“There is confusion and fear about the warrior-priests,” Joden said. “And much talk after Wild Winds’s disappearance.” He paused, a smile flickering over his face. “I caught a brief glimpse of Wyrik. Enough to see a bruised face and blackened eyes.”
Simus laughed. “Where have you set your tent?” he asked.
Joden hesitated. “I hadn’t decided. If I wish to be impartial, I must—”
Simus snorted. “As if all do not know that we are friends. That you support Keir.”
“I supported Keir in the claiming of his Warprize,” Joden said mildly. “That doesn’t mean that I will support him in all things. A Singer must be loyal to the truth, impartial, fair—”
“Warm,” Simus said dryly. “Fed. Comfortable. This tent is cavernous, and all know you support me in my challenge for Warlord. Put your bedroll down here, at least until you start your own Trials.”
Joden smiled his long, slow smile, and shrugged. “I will, and thank you.”
“And you’ll sing tonight? Lead the drumming at the very least?” Simus mock-scowled.
“Of course,” Joden said.
Simus smiled and took another swig of kavage. The truth was that Joden’s singing would say more for his support of Simus than which tent he slept in. As well his friend knew. Both of them had taken Keir’s lessons to heart. ‘You win more warriors with dance and drum and talk around the fires than with a naked blade,’ he’d said, and Simus knew it well, having watched Keir recruit these many seasons.
Now, it was his turn.
The flap stirred; Destal stood just behind. “Forgive the interruption,” she said, her tone a pleased one. “Two young warriors are without and would speak with the Warlord. They say they are here to offer their swords.”
“So it begins, the gathering of my army,” Simus intoned in a solemn voice.
His gaze caught Joden’s and they both started smiling, their grins growing wider and wider until Simus almost laughed out loud. The first to offer their swords! But he settled his face and tone to conceal his excitement, and rose to his feet. “I will see them.”
Lander stilled himselfas they waited outside the Warlord’s tent, in the manner of a warrior. Ouse stood beside him, attempting the same stillness.
It was not to be.
“It’s huge,” Ouse said in a whisper. “There’s no tent so large in the thea camp.” He craned his neck and went to his toes, trying to look over the thing. “You could fit four thea tents in that one, for certain.”
“I know,” Lander said and pressed his shoulder against Ouse.
Ouse dropped back on to his feet and huffed out a breath, giving Lander a worried look. Lander smiled back fondly. Ouse’s red curls tossed in the breeze, and his pale skin was even paler under his golden freckles.
“It will be fine,” Lander reassured him.
“I don’t know,” Ouse said softly. “We don’t really have permission to do this and—”
The main tent flap pulled aside and Destal, the current Token-bearer to Simus of the Hawk, appeared.
“You may enter,” she said with a nod, gesturing them into the tent.
Lander pushed through the flaps, with Ouse so close behind he could feel his breath on his neck. Blinking to adjust to the dimness within, Lander took in the large area filled with gurtle pad seats spread out in front of a wooden platform.
Simus of the Hawk was seated in the center of the platform, studying both of them with a serious look. But what made Lander’s breath catch was that Joden of the Hawk was seated beside him. He knew of the warrior, rumored to be about to start his Singer Trials.
“Welcome, warriors.” The Warlord’s voice was deep and warm, befitting a man so big. “What truths would you share?”
Lander couldn’t seem to make his feet move, but Ouse jostled him from behind. Somehow he found himself kneeling before the platform, Ouse at his side. Lander opened his mouth, but to his horror, no words came.
Joden of the Hawk gave him a puzzled look, then lifted his eyebrows in recognition. “I know you both,” he said. “You are the warriors that told us of the Sacrifice. You were the guardians and guides, were you not?”
“We were some of them,” Lander blurted out. He swallowed hard and continued. “I am Lander of the Snake, and I would pledge my sword to your service for the coming season.”
“I am Ouse,” Ouse’s voice cracked. “Ouse of the Fox. I too would pledge my sword to your service for the coming season.”
