“Does that happen?” Snowfall whispered.
“Never before,” Wild Winds whispered back.
Snowfall tightened her grasp on his arms. “That feeling you spoke of, of uncertainty, of dread.” She looked north again. “I feel it, Master.”
“Master no longer.” Wild Winds looked at her with a soft smile that set her heart aching. “Every ending is a beginning, and every beginning an end.” He released his hold, and turned to mount his horse. Once in the saddle, he looked down at her. “Seek out Simus. Look deeper, Snowfall.”
“And if he is not worthy?” Snowfall asked.
Wild Winds gathered up his reins, and urged his horse on. “Return to me,” he said over his shoulder and left her there, following the others.
Snowfall sat, watching him disappear into the grey rain, lifting her face slightly so none would know if it was rain or tears on her cheeks.
So here was the sorrow of her heart, and yet pride as well, for she was a full warrior-priestess now, if that was what they still were. So many questions, so many changes to explore, and she wanted to do so at her...at Wild Winds’s side.
But...an itch of curiosity turned her head toward the Heart. Toward Simus. Toward a new path. So many questions lay there as well, so many challenges, including the challenge to her fighting skills.
She could ignore Wild Winds’s command. She was released, her choices were her own. She could mount and follow and take the path that walked at his side.
“Who else can speak words of peace, Snowfall?”
She stood for some time, in the sprinkling rain, fighting duty and her own desires, letting them war in her head, until her horse stamped in frustration.
She mounted, and turned her horse’s head back toward the Heart.
For the firstfew hours of her ride, Eloix wallowed in her resentment and allowed it to fester. She’d had great plans to contest for Token-bearer, and yet here she was, returning to Xy with messages for Keir of the Cat, a task unlooked for and unwelcome. Destal was probably even now planning her challenges, and Eloix was certain she could’ve defeated her and claimed the place by the Warlord’s side.
There were clouds on the horizon behind her, but she’d out-ride them easily.
When it grew too dark to see, she stopped for the night. She made a cold camp after she’d seen to the horses. After a few gulps of cold kavage, and a handful of gurt, she’d rolled herself into her blankets, and lay for a moment, letting herself relax.
She could hear the horses chomping at the grass, which rustled as they tore the shoots with their teeth. The scent of crushed greens surrounded her. She heaved a deep sigh, and let the hurt and disappointment go. There would be other times, other chances. The winds knew that there would be challenges again next season, and next, and the season after that.
Rolling over, she admired the field of bright stars overhead. She’d a task at hand, one that showed Simus’s faith in her, so that bode well. While Xy was strange in its custom and ways, it was interesting. And the food was good. And she’d see Elois, and hear of her adventures.
Besides, she’d witness first hand Keir’s reaction when she brought word of the events on the Plains. Perhaps the Warprize had delivered her babe by now. Had the theas allowed her to keep the babe? Eloix rather suspected they had. She stretched under her blanket, glancing down at her own arm, wondering if the Warprize had gotten the traditional tattoo.
A smile drifted over her face as she settled down, fingers on the hilt of her sword next to her, and willed herself to sleep. She’d be up and riding at the first hint of sun.
Chapter Ten
Antas waited in one of the deeper gullies for his scouts to report.
The alders with their fresh green leaves hid him, and the stream that trickled past gave his horse a chance for a good drink. Antas dismounted, held the reins and patted the horse’s neck as it slurped at the clear water.
Time was he’d have never hesitated to approach a thea camp openly, certain of a warm welcome and the courtesy of its tents.
But times had changed, now, hadn’t they?
Keir and Simus had seen to that.
Antas stared at the leather reins in his hands, absently checking them for cracks or weak spots. He’d watched Keir and Simus and that foresworn Joden too. Watched as they advanced as warriors, through campaigns and the Trials.
He’d seen their loathing of the warrior-priests, listened to their first rumblings of change, but he’d thought nothing of it. Even when Keir had become Warlord, he’d shrugged. What could one fool young one do?
Keir had taken the northern most city of Xy as his target, and then announced to all his intent. Made no secret of it. Bad luck to him and good riddance had been Antas’s first thought, and who could blame him that? Who was Keir to speak of conquest? Of holding, occupying? Of dancing new patterns?
Foolishness.
