Keir’s arms gathered me close. As my vision cleared, I could make out the tent, with Marcus standing not far from the edge of the bed, holding a small lamp. The flame flickered, weak and feeble, and the shadows danced with it. I turned, fumbling at Keir’s chest, checking the wound. I had to stop the bleeding, Goddess please, I had to stop the…
Keir kept his arms around me, but gave me the room I needed as my hands fumbled over his chest, the skin supple, the scars old and healed. Frantically, I checked, then raised my eyes to his. “There was blood, so much blood. I couldn’t stop it.”
“A night horror. Just a night horror.” His strong arms enfolded me, and I allowed myself to be pulled into his embrace. I felt Keir gesture for Marcus to return to his bed, and then tensed as the light receded. “
Marcus,” Keir called softly. “Leave the lamp.”
The light remained, even as Marcus left. We stayed that way, as my breathing and heart slowed. Finally, I pushed back a little, pulling my hair off my sweaty forehead with shaky hands, and croaked out a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. I am acting the fool.”
Keir pulled me down under the furs, refusing to release his hold. “It’s not a foolish thing. Night horrors are very real.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling heavy and tired. “When I was very small, Anna would hold me when I had one. She would hug me, kiss my forehead, and stay with me til I slept.”
Keir chuckled softly. “Go back to sleep.” He brushed his lips against my forehead.
Comforted, I closed my eyes.
At some point I found myself awake, lying in the dark. There was enough light to see Keir lying next to me, on his back, close enough to touch. I closed my eyes and listened to his regular breaths and reveled in the sheer comfort that it brought. The nightmare had been so real, so terrible. I wanted to believe that my fears in the dream had been for the peace between our people, but concern for the man had been there as well.
Keir murmured and shifted his weight slightly. I opened my eyes, studying his face, trying to gauge his age. He was no youngster, but it was hard to tell. Older than Xymund. Not so old as Warren. I yawned, letting my eyes drift closed. Caring for broken and ill bodies doesn’t teach the joy of shared warmth under covers. So far, that seemed the only use for a warprize.
“WHERE’S HIS TOKEN!”
I jolted up, clutching the blankets, to find Keir half out of bed, sword in hand. There were sounds of many men outside and grunts, as if they were carrying a heavy load. “MARCUS!” The voice bellowed again. “WHERE IS THAT FOOL
OF A WARLORD?“ The very walls of the tent seemed to tremble.
Keir collapsed back on the bed, still clutching his sword, his face twisted in a grimace. “Simus must have talked to Joden.”
“SILENCE!” I jumped again as Marcus called out, his voice loud enough to rival Simus’s. “I’d no sleep last night and none this morn, thanks to your bellowing!”
I flushed, and looked at Keir. “I’m sorry about last night.”
He turned his head and gave me that impish smile. “I’m not. Since it means that you were in my arms most of the night.”
More heat flooded my face.
“Get me in this tent, and bring me his damned-by-the-snows token,” Simus bellowed again. “I’ve a few choice truths to tell.”
Keir stood, and shouted back. “You’ve not bothered to use my token in years, why start now?” Keir grabbed up a tunic and belted on his sword.
“Easy! Be careful, I’m a wounded man, not a dead deer!”
A man backed in through the flap, carrying Simus on a cot. Simus was sprawled on his stomach, holding on to the sides. There were four men carrying him, but they only seemed to be getting in each other’s way. “Here,” Simus directed. “Put me down here.” The cot was dropped, and before Simus could complain, the men were gone. Simus growled, since he was half in, half out, with the flap laying on the small of his back. He fixed his glare on Keir. “What, your brain was in your sword last night?”
Marcus appeared from the other entrance and thumped a pitcher of kavage on the table, along with mugs. “I suppose you’ll be wanting food, now that you’ve frightened the herds with your cries?”
“I’ll need it to keep up my strength so that I can beat sense into this one’s head.” Simus adopted an air of injured dignity. I clutched at the blankets, and ran my hand through my hair, trying not to give into hysterical laughter.
Marcus snarled and clucked like an old chicken as he turned to go. “Body can’t get any rest, what with the screaming and the crying out all night.” He stomped out of the tent.
Keir poured kavage, handing a mug to Simus. “I had good reason—”
“To gut one of them? In their own throne room?” Simus rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you insulted their poor excuse of a king as well?” When I frowned, Simus glared at me. “I’m voicing truths here, Warprize, and you’ll pardon me if I don’t fear your blade.”
“How’s your leg, Simus?” Keir asked pointedly, as he handed me a full mug.
Simus ignored him. “And your reasons, oh great Warlord of the Plains? For throwing rocks at rutting ehats?”
