“Want to know the best part of being a warlord?' came a hoarse whisper.
I bit my lip, puzzled by the question.
Keir’s mouth curled up slowly into a smile. 'I always get what I want.”
“The only source of my power are the pages you hold and the words written thereon. As you read them, I hope the magic starts to work between my words and your imagination.”
“You are not property. If you choose to leave, no one will stop you.”
“You tried. That was all you could do. All any of us can do....”
“You disobey the Warprize?” I looked at him.
“Yes, if that’s the choice.” He twisted the reins in his hands. “The way the Warlord’s been stomping around like a crazed ehat, snapping and snarling at any that come near, I’ll disobey you. Better a punishment at your hands then death at the Warlord’s.”
I nodded, faced forward and kept walking. But my heart was a bit lighter. Snapping and snarling, was he? Like an ehat, eh?
Of course, I still didn’t know what an ehat was.”
“I tried to stay in the clear parts of the road, avoiding horse dung. Perhaps going barefoot had not been the wisest choice.”
“Where is Simus?” Keir asked.
As if at his command, the flaps of the main entrance opened, and there was a commotion as Simus was borne aloft on a cot by four men, like the roast pig at the mid-winter festival. I had to smile, and saw that others in the crowd were not immune to the humor of the image.
“Make way!” Simus boomed out, his voice filled with laughter. “Make way!” He grinned like a fool, white teeth gleaming in his dark face, carried aloft over everyone’s head, propped up with brightly colored pillows. But his joy changed to a yell of panic when one of his bearers stumbled slightly. This caused an outbreak of laughter in the crowd, as Simus berated his bearers for their clumsiness.”
“He’s not dead,” I spoke up. “The last we heard, he still lived.”
“He did?” Simus asked, then let his eyes slide over to Keir. “Losing your touch?”
A cry of outrage filled the tent. I grabbed at the blanket, as Keir stood, sword in hand. Simus had two daggers that appeared from nowhere. I looked at the privy entrance, to see Marcus standing there, waving my underthings in his fist and shaking them in the air. “Where did the likes of these come from?”
I jumped up and grabbed for them, but that scarred little man dodged me. “Those are mine!” I made another attempt, darting around the bed. Simus roared out his laughter and Keir got out of the way.
Marcus danced away again. “The Warprize accepts nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” His face was bright red, the scarring a dull white against it.
“Give me those!” I went after him again and this time managed to wrestle the cloth from his hand. Flushed and breathless, I shoved them behind my back and faced down Marcus, toe to toe. “You have no business—”
“Nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” Marcus roared out, spittle flying from his mouth.
“You bragnect! I bought them with his coin!”
Marcus blinked. Apparently it was an effective curse in their language, since it seemed to leave him speechless. His recovery was quick. “Could have asked Hisself or I.”
I rolled my eyes, just imagining that conversation.”
“He glared at me and pointed at the plate of food. “Eat. I must return to the tent and see if Hisself requires anything.” He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Simus is telling his tall tales, and those city-dwellers are believing every word. I needs get back and poke holes in the bucket he carries his conceit in.”
“You have only to hear my heartbeat to know that each beat is for you.”
“Muttering something, Tant raised his hands to the sky as he walked beside me. I wasn’t sure if it was a prayer or curse, but I distinctly heard “Why me?”
“Days? Had it only been days? Does the heart count days, or even hours?”
“Keir was on a bench, removing his boots. Dishes were rattling off somewhere. Marcus must be making our meal.
Keir glanced up.
I risked a smile. “I think that Marcus is calming down.”
“Really?” His expression did not change, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “Marcus?” he called out. “The warprize did not eat at noon.”
The rattling dishes stilled and I heard an enraged cry. I hunched down as Marcus stomped into the room. “What? You think you live on air and light?” He glared at me, with both hands on his hips. “City dwellers.” He said it with disgust, and switched his glare to the larger man.
“I had kavage with Joden and Simus.” I voiced a small protest.
Marcus focused on me again. It was amazing how much anger one eye could hold. “You were told to take nothing except from the hand of the Warlord.”
I cringed and looked over at Keir, who gazed at us both with a straight face. This time I was sure I saw a glimmer of laughter in those eyes.
“Marcus is right.” Keir’s eyes grew serious. “While Simus and Joden have my trust, you are not to take anything from anyone else.” He rose from the bed and went to take his turn in the privy room. Marcus let loose a stream of words under his breath, and stomped out, using words and phrases that I did not understand. I sat there quietly as he stomped back in with two buckets of water for Keir. He was still muttering under his breath when he emerged, radiating anger with every step. I opened my mouth to say that I couldn’t have eaten if I couldn’t take food from another’s hand, but closed it quickly. Silence seemed wiser.
