The crowd settled, and once again Iften moved to the center of the field. This time, he had no bowl in his hand, but stood with naked sword in one hand, shield in the other. “Warlord!” His cry echoed over the field. Keir and Simus both stiffened. “I cry challenge on you.”
All was quiet and movement ceased.
“The time of challenge is in the spring, Iften.” Simus rose and moved to the edge of the platform. He limped slightly and I suspected he’d pushed the leg too far. His strong voice carried easily over the crowd. “Your challenge is improper.”
Iften stayed where he was. “I cry challenge on you, Keir of the Cat, named Warlord of the Northwestern Range for this Season of War. I cry challenge for all the elements to see and witness.”
Keir spoke. “There is no challenge on campaign, Iften. You’ve sworn oaths to follow me until you are released from my service.”
“That woman beside you is no true warprize and of a people who use assassination and treachery as their weapons. Are these the ways you wish us to learn?” Iften beat his sword against his shield, and I jumped, startled by the sound. “I swear I will kill you and the woman and lead this army to take what is ours by right. Come and fight me, Keir! Fight and die!”
Chapter 10
In an instant Rafe and Prest stood beside me, weapons drawn. Marcus shifted as well, standing at Keir’s side. I sat frozen, not understanding how everything could change in an instant.
Simus spoke softly, turned slightly to look at Keir. “Do you think he’s behind—”
Keir responded in the same tone. “I don’t know.” He stayed seated, raising a voice that held a clear disdain for the man before him. “I’ve made no secret of my intent, Iften. I will bind these lands together, weave new patterns from our ways and theirs.” His voice carried with no difficulty. The watching warriors had their eyes on him, and few stirred. There was only the soft breeze and the fires of the torches that moved and crackled. Keir continued. “We will be stronger for it. Take back your flawed challenge. You swore an oath for all the elements to see that you would follow me. I hold you to your oath.”
“Their ways are foul and tainted. I cry challenge now, before you destroy us all.”
Marcus snorted. “His wits have been scattered by the winds.” Keir grunted but didn’t turn his head.
“Where is the singer?” Iften shouted out. “Where is Joden?”
Joden emerged from the press of bodies off to the side, his broad face unhappy. “I’m here, Iften.”
Iften raised his sword and shield, almost as if he were offering them. “What says our singer to my challenge?”
Joden took two steps out and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “I have not heard your protests in senel, Iften. I have not heard you raise these truths with Keir’s token in your hand. I hear only your challenge, out of season, and against your oaths. I’m not yet a Singer.” Joden continued, his voice resonant and firm. “But were I the Singer of singers and standing at the Heart of the Plains, still I would call you Oathbreaker.”
The crowd responded to those words with a buzz. To my eyes it seemed that Iften shrank a little when he heard Joden’s words. Still, he remained standing at the center of the field.
Keir stood. The crowd grew silent. “A new pattern is hard to dance, and we are all in need of practice. There have been mistakes made, and I acknowledge that. This is also a mistake, Iften. Withdraw your challenge. These matters can be discussed in senel, and if your concerns cannot be satisfied, I will release your oath in the spring.” Keir shifted his stance slightly, taking a more threatening posture. “Or repeat your challenge without my token and die.”
Iften seemed to freeze, as if he couldn’t make a decision.
“Hell of a way to ruin a dance.” Simus grumbled, just loud enough to be heard by those closest to us. Laughter started and continued, as his words were passed on. The tension released, like water pouring out of a bowl.
Iften stood for another moment, but he had lost and he knew it. “I withdraw the challenge.” With a sullen look, he sheathed his sword and slung his shield on his back. A young man raced out and handed him the wooden bowl, and he started the ritual to begin the dance. Keir and Simus returned to their stumps. Rafe and Prest faded back to their original positions.
Marcus held a mug of kavage in front of me. “Drink this, Warprize. You are as white as snow.”
I took the mug and sipped. Keir turned, and looked at me with concern. “Are you well, Warprize?”
“He threatened to kill you.”
Simus snorted, accepting kavage from Marcus. “Iften always speaks before he thinks.”
“Still,” Keir watched the dancers as if he had no other concerns. “He did speak. There may be others that agree with him.”
Simus rumbled in agreement. “And where did he get that courage, I wonder?”
Keir shrugged, and both focused on the dance.
I watched as well, although I couldn’t remember the colors that danced or their patterns. I waited for my heart to stop racing in my chest. Everyone acted as if nothing had happened, as if having someone challenge a warlord to fight to the death were something that happened every day. I sat, trying to understand it all as the last dance ended and Iften performed some ceremony to bring things to a close. Keir was next to me before I could even stand. With a simple gesture, Rafe and Prest were called to my side.
“Take her to my tent, and guard her well.” Keir spoke in low tones. “Stay with her until I return. I’m going to walk the camp. Simus?”
Simus stood, and I noticed his hesitation. “He can’t. He’s been on that leg far too long.”
I stood, pulling up the cloak. “I’d better look at it.”
Simus wrinkled his nose, but nodded. “She’s right.”
“Take them to Simus’s tent. When she’s finished, escort her to mine. Marcus can send Gils to her.” Keir glared at them. “Don’t leave her for an instant.”
“Will you call a senel?” Simus asked, as we moved off the platform.
“We’ll talk after I’ve tasted the mood of the warriors.” He strode off into the growing darkness.
***
Simus’s tent glowed with warmth when we arrived. He eased down onto his bed with Marcus’s assistance. Once his trous and the bandages were off, I could see that the wound was healing well. “You’ ve just pushed it too hard, Simus.”
“Perhaps, little healer.” He sank back “But how could I miss a dance?” His smile grew wide, and his eyes gleamed. “And such a dance!”
Joden entered the tent in time to hear his words. “Aye, Iften is a fool.”
Simus laughed. “Iften is a good warrior, but he fears change. Keir makes sweeping changes. You’re surprised that they clash?”
“Shall I fetch Gils?” Marcus asked me quietly.
I dug through the supplies by the bed. “No, I have what I need here.”
Joden sat on a stool out of the way. “A surprise that he would call challenge.”
“That’s a truth voiced.” Simus stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “Where did he find the nerve?”
“I don’t understand what he thought he was doing.” I worked as 1 spoke. “He threatened Keir with death. According to our laws, that would make him an outlaw.”
Simus grimaced slightly at my touch. “We only give positions of power to those who’ve earned them. Challenge is a part of determining who will lead.”
I blinked at him. “Xymund rules by right of blood, as confirmed by the gods.”
“It’s not because of his skill as a warrior.” Marcus commented.
“That’s why he has men such as Warren,” I snapped, stung more by the criticism of my people than in defense of my half-brother. I looked at Simus. “So Xymund, as King, would have to face challenges to stay on the throne.”