The next group summoned down to the field was brown. Their pattern was intricate, but started very slowly. As the drums speeded up, so did their steps, and the blows to their sticks. I watched in anticipation, trying to see the dancers the way Keir did, but all I saw was a wonderful explosion of movement, rhythm and color. Just as it seemed to reach its peak, the drums began to slow, and the dancers slowed at the same time, until they stood in their original positions. As the last drum beat faded, the crowd erupted into cheers. The dancers ran off, and the crowd started stirring.
Keir stood and stretched. “The watches are changing.” He looked at me. “Warm enough?”
I nodded, as Marcus held a plate before me. There were small buns there, and I took one in one hand. “
What are these?”
Atira grinned and reached for the plate as Marcus offered her one as well. “Warprize, take a bite.”
I looked doubtfully at her, but she bit hers with relish, so I did the same. There was an explosion of spice in my mouth and I opened my eyes wide. Atira laughed.
The spice was strong, but it didn’t burn. There was a sweetness to it that seemed strange at first. “What is this?”
“Bread tarts.” Atira took another bite and talked around her mouthful. “Rare to get them in camp.”
Keir and Simus were eating theirs, obviously pleased. Marcus had a proud look on his face, and even quirked his mouth in a grin when I took another bite. We were all enjoying the treat when a warrior came up to the platform. “Warlord, a messenger has come from the city.”
“From Warren?” Keir asked.
“From their king, Warlord.”
“Bring him here.”
The crowd was starting to settle, and Iften seemed to be looking at Keir for the signal to start. Keir gestured for him to continue, and the opening ritual was repeated. This time the dancers were wearing bells on their hands and feet, and carrying sticks. As they danced, Marcus frowned in disapproval.
Apparently the bells were a distraction from the pattern, and Marcus was quick to express his opinion.
Keir leaned over at one point and spoke softly, “Marcus danced patterns well before he was injured. But his eye gives him no vision on that side, and he no longer dances.” I nodded, but I liked the chiming of the bells, and was quick to call out ‘heyla’ at the end.
“Warlord.”
We turned to see the warrior standing behind us, with Heath at his side, grinning like a fool.
“Heath!” I jumped to my feet, leaving the cloak behind me. The cooler air hit me, giving me goose bumps, but I paid no mind as I ran over to greet him.
Heath was stiff, but he relaxed and brought his arms up to give me a quick hug, before pushing me back slightly. He brought his hand up to cup my neck, then let his hand fall as he stepped back. He dropped to one knee. “Warlord.”
I turned, to see Keir standing there, a dark expression on his face. I caught my breath, suddenly understanding that I’d made a mistake. Heat flooded my face. Keir pointed at the stool where I had been seated, and I returned to it. Marcus draped the cloak back over me, and made sure that it covered me completely.
“Your message?” Keir’s voice was cold, as behind us Iften called the next dance.
“Warlord, King Xymund sends word that Lord Durst still lives. Eln the Healer believes that he will recover.” Heath lifted his head. “Lord Marshall Warren and the King continue to question and investigate the attack on the warprize and will send further word tomorrow.”
Keir grunted, but I saw a brief flash of relief in his eyes.
Heath continued, “Warlord, I also beg your forgiveness on behalf of myself and your warprize. We are childhood friends, who played in the kitchens together when we were small.” He swallowed hard. “I had heard that she was hurt, and asked to carry the King’s words in order to see for myself and report back to my mother.”
Keir narrowed his eyes. “Your mother is Anna the Cook?”
Heath nodded. “She who rules the kitchens, and will beat me with a spoon if I do not report back on Lar
—the warprize’s condition.”
Simus chuckled. “Never anger a good cook, Keir.”
Keir still looked grim, but his voice was polite. “Stay then, and talk with the warprize. Would you see a dance?”
Heath smiled, stood and moved to sit on the platform, leaning back against the side of Atira’s cot. He looked at her leg, and grimaced. “Broken?” I nodded. He smiled at Atira, and pointed at her leg and then at his. “I remember what that is like. Tell her she has my sympathy.”
