"Ask Epor. Or Isdra." His tone was curt and he whistled, somehow catching Prest's attention.
Prest raised a hand, and started to move back toward us. Because I was a burden on the horse,I was traded off every hour so as not to tire any one animal. The elements forbid that a horsebe over-tired. I was starting to feel like a package in a trading caravan.
Marcus spoke as Prest moved into position. "Joden is a good man, Lara, valued for hiswisdom. He is heard in senel, although he holds no rank, and even by the Elders when heappears before their councils. He will make a great Singer once he is recognized as such."
Prest drew closer, preparing to transfer me to his horse, but I ignored his outstretched hand. Ileaned closer, trying to figure out what Marcus was talking about.
"If you can't confide in anyone else, you can confide in a Singer." Marcus's voice was so soft,it was almost a whisper. "Words spoken to a Singer are held to his heart, where they cannot bepried free. Talk to Joden, Lara. Please."
With that, they transferred me to Prest's horse without breaking stride, and Marcus fadedback and away into the crowd.
Prest was a full head taller than Marcus and easily twice as broad. I rather dreaded riding withhim, since I couldn't see over his shoulders. That meant my stomach would be upset by the timeI left his horse.
Prest also wasn't much of a talker, which left me free to dwell on my miseries. If Atira werehere, I might be able to confide in her, but she'd been left in Water's Fall, under the care of Eln.
Her leg would heal true, but the break would not let her travel. Even surrounded by thousandsof warriors, I felt terribly alone. Keir had been absent now for two days, and part of me fearedhe'd decided that this Warprize no longer interested him. Maybe I could talk to Joden, confidein him. Joden had helped me so much when I'd been taken to the camp. He'd been the one tofigure out that I'd been lied to by Xymund, my late half-brother. But I felt so very stupid andsilly. Like a spoiled child with a broken toy.
Just how could I tell anyone how miserable I was? Fire-landers already had a fairly low opinionof soft city folk, and if I started complaining it would only strengthen their beliefs.
I shifted my weight slightly and gripped Prest around the waist, trying to get comfortable. Atleast this much had improved. The first five days I'd ached so badly I'd thought to die.
Spending day after day in the saddle had wearied my body in ways I didn't think possible.
"Gurt?" Prest held up a soft pouch.
"No," I replied softly, trying not to shudder as my stomach heaved. "Thank you."
Prest grunted and popped a morsel in his mouth.
'Gurt' is a kind of dried cheese, apparently made from some kind of goat-like animal. It lookslike a small white pebble, which can be chewed, dissolved in water to drink, or melted overmeat. Firelanders eat it at every meal. It stores easily, and never seems to spoil. They all carrya pouch of the stuff with them. While I had gotten to enjoy the taste of their kavage, gurt wasanother matter. It's horrid, bitter and dry, like a green apple in early spring. It was especiallybad when they melted it over cooked meat.
An army on the move has a limited diet. At every meal, it was cooked meat, gurt, and frybread. Small bits of the dough were thrown into a pan of fat. That wasn't too terrible, but eatingit day after day—well, I never really appreciated Anna for her skills. Or the marvels thatMarcus prepared when we were in the camp outside of Water's Fall.
But that had been a full camp. While we traveled, we made an overnight camp, which was acompletely different thing. We no longer had the command tent, which was almost as big assome houses, and took a full day to erect. Now it was tiny little shelters that you crawled into tosleep. Or not sleep, as was my case. I'd lay alone in the small tent, wrapped in blankets, andstare at the covering around me. Every little sound, every step of a passing sentry, every snortof a horse, every lump in the hard ground under me had my eyes open for most of the night.
It wasn't so bad when Keir was with me. For some reason I could sleep in his presence. Well,truth be told, I could sleep in his arms. But he had duties and had to travel from one end of hisarmy to the other, and it spread out for miles. So there were some nights when he wasn't in ourshelter, and I had not seen him at all for the last two days.
Firelanders could sleep in the saddle. If I tried that, I got sick. Firelanders, in the saddle, couldrepair tack, or sharpen blades or argue or, Goddess help me, talk.
Which was another thing. We had horses in Xy. I'd been taught to ride as a child, and haveridden many times. But in the city I rarely bothered. By the time a groom had saddled one forme, I could be halfway to where I was going. You had to worry about tying them to things andleaving them for long periods. I'd never been really enamored of the beasts; they were a formof transportation and not much more.
But I'd learned fast that Firelanders had relationships with their animals. Horses were treatedlike small children, acknowledged and admired. One of the worst insults imaginable was
'bragnect' which meant 'killer of foals'. Now that I knew what the word meant, I was much morecareful about how I used it.
And just like proud parents are wont to do, they talk about horses. Constantly. Obsessively.
They'd discuss the details of ears and mane and gaits until I wanted to scream. They hadseventeen words for a male horse and could talk forhoursabout saddles. They loved to modifysaddles with hooks and protrusions and supports, and talk out the advantages anddisadvantages. Their world is very dependent on their animals and it was fascinating for aboutthe first day. After that, I tired quickly of horses and horse talk.
And that was another thing. All this talk was out in the open where everyone could hear. Theyhad no sense of modesty or privacy that I could see. I'd had one rider come up and start todiscuss the state of his bowels without a qualm, in the middle of a moving mass of warriors. Youcouldn't really talk to anyone without being overheard.
Ahead of us there was a shout. I peered around Prest's shoulders to see one warrior launchhimself at another, carrying him to the ground. The horses shied and shifted a bit, but everyonejust kept moving as the two rolled on the ground, fighting. Their horses had moved off, to eatgrass as their human riders resolved their differences.
Which was another thing. These people had such fiery tempers and they had no hesitation ofattacking for any slight. It was only the exchange of a token that allowed safety for the speakerof offensive words. In Xy, challenge was made clear, with a chance to prepare. Not with thesepeople.
So here I was, Warprize to the Warlord of the Plains, acclaimed before my people and his,praised and admired for my willingness to journey to a new and strange place, to be a bridgebetween his people and mine. What would they think, to find out that I was sick to my stomach,hungry, exhausted, dirty, alone and certain that the Warlord had lost interest in me?
I heaved a sigh, and tried to tell myself that I was being a soft city woman. That I had no rightto complain over minor problems like this. That I was being foolish.
