“You won’t want first meats from those kills, Warlord,” one of the other scouts chimed in. “Foul tasting, and the smell,” she grimaced. “But their tough skin should make for good leather and bone is bone.” She held up a claw, cut from a carcass. “We took claws and those curled horns as well. And their teeth are sharp as any blade.”
“When they sleep, there by the lake?” Cimor said. “They curl up in tight balls, covering their heads and bodies with their wings.” He demonstrated, curling into a ball, his arms over his head. “You’d think them large rocks if you stumbled over them in the night.”
Elois offered Simus a pocket of bread, stuffed with meat. “Best get something in you quickly,” she said. “Before you’re needed.”
Simus started eating. “Do they fly at night?” Simus asked, as he spoke around his food.
“No,” Cimor said. “And they are sight hunters, not scent.” He took a swig of kavage. “I’ve set watches on them.” Cimor wiped his mouth. “They’ll keep eyes on the beasts until you give orders otherwise.”
Voices were being raised behind him, an argument from the sound of it. Someone was shouting in Xyian. Hanstau, most likely. Simus ignored it for the moment. “So we are safe to walk about, then?”
“As long as none are in the air about you.” Cimor shrugged. “And the horns will warn of their approach. But my truth, Warlord, is I’d almost rather be in Xy and have a nice stone wall between me and them. And the ehats? No one has seen one since the flight, and there are usually one or two—”
The argument grew loud enough to drown him out.
Cimor grinned. “Seems your day has begun, Warlord.”
Simus grimaced in agreement.
It was asight Simus had never expected to see: the wounded of the Plains being tended by a Xyian healer.
Hanstau had gathered the wounded together outside his small tent. The pallets were laid in rows, with wounded warriors sprawled on and under blankets, with bandages covering their wounds. Other warriors were moving about, serving kavage and bread to those that could feed themselves.
Simus paused, as the memories of Lara tending his leg came back. Snowfall came up to stand next to him. She said nothing, but he knew she was looking for Wild Winds.
Hanstau was looming over a wounded warrior, Cadr looking miserable at his side. Hanstau was yelling at—
Loual of the Boar.
“Oh, skies,” Snowfall breathed. “He’ll kill him.”
Simus quickened his step, certain that Loual was going to gut the pudgy healer for insults. Loual was seated on a blanket, cradling his bandaged arm, and looking...confused.
“Take to the ice?” Hanstau was almost purple with rage as he ranted in Xyian. “Idiot! Fool! What is the word?” He looked at Cadr. “What is the word?”
“Stupid,” Cadr sighed, looking unhappy. A look of relief came over him when he spotted Simus. “Warlord, please. The healer is—”
“You’ll answer to the God of the Sun if you waste your heart’s blood on the grass,” Hanstau declared, and nudged Cadr to translate. “Waste your life and your skills when your people need you the most. The feeling will return, I tell you. The wrist is splinted, the swelling will go down if you have a care and take the fever’s foe.”
For the first time, Simus noticed Loual’s hand, swollen so badly the fingers looked discolored.
“But go ahead, shove a blade in your guts. Just don’t do it on my blankets. Go off in the grass or better yet, better yet—” Hanstau drew himself up in a picture of righteous fury, waving his hands for emphasis. “Better yet, feed yourself to those monsters for all I care, and wander off to your precious ice.”
“Snows,” Cadr said weakly. “The word is ‘snows’.”
Loual of the Boar looked up at Simus. “Does he know?” he asked in the language of the Plains, his voice strained with pain. “That our truths are different? That I oppose you?”
“I doubt it,” Simus said. “But it wouldn’t matter to him, even if he did.”
Hanstau huffed out a breath. “Might as well save my breath, for all that anyone listens to me.” He knelt down in front of Loual. “Do this,” he demanded in rough Plains language as he held out his hand and made a fist.
Loual tried and winced, but the swollen fingers moved.
“Hah,” Hanstau snorted. “See? See?” He huffed as he got to his feet and switched back to Xyian. “Tell him, Cadr. Tell him to give it a few days, to take the fever’s foe as he was told—” Hanstau brushed off his tunic and trous. “And if there is no improvement—no improvement, mind, not perfection—” Hanstau waggled his finger at Loual, “—then he can kill himself with no objection from me. Stupid, impatient, thick-headed—” Hanstau muttered until he caught sight of Snowfall. “You, woman. Come with me. Wild Winds is awake and asking for you. Over here.”
With that, the healer was gone, dragging a startled Snowfall in his wake.
Cadr duly translated the words to Loual, and scrambled after the healer.
