I nodded and turned the book so they could see the writing.
Gils looked at it carefully. The other patient came over, straining to see. Even Rafe and Prest left their positions by the door for a closer look.
“I have heard of this, but the sky as my witness, I thought it a fable told to children.” Rafe frowned. “
How can the marks hold your songs?”
“Listen.” Returning the book to my lap, I read out loud, “Hear now the tale of Xyson, Warrior King, and his defeat of the barbarians of the southern lands. Xyson, tall and strong as the mountain had led his people well for ten years before the barbarians fell upon the villages and raided his people.” I paused, suddenly unsure. It occurred to me that the barbarians the book talked about were Keir’s own people.
Prest snorted. “How old?” he asked, nodding at the book.
“The story is almost four hundred years old. Xyson is my father’s father’s father back some nine generations.”
Prest looked impressed. Atira lay back against her blankets. “A song so old. You do us honor, Warprize.”
“Don’t be so quick to say that.” I smiled at her and the others settling around us. “You haven’t heard it yet.”
I read for about a half hour. My audience hung on every word, even though the tale talked about numbers of troops, supplies, and the appointing of a Warden for the kingdom.
Dull as the story was, it forced me to learn new words as I translated. Rafe and Prest took their positions back at the entrance, but when I saw them straining to hear, I raised my voice slightly. There was silence when I finally stopped and closed the book. Atira cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what your custom is, Warprize. Normally we would give thanks to the singer.”
“Thanks is good.” I stood and stretched. “I’m glad to share it with you. But now I am hungry. Is the nooning close?”
Gils jumped up. “I’s be checking.” He darted out the door and ran into someone coming in. “Sorry, Warlord!”
“Watch where you’re going, boy,” came the gruff response. Rafe and Prest stood as Keir entered the tent. His face was clear of the anger he had shown this morning. “How goes it with—” He stopped abruptly when he saw the book in my hands.
It was time to confess. “I bought this with your coin yesterday.” I smoothed one hand over its cover nervously. “It’s an old story called The Epic of Xyson. I thought it would distract—”
“You’re reading to my people?” The surprise in his voice was clear.
I nodded. “I also bought a primer. A teaching tool. So that I could teach Gils to read my book on herbs.”
I chanced a glance at his face.
Keir looked very satisfied. “You would teach him?” He moved over to gaze down at Atira. “Could she learn as well?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “If she is willing.”
Atira’s eyes got even bigger. “Warlord, at your command, I’ll try.”
Keir narrowed his eyes, nodding. “That is all I ask, Warrior. This is no easy horse to master, but it would please me for you to learn.”
She nodded her acceptance of the charge.
Keir arched an eyebrow. “I’ve announced a pattern dance for tomorrow night.”
Atira brightened, but her face fell quickly. “I’ll miss the dancing, but it’s my pattern they’ll be weaving.”
There was pride mixed with the disappointment.
Keir smiled. “If Simus can be carried to the senel, why not you?”
I frowned, considering. Keir watched me, focused on my face. “Explain to her, Warrior. Tell her why it is important to you.”
“Warprize, it’s an honor to be asked to design the pattern.” Atira pleaded with voice and eyes. “To not see my first pattern woven, it’s like a dagger thrust here.” She put her hand over her heart.
“The leather has dried and hardened. If we are careful, and if you swear that you will not move, and let yourself be carried…”
