Joden chuckled. “It’s not that easy, Warprize. One must qualify to give challenge. Iften has the right to challenge Keir, but no one may challenge on campaign.”
The silence that descended was a thoughtful one. I concentrated on re-bandaging the wound, and dosing Simus with fever’s foe. I offered lotus as well, to help him sleep, but he declined. As soon as I finished, Marcus hustled me out.
Once outside, I resisted. “I want to check Atira’s leg.”
“None of that.” Marcus barred my path. “Hisself said ‘to the tent’ and off to the tent we go.”
Rafe coughed to draw my attention and spoke once he had my eye. “It’s the Warlord’s command.”
I would’ve argued, but my arm was throbbing. We returned to Keir’s tent, only to engage in a heated discussion of just how Rafe and Prest were going to guard me. They interpreted their instructions literally, and intended to sit and watch me sleep. After some heated discussion, Rafe and Prest took up positions outside, and Marcus and I went in alone.
I folded up the cloak and laid it on one of the benches, careful not to use my arm too much. “Marcus, do challenges happen often?”
“Of course, Warprize. Before the armies are gathered, the challenges are fought to determine ranks. But that is for the early spring. No one issues challenge on campaign.”
“Iften did.”
“Iften is a fool.” Marcus chuckled softly. “Hisself took care of him without raising a sword.”
“Could someone challenge Simus? While he is hurt?”
“That’s not done, Warprize. Another would take his place while he healed. Iften in fact, since he stands third in rank.” Marcus fussed with the brazier. “Although few heal from such a wound.” He frowned into the coals, then turned, regarding me. “It’s off to bed with you. Hisself won’t be in until late, if I know him. ”
I lay awake for quite some time, wondering about a world where a warrior held his rank and title by merit instead of class or birth. My dreams were filled with the images of Xy-mund fighting Warren for the crown when I slipped into sleep.
I awoke to a warm embrace, a frowning countenance, and Keir’s voice in my ear.
“You are not to leave this bed today.”
The day deteriorated from there.
Marcus was cranky from lack of sleep. Keir was wound tighter then he had been the night before, if that were possible. I was upset because my arm ached, Marcus was cranky, and Keir was impossible.
He ordered me to stay in bed.
I refused.
He ordered me to stay in the tent.
I refused.
He ordered me to accept an escort of my guards, Rafe and ten more men to the tents, have my assistants check my arm, and return to his tent.
I refused. I asked to go into the city with him to see Warren.
He refused.
During our discussion, we bathed, dressed, and ate. And discussed the matter at the top of our lungs.
Finally, Marcus emerged from his area and roared “Enough!” We both stopped talking, and turned to glare at him.
Marcus glared right back. “You.” He said, pointing at Keir. “Go to the city with some men and find out what Warren has learned.” He turned and pointed at me. “You. Go to the tents with your guards.” He glared at both of us. “Damned fools.” He stomped off. “And don’t come back ‘til after my nap!” he yelled from the back.
Keir grabbed up his cloak and sword, and stomped out. I glared at the tent wall as I finished my kavage, then grabbed up my cloak and stomped out. Epor and Isdra were waiting outside, and they eyed me with trepidation as I walked past them. They fell into step behind me, and were smart enough to stay quiet as we walked.
I strode to Simus’s tent, wanting to check his wound, but Joden was emerging as I walked up. “He’s sleeping, Warprize. He and Keir were up late, talking.”
“I’ll let him sleep.”
“I’ll walk with you, if I may. I wish to talk to Atira.” Joden fell in step next to me. Epor and Isdra followed.
“For your song?”
Joden nodded. “1 wish to see what happened through her eyes.”
“Will you sing of what happened last night? Iften’s challenge?”
Joden snorted. “No, Warprize. The songs I create now must be great songs of great events, songs that will aid me in earning the title of Singer. I will not sing of fools.”
Gils awaited us at the healing tent, smiling next to a pile of bandages and a pot of fever’s foe. Atira was the only patient, propped up on her cot; they both looked up eagerly when we walked in. Epor and Isdra arranged themselves by the tent flap, sitting on stumps. Isdra flipped her long braid back and pulled out some leather work. Epor had some oil that he seemed to be rubbing into the wooden handle of his war club.
“You must tell me what happened!” Atira threw up her hands in disgust. “They brought me back here last night, and I only heard this morning. Is it true? Did Iften challenge?”
Joden snorted. Gils guided me to a cot close to Atira and started to help me pull off my tunic. Joden pulled up a stool next to Atira’s cot. “He did challenge. Would you hear my words?”
Atira’s eyes widened. “Please, Joden.”
Joden started speaking in his warm voice as Gils unwrapped my arm. He spoke plainly, with no embellishments, but his tone of voice left no doubt as to his opinion. Gils worked as Joden spoke, although he seemed flustered by the fact that I kept the tunic on and kept myself covered as best I could. Keir’s people may be casual with their bodies, but I was more comfortable with my own ways. I looked around, but everything had been cleaned up and set right. You couldn’t tell that there’d been an attack in this tent at all, other than the new exit at the rear of the tent where Simus had cut his way in. It had been finished off and was now tied shut.
Gils sat back, examining the exposed wounds. They looked good, but I stared at them and scowled. It would scar, I was sure of it. Two puckered parallel lines on my upper arm. Gils re-wrapped and tied off the bandage, as Joden concluded his tale.
Atira exclaimed, and I focused back on their conversation. “It’s only field discipline that saved his life.”
Joden nodded. “Aye, he’d be dead otherwise.”
“Field discipline?” I asked, struggling back into my tunic.
“All’s well?” Joden asked, looking at my arm.
“On campaign, we are under a different rule than on the plains,” Atira explained. “The Warlord was generous. Maybe overly so.”
“The elements will judge.” Joden eyed Atira, and she subsided, but I had the distinct impression that she had her own opinion in the matter. Which reminded me of something I’d meant to ask.
“Marcus said something to me last night. Something about offending the skies.” I bent to check the leather on Atira’s leg, so it took a moment for me to realize that there had been no response. I looked up into puzzled faces.
“He’d offend the skies, Warprize, to show his disfigurement,” Joden responded. Gils and Atira nodded.
“But—” I suddenly understood why Marcus stayed in the tent almost all the time. “Those are honorable scars—”
I stopped when Atira shook her head. “No. There is a difference between an honorable scar and being no longer whole.”
“So everyone who is crippled or severely injured goes cloaked?”
Joden’s face was grim. “No. They ask for mercy.”
There was no answer to that. I checked Atira’s leg. The swelling had gone down, and the leather was loose. With all of them watching closely 1 checked the placement of the leg, but it was still set and straight. I sat back on my heels, and considered. “New leather, I think. It needs to be tighter, to allow the stones to work.”
Gils shifted his weight nervously. “I’s want to help, Warprize but I’s due at weapons practice.”
“Go.” I stood up and arranged Atira’s bedding. “We’ll do it after the nooning, when you can return.”