“Warlord, I don’t know why, but...” The scout struggled to regain control as the horse continued to back away. “But she’ll have nothing to do with him.”
Simus’s own horse came to a stop, its ears flat. All the horses did, as if they’d caught the scent of something foul.
The man fell to his knees, his face lifted to the sky with a long cry of despair. Simus saw tracks of tears glistening on his face and chest. He looked closer, recognizing the scar that ran along the side of the man’s face, catching the corner of his mouth. “You,” he said, almost questioning his own thought. “You were the warrior-priest that blocked us from the Heart. What happened here?”
“We can’t call them,” the man wept, his voice cracked and wavering as he babbled out the words, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. “They will not answer, will not come.”
Simus urged his horse to step closer, but the animal stamped its foot and would not advance.
The man gasped, tried to catch his breath, then gave the warbling cry used to summon a mount from the herd. None responded, even the remounts that Eloix had brought with her. Not one animal advanced to his side.
Simus looked at the man in horror; all the warriors did.
“Our horses are one with us,” Simus said, his voice thick. “Xyians might name their horses, and think to own them, but we live with them. What have you done, that they would refuse you?”
“What in the name of the elements did you do?” Joden’s voice reflected Simus’s own thought.
“The Sacrifice, the Sacrifice called them and then,” the man collapsed to his hands and knees. “We have offended. We have—” The rest of his words were lost in his weeping.
Joden dismounted and went to the man’s side, kneeling down beside him. He looked up at Simus. “His tattoos are gone,” Joden said.
“Gone?” Simus asked.
“His skin is pale and new, as if the colors had been ripped away.”
“We brought down the wrath of the elements.” The man was choking and gasping out the words. “All of the elements, for it has returned and now I can see it. I can see it, but I cannot touch—cannot feel—cannot use.” The man cried out in anguish, fisting handfuls of grass and earth.
Joden leaned over, whispering questions.
Simus gestured for the others to back the horses off, and they went willingly, keeping watch on the plains around them. But other than the man’s cries, the night was quiet.
Joden finally stood, shaking his head. “His wits are gone,” he said sadly. “Maybe after he calms, he could tell us more, but I have little hope of that.”
“We will move on,” Simus said sharply.
Joden nodded and turned, but the warrior-priest reached up, and grabbed his arm sobbing out a plea. “Mercy. I ask mercy.”
Joden paused, and looked at Simus.
Simus returned the look, and shook his head. “Give him a dagger, Joden. With all that has happened in the past, with whatever has happened now, he does not deserve mercy at our hands.”
But Joden didn’t move. Didn’t look away.
Simus frowned. It mattered little, since a warrior of the Plains who could not summon a mount was as good as dead. “Leave him,” he commanded.
“I cannot,” Joden said. “Any more than I could have left you.”
Simus narrowed his eyes.
Joden returned the stare.
“Singers.” Simus huffed out an exasperated breath and nodded to Joden. “Do it.”
Two of his warriors dismounted, and approached as the trembling warrior-priest stretched himself out on the grasses at Joden’s feet. Joden pulled his dagger and knelt, as the other two pressed down on the warrior-priest’s shoulders and hands.
“The fire warmed you,” Joden began.
“We thank the elements,” came the traditional response from a few throats. The warrior-priest as well, his voice cracking as he bared his throat to the knife.
