“Xymund has sworn fealty to me as Warlord.” Keir’s touch was still gentle, but his voice had an edge to it. “He will obey.” He flexed my foot in his hands, pulling at my toes and working his fingers into the muscles.
It took me a bit to gather my thoughts. “Yet you deliberately provoked him this evening.”
“Yes.” Keir released my foot and moved to the other one. “I did. His actions will speak louder than his oaths.” He worked this foot as he had the other. “The flesh is made of earth and sits within the right foot.”
I focused on him and smiled, feeling safe and lethargic. Keir’s eyes glittered, and he released my foot and crawled up the bed to lay by my side. He hovered there, looking down, his eyes glittering. I looked up, expecting, waiting…
He sighed softly, and eased back to the foot of the bed. It seemed somehow that I had failed him in some way, but I wasn’t certain what made me think that. I stared at his back as he sat there. I had to say something to break the silence. “And Durst?”
Keir’s head came up with a jerk. He sighed and shook his head, turning slightly to look at me. “A mistake. I knew it even as I pulled my sword free.” He got off the bed. Marcus had stoked the braziers before he had left, and they radiated warm heat into the room. Keir moved over and threw a handful of leaves into the closest one. It flared up, but the flames died quickly. The room gently filled with a soft spicy scent that hung in the warm air. Amazing how much warmer a tent was than a stone castle.
Keir settled on one of the benches, pulling bottles and cloths from a small chest below. His sword was there, and he took it up, looking at it ruefully. He started wiping it with one of the cloths. I curled on my side to watch him as he wiped the sword with careful attention. There was a long silence between us before he spoke. “I ask my warriors to change their ways, and yet in the heat of anger I strike according to our tradition.”
I didn’t have an answer to that.
He set aside the cloth, and started to work the edge with a stone, making a soft ‘shushing’ sound. One of the bottles was open, and I got a faint whiff of clove oil. I yawned, watching him in the faint light.
“Go to sleep, Warprize. I will sit for a while, and think on my errors and how to learn from them.”
I had melted down into the bedding, and hadn’t the strength to get under the blankets. Even with blurry eyes, I saw the lines on Keir’s face. “He didn’t die.”
Keir’s hand stopped moving. “He lived?”
“Othur said he was still alive before we went to the kitchens.” I closed my eyes, and started floating off.
The ‘shushing’ sound started back up. “So. Tomorrow will tell the tale. I’ll send for word, or go myself.
Sleep now.”
I tried to resist, but the darkness won out.
I swing my leg up and out, the horse shies and moves away. I lose my balance and drop back to the ground abruptly.
The lance passes by my head.
“Death to the…” The lead man never finishes his cry. Keir smashes through his defenses and plunges into the man’s chest in one quick stabbing motion. With his fierce quickness, he moves to strike at another.
I press against the wall, trying to stay small and out of the way. The only sounds are those of clashing blades, heavy breathing, and boots looking for purchase on the surface of the street.
“Wake up. Open your eyes.”
The four remaining attackers shift their focus without a word. Prest has one opponent. Two now press Keir. Rafe faces one as well.
Prest bashes his opponent with his shield and rams him hard enough to get him off-balance and a sword between his ribs. I assume that Prest will aid Keir. But he stays where he is, scanning the street, weapon at the ready.
Keir is in no need of aid. He knows his opponents’ moves and blocks them with ease. His attackers breathe heavily, and move slowly. When one makes the mistake of stepping back when his fellow shifts forward, Keir does not hesitate. But it is a move his opponents are waiting for and in an instant Keir is down on the street, bleeding from his chest.
“Wake up, Warprize.”
I cry out and kneel at his side. My hands reach out, but they cannot stop the blood as it gushes forth.
“I’m fine. All’s well. Wake up.”
Keir turns his head, but his eyes are wide and unseeing. I scream, cry out, but there is no help, no aid, all is sorrow, all is death…
Chapter 8
I awoke screaming, sitting up in the bed and covered in sweat. My heart thundered in my chest.
