coming from outside the tent, as of men working. I looked over but Rafe and Prest showed no signs of concern, so I ignored it.
My patients were progressing well, and there were only two left, including Atira. She was also coming along nicely, although she was uncomfortable when I adjusted the tension on her leg. The ache seemed to ease once she was settled again, with her weapons arranged in proper order. Privately, I conceded that having one’s patients naked under the blankets was a time-saver, but not one that I’d be able to introduce to my Xyian patients.
That thought brought me up short. I’d lost myself in the comforting routine of caring for people, forgetting that I’d never have Xyian patients again. A wave of homesickness came over me, and I had to bite my lip to prevent tears. I felt lost and alone and—
I wrenched my thoughts back to the moment, and concentrated on the tasks at hand.
I desperately wanted to ask Atira questions, about the Heart of the Plains and her life there, and what she thought of the Warlord’s plans, but she had her planning board out, and was moving stones around. Besides, there were listening ears all about us. I was afraid that Marcus was right, that Keir’s plans to unite our peoples and learn each others ways was doomed from the start. What would happen to Keir if he failed? What would happen to me? I flushed, feeling sheepish. Later, I’d ask, when Gils was gone and everyone was drowsy. I’d ask for Atira’s token.
Once all were settled, I pulled out The Epic of Xyson. I’d managed to hide it from Marcus and smuggle it down to the healing tent with no one the wiser. “I have a surprise for you all.” I smiled as I opened the book. “I thought I would read this to you. It’s a story of one of my ancestors—”
There was a crash. Startled, I looked up. Gils had dropped the pitcher. Everyone was staring at me. Atira, propped up on her elbows, was pale and wide-eyed. “Warprize, you keep your songs on paper?”
I nodded and turned the book so they could see the writing.
Gils looked at it carefully. The other patient came over, straining to see. Even Rafe and Prest left their positions by the door for a closer look.
“I have heard of this, but the sky as my witness, I thought it a fable told to children.” Rafe frowned. “ How can the marks hold your songs?”
“Listen.” Returning the book to my lap, I read out loud, “Hear now the tale of Xyson, Warrior King, and his defeat of the barbarians of the southern lands. Xyson, tall and strong as the mountain had led his people well for ten years before the barbarians fell upon the villages and raided his people.” I paused, suddenly unsure. It occurred to me that the barbarians the book talked about were Keir’s own people.
Prest snorted. “How old?” he asked, nodding at the book.
“The story is almost four hundred years old. Xyson is my father’s father’s father back some nine generations.”
Prest looked impressed. Atira lay back against her blankets. “A song so old. You do us honor, Warprize.”
“Don’t be so quick to say that.” I smiled at her and the others settling around us. “You haven’t heard it yet.”
I read for about a half hour. My audience hung on every word, even though the tale talked about numbers of troops, supplies, and the appointing of a Warden for the kingdom.
Dull as the story was, it forced me to learn new words as I translated. Rafe and Prest took their positions back at the entrance, but when I saw them straining to hear, I raised my voice slightly. There was silence when I finally stopped and closed the book. Atira cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what your custom is, Warprize. Normally we would give thanks to the singer.”
“Thanks is good.” I stood and stretched. “I’m glad to share it with you. But now I am hungry. Is the nooning close?”
Gils jumped up. “I’s be checking.” He darted out the door and ran into someone coming in. “Sorry, Warlord!”
“Watch where you’re going, boy,” came the gruff response. Rafe and Prest stood as Keir entered the tent. His face was clear of the anger he had shown this morning. “How goes it with—” He stopped abruptly when he saw the book in my hands.
It was time to confess. “I bought this with your coin yesterday.” I smoothed one hand over its cover nervously. “It’s an old story called The Epic of Xyson. I thought it would distract—”
“You’re reading to my people?” The surprise in his voice was clear.
I nodded. “I also bought a primer. A teaching tool. So that I could teach Gils to read my book on herbs.” I chanced a glance at his face.
Keir looked very satisfied. “You would teach him?” He moved over to gaze down at Atira. “Could she learn as well?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “If she is willing.”
Atira’s eyes got even bigger. “Warlord, at your command, I’ll try.”
Keir narrowed his eyes, nodding. “That is all I ask, Warrior. This is no easy horse to master, but it would please me for you to learn.”
She nodded her acceptance of the charge.
Keir arched an eyebrow. “I’ve announced a pattern dance for tomorrow night.”
Atira brightened, but her face fell quickly. “I’ll miss the dancing, but it’s my pattern they’ll be weaving.” There was pride mixed with the disappointment.
Keir smiled. “If Simus can be carried to the senel, why not you?”
I frowned, considering. Keir watched me, focused on my face. “Explain to her, Warrior. Tell her why it is important to you.”
“Warprize, it’s an honor to be asked to design the pattern.” Atira pleaded with voice and eyes. “To not see my first pattern woven, it’s like a dagger thrust here.” She put her hand over her heart.
“The leather has dried and hardened. If we are careful, and if you swear that you will not move, and let yourself be carried…”
“All that, all that, I swear, Warprize.”
Atira was so serious, so earnest, that I had to smile.
“Well then, if all is well here, I have something to show you.” Keir tugged on my sleeve and pulled me toward the entrance. Prest and Rafe were also standing there, grinning like fools.
I gave them a narrow look. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” The reply was in unison. My skepticism must have been obvious, because they all laughed.
The day had turned overcast, and held the promise of rain. Keir took me by the shoulders and turned me to walk around the corner of the tent. Prest and Rafe were slightly ahead of us.
There was a second, smaller tent there, that had been put up recently. I looked at Keir, who smiled. Prest and Rafe stood next to the tent flap. “Look!” said Rafe as he pulled the flap aside. Keir gave me a light push and I entered the tent. They followed.
I stood there, stunned.
There were all the supplies that I had requested, crates of them, everything that I had asked for, and…
Stillroom equipment. I moved forward, eyes open in wonder. There were flasks, and bowls, and mortar and pestle, and small braziers, and jars and bottles. They covered the three tables in the tent. I turned and stared at Keir. He was smiling, looking back at me. Prest and Rafe were laughing.