“The wind blows,” Essa whispered. “The grass bends.” He rose to his feet slowly, brushing off his tattered silken trous. Without looking at Simus, he limped off toward Hanstau’s tent, moving slowly and carefully.
Simus rose and followed.
The healing area held more people, standing and sitting around the wounded. Heads turned as Essa passed, and those that could struggled to their feet, to stand respectfully in the Eldest Elder’s presence.
Essa ignored them. He limped to where Wild Winds lay.
As if he’d sensed his presence, Wild Winds pulled away the cloth from his eyes, and blinked up at Essa. They looked at one another for a long time, and then Wild Winds spoke. “All endings are beginnings, old friend.” His words carried over the crowd. “And in turn, all beginnings mark the end of something.”
Essa closed his eyes. Simus couldn’t help but think that the man was trying to block out the truth for but one moment more. But then Essa opened his eyes, and straightened against his pain. “I summon the Council to meet.” He turned, raising his voice, so that the words carried. “I summon it to the nearest winter lodge we can find. Send word to all that we will gather at—” he glanced up at the sky, “—at the nooning.”
“Will there be enough room?” Wild Winds asked. “They’re not designed for large meetings.”
“I fear our numbers won’t be an issue,” Essa said drily. “Not anymore. But it will be safe. All the living will attend, even if they must be carried.”
“I will come,” Wind Winds said.
“Let the word be passed,” Essa commanded, and the warriors around them moved to obey. “The Council meets at the nooning. Let the candidates present themselves, with their Seconds and Token-bearers.” Essa’s gaze met Simus’s. “There let it be decided and done.”
Simus strode backtoward his tent, excitement burning through him. Essa’s words had lit a fire within the warriors that had surrounded them, and they’d quickly moved into action. Many had run off, to spread the word to their own Warlords. Others had gathered around Essa, pointing to where the nearest winter lodge was located. Simus waited just long enough to learn its location, before heading back to his camp.
Elois stood naked before her tent, her tanned skin glistening in the sun. She’d clearly already heard the word. “Good,” she said. “This Council is sure to take all the hours left in the day. There’s time to eat more than just the few bites you got this morning, and clean up before we have to appear. Strip.”
“Not sure there’s time—” Simus started, but Elois cut him off with a scowl.
“There’s more than enough time if you don’t waste it,” she said firmly. “No need to make a sorry showing before the Elders and the Eldest Elders.” She raised her voice, looking behind her tent. “Destal, bring your warriors here and get the Warlord’s armor.” She turned back and glared at Simus. “They will clean and oil our leathers, and do what they can for the chain. Strip,” she demanded again, giving him the once over. “And where is your dagger?”
At the mention of Destal, Simus’s interest perked. Snowfall was assigned to her. But he still argued. “There are still things I need to do. They may need help carrying the wounded to the lodge.”
“I’ve seen to that,” Tsor said as he walked into camp. “Between all the warriors here, we will see it done.”
“Strip,” Eloise commanded. “Both of you.”
Tsor obeyed, his hands going to his belt. Simus followed suit. They each peeled out of the armor, handing off various parts to the young warriors who appeared. They took the gear, and then disappeared behind the tent. Simus heard Destal lecturing one on how to clean chain properly.
“Food next,” Elois commanded. Simus and Tsor sat on the gurtle pads she had set out. Simus raised his eyebrows at the meal, which included roasted tubers and boar.
Elois settled on the pad next to him, and a young warrior approached with water and towels for the washing ritual. Simus murmured his thanks to the elements, then dried his hands.
“My thanks for your efforts,” Simus said to Elois before helping himself. Tsor nodded enthusiastically around his mouthful.
Elois smiled, clearly pleased with the praise, but then she grew serious. “I am your Token-bearer, am I not?”
Simus paused in mid-bite. “I haven’t named either of you formally, have I?”
“No,” Elois said. “You have not.” Tsor nodded, but didn’t stop eating.
“I do so now,” Simus said. “Elois of the Horse, you are my choice for Token-bearer. Tsor of the Bear, you are my choice for my Second.”
“Our thanks, Warlord.” Elois looked off to the side, and gave a nod.
Snowfall came forward with kavage and cups.
Simus grinned up at her as he took the drink from her hands. Snowfall’s face was calm and serene, as usual. But her fingers brushed against his as he took the mug.
Tsor swallowed, and spoke. “Word on the wind is that there may not be enough Warlord candidates.”
Elois hissed in a breath. Simus stopped mid-bite. “Truth?” he asked.
