Lightning Strike lowered his hands slightly. “Who are you, stranger?”
Cadr watched as those thick white eyebrows rose. “Such is the hospitality of the Plains, now? Strange greetings.”
“Strange times,” Gilla took another step. “I am Gilla of the Snake.”
The man smiled broadly at her, while keeping a careful eye on Lightning Strike. “Well met, Gilla of the Snake. Ezren Silvertongue spoke of you. I am Obsidian Blade and, this,” gesturing at his young companion. “This is Rhys of the Black Hills, also known as Mage.”
Gilla narrowed her eyes. “How do we know your words are true?”
Obsidian Knife laughed. “Ezren said you would doubt. He said to say that he held Cosana as she breathed her last.”
“You are as you say.” Gilla relaxed.
Obsidian Blade folded his arms over his chest. “Now it is your turn, Warrior. What did Ezren tell Cosana as she died?”
“A story,” Gilla’s voice shook. “Of how the Lady of Laughter lured the Lord of Light to her tent.”
“You are as you say,” Obsidian Blade bowed his head at her. “Ezren said to share this truth, that he and his token-bearer are well and bonded.” He flashed a grin. “I doubt that he will be so pleased at the return of that cat.”
“One more test,” Lightning Strike called out. “If you are as you say, then summon a horse.”
“Summon a horse?” Obsidian Blade frowned, but his companion spoke up.
“Drop your trous first,” Rhys demanded.
Cadr lifted his head and stared, to see that everyone was as puzzled as he was.
Obsidian Blade rolled his eyes. “I fear Rhys is still learning our tongue,” he explained. “Weapon, not trous,” he said, looking over his shoulder.
Rhys blushed, but didn’t lower his hand.
“We cannot trust,” Lightning Strike said grimly. “Call a horse.”
Obsidian Blade shrugged, threw back his head and warbled a cry, he then repeated the call, summoning two mounts.
Every warrior-priest-in-training seemed to hold their breaths. Cadr knew his own lungs froze.
From the herd trotted two horses, nickering and eager, tossing their heads as they walked straight up to Obsidian Blade.
Cadr relaxed as Obsidian Blade reached out to pat their manes, and looked over at Lightning Strike.
Lightning Strike lowered his bow. “Welcome to our tents, Obsidian Blade and Rhys.”
Obsidian Blade nodded his thanks. “Are you the warrior-priests-in-training that were with Wild Winds?”
“There is much you need to hear, Master,” Lightning Strike walked forward. “For indeed, I think you are the last living warrior-priest.”
“Well then, let me hear your truths,” Obsidian Blade nodded to Rhys, who dropped his hand. “Over kavage?” he smiled. “And gurt, perhaps?”
Later, much, much later, when the cooking fires had dimmed and the stars were bright above them, and the kavage drained to the dregs, they finally reached the end of the tale.
Obsidian Blade insisted that they name him Sidian as they talked. “It has been too long since I have used the other name. I have shed it like a skin,” he explained.
Rhys was mostly silent. Cadr suspected that was due in part to his knowledge of the language of the Plains. But his eyes were bright and he seemed to follow the talk. As Lightning Strike finished the tale with the burning of Wild Winds body, Sidian sighed. “I have been too long away.”
“Why did you leave?” Gilla asked.
“Many years ago, the Warrior-Priests held a senel,” Sidian said. “I vaguely remember that Wild Winds was there, although he was not yet Eldest Elder. The decision was made to send warrior-priests into the lands that circle the Plains, hoping to find some sign of the lost magic, that it could be returned to the land. I was among those chosen to go, and I have wandered long. When Ezren returned, I asked for the aid of High Priestess Evelyn and Rhys to open a portal to the Plains.” Sidian grinned at his friend. “It was Rhys’s idea to focus on the cat.”
