Simus put a hand on Joden’s shoulder. “I think it’s your turn to talk, my friend.” he said, guiding Joden back to the benches.
“Yes,” Joden sang. Simus’s eyes narrowed.
But a ruckus at the door stopped them all.
A warrior appeared, flushed and breathless. “WarKing,” he called. “A messenger from Warlord Antas.”
Keir agreed tomeet with Antas at noon the next day.
The messenger waited as they debated who would go. Lara was adamant about attending, and nothing anyone could say would dissuade her but Joden convinced her. “If you die,” he sang. “Our WarKing would go into battle rage, and most likely die as well. Who then raises the babes?”
Lara’s eyes welled up as she sputtered without an answer. Keir swept her into his arms, and kissed her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Prest, tell the messenger that Simus and Joden will stand at my side tomorrow.” Keir said. “Pardon us,” he added as he headed toward the stairs with Lara in his arms. “The hour grows late.”
The others as well said their goodnights. Snowfall rose, touched Simus on the shoulder, and left with the others.
Simus poured out more kavage. “Tell me. What happened?”
Joden did. He sang to his friend, then dropped into his normal speech, fighting the words. He told him of the old trials, told him of the mountainside. As much as he tried to avoid it, over and over again he told of Amyu’s aid, her strength, for she was a major part of the story. His story. Simus sat listening, intent.
“So you have not seen Essa,” Simus said.
Joden shook his head.
Simus studied his mug. “Your eyes change when you speak of Amyu,” Simus said.
It was not a surprise. Simus was an old tent-mate, and knew Joden better than he knew himself. Joden shrugged, dropping his gaze. “She is a child,” Joden sang sadly. “And I am not as I was.”
“And Snowfall is a warrior-priestess.” Simus stood and stretched, then looked down at Joden. “Don’t be stupid.” He walked off toward the stairs.
Joden sat staring at the dying coals until their spark was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Antas had quite a bit to say, and Joden didn’t trust any of it.
It was a perfect day in all other aspects. They’d met between Simus’s camp and Antas’s, equal distance from both. Out of the range of hearing, but not out of bow range.
The grass was trampled by the movement of warriors and horses. The sun was high, the sky clear, and just enough breeze to cool the skin.
Simus stood just behind Keir, arms crossed, glowering. Keir was intent, listening to Antas speak about preserving the lives of warriors.
Joden was listening, but he was also watching. Ietha was clearly confident and strong in her support of Antas. But something in Veritt’s stance gave Joden pause.
“If I die,” Antas said. “Then my army leaves to raid elsewhere. If you die,” Antas’s smile was nasty. “I will give your forces a day before we attack. We—”
“Agreed,” Keir interrupted Antas.
“Wait, what?” Simus sputtered.
“When?” Antas was smiling, confidence shining in his eyes.
“Now,” Keir said. “Let us cut a challenge circle here and now and—”
Horns blew in the distance, and everyone looked over to see five riders bearing down on them.
“Essa,” Antas growled.
