“It worked.” Rhys seemed smug.
“Truth,” Sidian said. “And now the land glows with the magic of the Plains. But this is all that is left of the warrior-priests?” he gestured to the others seated with them, listening in.
“Yes,” Lightning Strike sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Except Snowfall, who rides with the Warlord Simus. And Hail Storm, who we think now wields blood magic.”
Sidian and Rhys exchanged glances. “We have dealt with that before,” Rhys said.
Cadr squinted at the younger man. While he’d no sign of real age, his voice held a weariness of experience.
“This Keir is new to me,” Sidian said. “As is Simus. For a Warprize to have appeared,” he shook his head. “The Plains are much changed from the ones I knew.”
“You must lead us now, Master.” Lightning Strike said.
“No,” Sidian shook his head, those bushy white eyebrows frowning. “I am too long from the Plains, with no use of my magic for years. Rhys here is more skilled than I.”
“But not with this wild magic,” Rhys pointed out.
“We need guidance,” Lightning Strike sounded tired and defeated.
“When the lesson is needed, a student appears,” Sidian smiled. “I will relearn with you. Rhys can aid us. Gilla knows a few words of Palin, that will help him learn our language quicker.”
“But what should we do next?” Lightning Strike asked, his plaintive tone clear.
“We sleep,” Sidian said firmly. “In the morning, we rise, we eat—”
“And then?” Lightning Strike demanded.
Sidian raised an eyebrow at his impatience. “And then I think we get out your scrying bowls and talk to this Snowfall of yours.”
Chapter Ten
Hanstau breathed easier once they gave Reness a tunic and trous to wear.
He may be a widower, may be the father of three grown children, but he wasn’t dead, after all. Sharing a tent with a naked woman was all well and good when she was his patient. Quite another thing when she was plotting their escape.
Her wound was healing well, although she feigned a limp when she walked. She wasn’t very good at it, in Hanstau’s opinion. But every chance she got, Reness worked to regain the strength she had lost while confined.
She was moving about now, quiet on the grass in her bare feet, making little noise as she eased through a series of slow stretches. The tent flap was closed, their guards outside by a fire eating their nooning. Hanstau had tucked himself closer to the back of the tent to give her room, sitting cross-legged against the wall.
He’d thought to keep his eyes tightly shut, to recite prayers to the Sun God, or perhaps a few stanzas of the Epic of Xyson that he had memorized as a child.
But his control was not perfect. His treacherous eyes would not stay closed. He could only hope for forgiveness for the occasional glance, but the mental image was almost worse, brought on by the sounds of the soft movements of cloth over skin and her breathing.
Her back was turned to him, and she was lunging at an unseen enemy, her trous—
Hanstau swallowed hard, and closed his eyes firmly. His late wife had been dear to him. Their marriage had been arranged, as was proper, and they’d been well suited to one another. They’d been comfortable with their duty and taking pleasure with one another, and they’d shared pride in their children. He’d mourned her death.
A whisper of cloth on skin, and his eyes flickered open to see Reness pivot into a slow, steady lunge at an unseen opponent.
She stole his breath away.
Enough. Hanstau closed his eyes tight, settled back into his seat, and reminded himself sternly that while it was perfectly normal to be attracted to a healthy, muscular, lovely woman, it was not proper.
It didn’t help that the tent was warm and the air was still thick with Reness’s unique scent. Hanstau could let himself breathe deep, drift off, dream of—
He jerked his head up, stiffened his back, and rejected that thought. Time to think on other things. The Epic of Xyson was dull enough to kill any thoughts of—
A flash of light flickered at his closed eyelids.
