“Fair enough.” Simus grinned as he ducked into the tent, and entered his private chamber.
He’d spent his time in Xy wisely. No more cobbled-together armor pieces plundered during raids. Othur, Seneschal of Water’s Fall and Warder of Xy had taken the time to assist him in ‘commissioning’ new leathers and chain from the craftsmen of Xy. Simus shook his head, contrasting the welcoming faces of the craftsmen to the dead he’d looted in the past.
He’d taken full advantage, and had even indulged in gold trim to the chain, with leathers underneath dyed black. He racked the set piece by piece, making it ready for the morning. He shook out the black cloak, with the brooch Keir had given him pinned in place. He’d cut a fine figure tomorrow, that was certain. A pity that lovely warrior-priestess in training wouldn’t see him. Her dismissive gaze would have warmed, of that he was certain.
He’d just settled with his sword and whetstone when a voice came from the outer chamber. “The glitter of the armor matters little if the sword’s not wielded well.”
Simus pretended to shiver. “You sound like our old Weaponsmaster,” he snorted. “And where have you been, having managed to avoid all the work establishing camp?”
Joden pushed through the flap, looking hot and sweaty. “Doing what a would-be Singer does. Listening. Talking. Observing.”
“And what have you observed?” Simus gestured his friend to a seat beside him.
Joden sat, settling his sword on the ground next to him. “As to that, my throat is far too dry to talk.”
Simus laughed, even as Destal entered with a tray of kavage and gurt. She knelt to place it on the ground before them. “I thought this might be welcome, Singer.”
Joden smiled at her. “No more Singer than you are Token-bearer, but we are striving, eh?”
Destal tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Do you wish to speak under the bells?”
“No bells,” Joden said, reaching for a mug as he glanced at Simus. “Unless you—”
Simus shook his head.
“Then I will leave you to your words,” Destal said. “The set-up is almost complete. Only the senel chamber remains.” She chuckled as she raised the flap. “Already there are those that hover nearby.”
“A good sign,” Joden said as she left.
Simus nodded, set aside his blade, and took a handful of gurt from the bowl, popping one of the pieces in his mouth. “So?” he asked. “What did you learn?”
“I went looking for Essa, Eldest Elder of the Singers,” Joden said. “I did not find him.”
Simus frowned, and reached for kavage. “Odd. Essa is never far from the Heart of the Plains. Even if he was driven off as we were, he’d be close.”
“He’s not been seen,” Joden said. “The Singers I did find have not seen him either. Nor have they heard word of his whereabouts.”
Simus shrugged. “He will come, eventually.” He flashed a grin. “Nothing pulls Essa out like an audience or a dance.”
“Truth,” Joden said. “When the people are ready to listen, a Singer appears.”
“Now, who did you see?” Simus asked. “And in what numbers?”
Joden shrugged. “The Warlords that you know of, so far. Ultie’s people have appeared, with Elders among them.”
“Good,” Simus observed.
Joden drank deeply. “The candidates for Warlord are trickling in. Osa and Ultie were hard on your heels and have set their tents.” He lowered his mug. “Those that oppose you have spread their tents all around the Heart, the better to talk against you, I suspect. Loulal, Ietha, Nires—”
“Not a surprise,” Simus said.
“Rhet was talking to Zioa and Kiza as I walked past,” Joden said. “Their greetings were warm enough.”
“Rhet has not supported, but not opposed,” Simus mused. “Perhaps she can be convinced to join us.”
“Or perhaps she waits to support those who appear to be winning.” Joden gave Simus a warning look over his mug. “She has ever been quick to take advantage.”
Simus shrugged. “What else did you learn?”
