Warprize

“He lives, but barely. Eln is with him.” Relief surged over me as Othur continued, keeping his voice low. “ Warren’s clearing the castle and the courtyard of hot-tempered fools. He’s got things under control for now. I had Degnan locked in his rooms, under guard. Can’t decide if he’s angrier over the attack or the loss of his inheritance.”

“Xymund?” I breathed, fearing the answer.

“In his chambers, refusing to see anyone.” Othur passed a hand over his damp forehead and dried it on his trous. “I fear a bloodletting if Durst dies.”

Keir and the others were still focused on the defenses. “Othur, there is a ceremony, a ritual. You ask for the person’s token.” I spoke quickly. “It protects you when you tell a Fire-lander something insulting or that would upset them. I’m not allowed—” I cut my words off as Keir approached.

“A wondrous tent of stone, Othur.” Keir looked about the room. “I wonder at your ability to keep it repaired and supplied.”

Othur smiled. “No more that I wonder at the skills required to keep an army on the march, Warlord.” He cleared his throat. “I have a question, Warlord, but I would not offer offense.”

Keir looked rueful, and glanced at me. “Ask, Seneschal.”

“Would you be willing to explain the use of tokens by your people?” Othur’s voice was reasonable, but he tensed, waiting for Keir’s reaction.

“I would.” The tone of Keir’s voice surprised me, for I heard a sense of shame behind his words.

“Perhaps over food and drink? My Lady Wife is the Castle Cook and would welcome you in her kingdom.” Othur placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s very fond of the warprize.”

“That would be A

The kitchen was empty, save for A

A

“I am fine and well,” I said, smiling at her.

She pulled back a bit, and gave the scarlet dress an evil look. “No.” She shook her head so hard all her chins bounced. “Are you all right?” She searched my face anxiously.

I flushed and pulled her back into the hug. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I am all right.”

She pulled away, wiping her eyes, her face full of doubt. “Remn said as much, but what does he know?” She frowned, more to keep back her tears than in anger. “You must be starved.”

Now my eyes filled with tears, for that was A

“Warprize.”

I turned to find Keir gesturing me over. With an apologetic look at A

Everyone else was laughing and eating, trying the various treats that A

Keir stared into his cup, still filled with ale. “Prest will tell us when it is safe.”

I stared at him, the reason for his behavior dawning on me slowly. I opened my mouth to say something sharp, when Prest leaned across the table. “Warlord, you must try these!” In his hand was one of A

Keir reached out for the one in Prest’s hand, and bit into it. His face melted into a look of pure pleasure. “A

She glanced at Othur, who reassured her with a smile. Cautiously, she replied, “Warlord, they are just flour, sugar, eggs, and vanilla, with nuts and honey from the castle bees.”

Keir looked at me, with that boyish smile. “Vanilla. That’s why I like them so much.” He took another bite. “Could you teach my cook to make these?”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, and I knew that she found it hard to see the wild-eyed killer in the eager, boyish face before her. “Aye, Warlord, if your cook has any skill at all.” She seemed to relax slightly.

Othur leaned forward. “About the tokens, Warlord.”

As they talked, A

“So, if I have your token, and I use that to insult you, what then?” Othur asked.

“I’d reply that the truth you voice is a false, and would issue challenge.” Keir looked grim. “Your choice is to withdraw your words or fight me.”

“So insults are only made under the protection of a token?”

“No, but when insult is given without a token, it’s expected that you have a weapon ready, for the insult will be answered immediately.”

“Ah,” Othur responded. “We give insult, but expect to be challenged before a sword is drawn.”

“I know that now.” Keir placed his mug on the table. “We must return to camp.”

As the others stood, I placed a hand on Keir’s arm. “Let me show you something.” I led the way to the still room door. “I spent a lot of time here over the years, distilling medicines and herbs in this room.” I swung the door wide. “This was my kingdom.”

The door opened on an empty room.

I stared. Not a table, not a jar, nothing remained. Only the faint lingering scent of herbs in the air betrayed the fact that it had been a stillroom.

Othur came up behind us. “I should have warned you, Lara. The King had it cleaned out the night you …” He paused almost imperceptibly. “Left.”

I rounded on him. “Othur, there were valuable supplies here, not to mention my… the equipment. What did he do with it?” Othur studied the floor. I grabbed his arm. “Please tell me he sent it all to the Temple of Healing.”

Othur did not look at me. “He may have. But I don’t know.”

I spent most of the ride back to camp lost in my own thoughts. Keir had allowed no long farewells. One hug from A

The night covered the fields, so I was spared another glimpse of the graves. The stars gleamed bright in the night sky, and I heard the Firelanders muttering something that sounded like prayers. I sighed softly. I shouldn’t use that term anymore, since it wasn’t what they called themselves. I wondered for a moment why Xyians called them ‘Firelanders’.

Of course, I wasn’t really Xyian anymore, was I? I wasn’t really anything, was I? I closed my eyes, and lost myself in my pain.

Only when Rafe coughed did I realize that he held my horse’s head and that we were in front of Keir’s tent. I slid out of the saddle and rubbed my forehead to ease its ache. Marcus stood just inside the tent, the lamps bright behind him. “Warprize? Are you all right?”

Keir came up behind me as our horses were led away. His hands were on my shoulders, and he directed me toward the sleeping area. I stumbled along, guided by his warm hands, over to the bed, where he made me sit down. I could hear murmurs, Keir and Marcus talking. “I’ll get kavage,” Marcus said quietly. “Maybe some bread.” I had to smile. Apparently A