“Shall I fetch Gils?” Marcus asked me quietly.
I dug through the supplies by the bed. “No, I have what I need here.”
Joden sat on a stool out of the way. “A surprise that he would call challenge.”
“That’s a truth voiced.” Simus stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “Where did he find the nerve?”
“I don’t understand what he thought he was doing.” I worked as 1 spoke. “He threatened Keir with death. According to our laws, that would make him an outlaw.”
Simus grimaced slightly at my touch. “We only give positions of power to those who’ve earned them.
Challenge is a part of determining who will lead.”
I blinked at him. “Xymund rules by right of blood, as confirmed by the gods.”
“It’s not because of his skill as a warrior.” Marcus commented.
“That’s why he has men such as Warren,” I snapped, stung more by the criticism of my people than in defense of my half-brother. I looked at Simus. “So Xymund, as King, would have to face challenges to stay on the throne.”
Joden chuckled. “It’s not that easy, Warprize. One must qualify to give challenge. Iften has the right to challenge Keir, but no one may challenge on campaign.”
The silence that descended was a thoughtful one. I concentrated on re-bandaging the wound, and dosing Simus with fever’s foe. I offered lotus as well, to help him sleep, but he declined. As soon as I finished, Marcus hustled me out.
Once outside, I resisted. “I want to check Atira’s leg.”
“None of that.” Marcus barred my path. “Hisself said ‘to the tent’ and off to the tent we go.”
Rafe coughed to draw my attention and spoke once he had my eye. “It’s the Warlord’s command.”
I would’ve argued, but my arm was throbbing. We returned to Keir’s tent, only to engage in a heated discussion of just how Rafe and Prest were going to guard me. They interpreted their instructions literally, and intended to sit and watch me sleep. After some heated discussion, Rafe and Prest took up positions outside, and Marcus and I went in alone.
I folded up the cloak and laid it on one of the benches, careful not to use my arm too much. “Marcus, do challenges happen often?”
“Of course, Warprize. Before the armies are gathered, the challenges are fought to determine ranks. But that is for the early spring. No one issues challenge on campaign.”
“Iften did.”
“Iften is a fool.” Marcus chuckled softly. “Hisself took care of him without raising a sword.”
“Could someone challenge Simus? While he is hurt?”
“That’s not done, Warprize. Another would take his place while he healed. Iften in fact, since he stands third in rank.” Marcus fussed with the brazier. “Although few heal from such a wound.” He frowned into the coals, then turned, regarding me. “It’s off to bed with you. Hisself won’t be in until late, if I know him.
”
I lay awake for quite some time, wondering about a world where a warrior held his rank and title by merit instead of class or birth. My dreams were filled with the images of Xy-mund fighting Warren for the crown when I slipped into sleep.
I awoke to a warm embrace, a frowning countenance, and Keir’s voice in my ear.
“You are not to leave this bed today.”
The day deteriorated from there.
Marcus was cranky from lack of sleep. Keir was wound tighter then he had been the night before, if that were possible. I was upset because my arm ached, Marcus was cranky, and Keir was impossible.
He ordered me to stay in bed.
I refused.