Marcus returned with a heavy tray and started the dishes to rattling as he placed them on the table. “No food.” He transferred dishes at a rate that made me fear for my life. “Didn’t rest.” He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. “Rolled in muck pits, that she did.” That one eye was focused on me again. “Sit.” He pointed to the chair.
I sat.
“Hands.”
I held them out, and Marcus poured the water over them, muttering something that did not sound like a prayer.
“Eat.” He crossed his arms.
“Shouldn’t I wait for…” My stomach chose that moment to express its interest in the food. At the sound, Marcus’ sole eye tapered its focus and drilled into me.
“Eat.”
I ate.
As soon as my mouth was full, Marcus started to explain, in detail, the meaning of the words ‘food’ and ‘rest’. I decided that the wisest choice was to keep nodding and eating.
Finally, Keir emerged from the privy room. “Marcus.”
Marcus stopped and looked over.
“Enough.”
Marcus clamped his mouth tight, poured the water over Keir’s hands, then stomped off, muttering”
“I turned back to my work and lifted the lid of the last crate.
I sat down. Hard. And stared.
It was filled with paper. Ink. Blank journals.
In one wonderful, horrible moment I knew that I was lost. Keir, Warlord, had taken me, claimed me, made me his warprize. But somewhere, somehow, he had managed to find a way into my heart as well.
How had this happened? I’d given myself to a barbarian, a ravaging, crazed warlord, expecting little more than abuse and dishonor at his hands. But this man had offered nothing but kindness and respect to me, his property. I knew this gift was by his hand, I’d not spoken to Sal about paper or ink, and she’d not understand its importance.
Could he care so much that he paid attention to this tiny detail?
Did he want me to be happy?”
“I started, squeezing Keir’s shoulder. He did not look at me, turning to look at Simus instead. “Simus, I ask that you undertake the protection of the warprize personally. Designate whatever men you need to hold her safe. Once the commotion has started, place the army on alert.”
Iften rose at that. “Warlord, it’s my place to take charge of the camp, not Joden.” He almost spat Joden’s name.
Keir almost snarled. “Iften, if you had both feet planted on the earth, were bathed in flames, calling a wind, holding my token, and blessed by rain from the skies, still I would not trust you with my warprize.”
Marcus snickered, as did some of the others. Iften turned bright red, but held his tongue.”
“You’ve been punished.” Simus’s dark eyes twinkled as he changed the subject. “Speaking of that, have you started to work on the song?”
Joden nodded.
“Tell us the chorus at least, Joden.” Simus gestured with a hand, almost spilling my kavage. “Are we to wait until you perform it to hear it?”
“No.” Joden chewed on a chicken leg. “Yes.”
“No fair.” Simus turned to Keir. “You’re the Warlord. Order him to give us a hint.”
Keir snorted. “Order a singer?”
Simus leaned toward me, a wicked gleam in those dark eyes. “You’re the Warprize. You could…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“If she does,” Joden spoke calmly, “the verses will talk about a certain wounded warrior who got fat and lazy as he healed.”
Simus looked down at his third plate-full. “I need food to mend. Isn’t that right, little healer?”
I looked at him, keeping my face serious. “Simus, the entire army could heal on what you eat.”
Keir and Joden roared. Simus tried not to laugh as he objected to my statement.”
“Joden sighed. “Durst does well. Xymund denies any knowledge of Arneath’s actions. He claims that there is a faction of the city that is unhappy about the peace. Warren hasn’t found any hint of a conspiracy. Keir questioned many people, but we could find no trace of…” he paused, an unhappy look on his face.
“No trace of Xymund’s involvement.” I finished calmly.
Joden nodded, sitting heavily on a stool. “Simus has taken him to the practice grounds to work out his frustrations.” Joden held up a hand to stave me off. “Simus said to tell you that he will only sit on the sidelines and yell insults.” He heaved a sigh. “It will do them both good”
“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.”
“Was anyone else hurt?” I whispered to Gils, as I scanned the crowd.
He lowered his head to my ear. “No, Warprize. We’d just enough warning to get out of the way and let the patrol and your guards handle them.” He paused, and a look of awe came over his face. “Atira killed her assailant and didn’t disturb her leg at all.” He was clearly impressed by her actions. “And when the Warlord burst into the tent…” He shuddered and continued quietly. “We’re never gonna figure out which head goes with which body.”
“In the end, this is a difficult story to sum up. The making of the atomic bomb is one of history's most amazing examples of teamwork and genius and poise under pressure. But it's also the story of how humans created a weapon capable of wiping our species off the planet. It's a story with no end in sight.
And, like it or not, you're in it.”
“One thing I've learnt recently is that blowing out someone else's candle doesn't make yours shine any brighter.”
“The only way to avoid failure is to sit in a corner and do nothing.”
“Workers work hard enough to not be fired, and owners pay just enough so that workers won't quit.”
“We're going to have such fun, you and I.”
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