“No, no,” Kalisa said. There was a sudden quaver in her voice. “Not today.”
“Elder.” Amyu set her mug down. “I have permission from the Queen to seek you out. She told me to listen to all you had to say, for as long as it took.”
“Oh dear,” Mya muttered.
“There are old tales.” Kalisa seemed to shrink in on herself, her eyes dimming. The mug in her hand threatened to slip from her fingers. “Tales of the Chaosreaver, and his love,” she whispered. “But not today.” Her eyes drifted closed.
“I’m so sorry,” Mya said, frowning. “This isn’t like her, but she does tend to sleep quite a bit.” She leaned over and took the mug from Kalisa’s gnarled hands. “Hold this.” She passed the mug to Amyu and pulled a colorful blanket from a trunk. She gently covered the old lady. “She’ll sleep now, probably for hours.”
Amyu rose slowly, not really wanting to leave. “Can I come again?” she asked as she handed the mugs to Mya.
“Of course.” Mya smiled and lead the way to the door. “But Amyu, you need to know that Auntie is old. I can’t promise that she will talk to you.”
“I understand,” Amyu said.
Mya opened the door. Amyu cast back a quick glance at Kalisa before stepping out into the colder air. She caught her breath, but Mya already had the door closed before she could speak.
Kalisa had been glaring at her. And the old woman’s eyes gleamed with hate.
Chapter Forty-Two
Simus felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he stood witness to the oaths of his fellow Warlords. Elois and Tsor stood with him, slightly back, but he could feel their pride and approval like the sun on his back. Destal held the younger warriors back, as was proper, but that was fine. Simus’s delight was that much sweeter knowing that Snowfall was close.
First Ultie, then Osa swore their oaths as Warlord, and then with a nod were gone, taking their Seconds and Token-bearers with them. Simus looked at them carefully. Ultie, in particular, seemed diminished somehow. Not in strength, but perhaps in heart. The loss of his Token-bearer had hit him hard.
Osa, on the other hand, seemed cool and unshaken.
They each gave Simus a nod, mounted, and with a glance to the skies, rode off. Simus didn’t blame them. They’d be eager to gather their warriors and set out to start the season. He wished them well, but his was a different path.
Still, it raised questions. Simus turned his head slightly toward Tsor.
Tsor already knew his concern. “We’re ready, Warlord,” Tsor assured him, keeping his voice low. “Destal has had everything packed and loaded on the horses. We’ve but to mount and go to where your army waits.”
Simus gave him a nod, satisfied.
The four Eldest Elders didn’t rush the oaths, but they didn’t waste time either. Still, the sun had moved down toward the horizon by the time they finished and the last Warlord departed.
Still, Simus waited.
Now the four Eldest Elders turned to face him. Niles of the Boar folded his arms over his chest and fixed Simus with a glare. “You delay in running off after Keir to do his bidding, like a foal after a tit?”
Elois drew in a sharp breath; Tsor rumbled.
Simus laughed.
Niles studied him through narrow eyes.
“You think to offer me insult,” Simus said. “So that I will pull my blade?”
Niles shrugged.
“I take no insult.” Simus grew serious. “Keir of the Cat sees what could be for our People, in ways I do not. He is a true leader whose sight is long and clear. But without the aid of strong warriors like me, his vision for the Plains cannot happen.” Simus flashed his grin again. “And I’ll not risk all I’ve won by pulling a blade on you.”
Niles nodded, as if satisfied somehow. “I do not promise I will not oppose you in the future,” he warned.
“Understood,” Simus said.
Niles turned to the others. “I’ve thea camps to find and warn. Haya, have you some idea of where they might be?”
