Keir nodded, a resigned look on his face. “He will.”
“You can’t!” I wiped my face of its tears. “You can barely walk, much less fight. Iften can’t. Simus said that the rules—”
“Normally.” Keir stepped closer to me, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “But the situation is hardly normal. He will use that to his advantage.” Keir straightened a bit, and used his hands to adjust the leather harness of his swords. “Your pledge still stands?”
“It does.” Marcus answered.
“I will do what must be done.” Isdra responded, looking off after Iften.
Keir gave her a long look, but didn’t push the matter.
“We’d also see to the Warprize’s safety.” Rafe spoke quietly, with Prest nodding his agreement.
“This isn’t right.” I looked over at Joden, but he looked away and said nothing.
Keir reached out, and enfolded me in his arms. My eyes still red, I buried my face in his neck, trying hard not to weep. The soft brush of his lips against my ear had me desperate for more, and I took his face in my hands and kissed him.
Keir broke the kiss and stepped back. “Let us face Iften’s truths.”
“Gils,” I turned back, to find that Gils had been lifted from the ground unto the arms of some younger warriors.
Yers spoke. “They will see him taken care of, Warprize.”
I stepped over by them, to look into that dear face one more time. Gils seemed asleep, as if he’d awaken if any but called his name. I arranged his curls with a quick gesture, saying a silent prayer to the Goddess for him.
“Go with them, Lara.” Keir urged. “You do not need to attend this senel.”
I took a step back, and turned to face Keir. “My place is at the side of my Warlord. They will care for his body. Gils is safe in the hands of the Goddess.” I walked over and took Keir’s hand.
Keir smiled with pride, and we walked toward the crowd together.
The warleaders had gathered by the time we arrived, forming a circle outside the command tent. Iften was speaking, almost shouting, to the crowd, his sword and shield in hand. “We are cursed by the elements, and this foul Xyian is to blame.”
Many heads were nodding in agreement, and I shivered at the implication. Keir moved to stand before us, standing at the ready. I moved up beside him, with Prest and Isdra at my shoulders. Rafe was a step behind, watching our backs. Marcus was behind Keir, and to my surprise and relief, Yers was there as well.
“Her filth strikes deep, and leaves its taint. Even a child of her own lands falls victim to her corruption. A child that carries the corruption now within her!”
This remark was met with scowls, a negative reaction that surprised me, Iften saw it too, and hurried on. “Keir of the Cat has brought this upon us, by bringing his Xyian into our midst. He is to blame for what has happened here, and he must answer for it.” Iften was shouting now, spittle flying from his lips.
Keir had not yet pulled his sword, but I could tell that he was prepared, a cat about to leap upon its prey. My heart seemed stuck in my throat. He’d not refuse this challenge but—
Iften pointed his sword at me, his face full of disdain. “Gils had the new knowledge of healing and the elements killed him because of it. Epor was curse—”
A scream split the air, freezing the blood in my body. Isdra launched herself from behind my shoulder, her face a snarl, Epor’s warclub in her hands.
Iften moved fast, his sword out and his shield up to meet the blow. But he’d been facing Keir and Isdra’s attack forced him to shift slightly to meet her. What precious moments she gained Isdra used, the warclub a blur of motion in her hand. The blow fell on Iften’s forearm, and I thought I heard the crack of bone.
Everyone scattered, trying to give them room, forming a loose circle around the fighters. It was a large circle, showing a healthy respect for the reach of those weapons.
Isdra never paused, never let up, pressing Iften with a series of blows to his shield. She had eyes only for her target, grim and calculating.
Keir stood, unmoving, watching the fray. Yers was standing next to him, his sword in his hand. Marcus was slightly behind Keir, his gaze scanning the crowd for any threat.
Prest was behind me, and Rafe stepped to stand in front of me, a little to one side. They too were tense, but they did no more than place their hands on their weapons and wait.
I clutched at Rafe’s shoulder. “She’s smaller…”
Keir understood. “He insulted her bonded,” was his soft reply.
Iften was bigger, his sword flashing in sure strokes that surprised me. But he seemed to have the use of the arm still. Isdra parried, the blade skittering off the metal studs that lined the top of the warclub. She seemed to move well, but she was breathing hard. Iften, in contrast, seemed able to stand where he was and wield his weapon with ease. His face was triumphant. He fully expected to kill Isdra.
Isdra’s next blows hit Iften’s shield dead center, with Iften grunting under the impact. Iften would wait, lunging at Isdra each time he sensed that she was vulnerable. But each time she danced back, away from his blade.
Iften smirked, and lowered his shield. “You are no Epor, woman.”
Isdra’s grim face never changed. She took a step and swung for Iften’s knee.
Iften moved, dodging that blow. But Isdra somehow used the momentum to take a step closer, and drove the handle of her warclub into Iften’s jaw.
Iften’s head snapped back. He staggered, dropping his shield. Isdra cried out in satisfaction, taking another swing at his unprotected head and connecting.
Iften crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Isdra swung the warclub high over her head, as if to crush Iften’s skull. “For Epor!” She shouted, and started the blow.
“STOP.” Joden stepped forward.
Isdra caught herself in mid-strike. She glared, her chest heaving, never taking her eyes off Iften’s unmoving body. “Who dares?”
“Do not kill him, Isdra of the Fox.” Joden took another step forward.
“He insults Epor, my bonded, the first to meet the enemy and the bravest of all that have died in this battle.” Isdra spat out her words, trembling with anger. “He held no token of mine, or any other.” Her anger shifted. “It is my right, Singer!”
The crowd shifted, uneasy. I glanced at Keir, but he was intent on the drama before us.
“The skies are clouded, Warrior, and full of turmoil.” Joden stepped forward. “I do not know the truth in this. So I will claim Singer status long enough to declare Keir’s illness is in the nature of a war wound, although the enemy is one we have never met before.” Joden turned to look at the crowd, seeking out the warleaders. “As such, he is not to be challenged in the field, and remains Warlord until we reach the Plains. It will be a question for the Elders then.”
Relief flooded through me. There’d be no further chal-lenge from Iften or any other, at least until Keir had his strength back.
Isdra snarled, furious. “What has that to do with the insult given to Epor?”
Joden raised his hand. “If the truth is to be known, then Iften’s truth must be told as well, and I would preserve his words for the Elders to hear.”
“You are not yet full singer, Joden.” Isdra’s voice rasped in her throat. “It is my right as Epor’s bonded.”
“That is true, Isdra of the Fox, and I answer to your truth by saying that I only ask this. I can not, and do not, command.”
There was a long pause as Isdra stood there, breathing hard, glaring at Joden. No one seemed to breathe. I risked moving just enough to look at Iften, to see if I could determine his injuries. He lay like a broken doll, clearly unconscious, but he seemed to be breathing.
Finally Isdra lowered her weapon. “Epor honored your wisdom, Joden. I will do no less.” Isdra drew in a deep breath. “But this carrion will answer for his insults as soon as the Elders have heard his words.”