Simus’s stomach clenched, thinking of another who’d spoken of peace and died for it. At least Snowfall had the good sense to have a weapon at hand.
A cough drew his attention to the back of the crowd, where Lander and Ouse, the first warriors to pledge to him, were rising to their feet. They each looked at the other, then Ouse nudged Lander’s shoulder. “Warlord,” Lander’s voice cracked nervously.
“Speak,” Simus said.
“We told you of our part in the journey of the Sacrifice,” Lander said. “This warrior-priestess, she was the one who came to the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer and offered herself as hostage to them.” He stood a little straighter and his voice grew stronger. “She came unarmed, and was true to her oaths with us, Warlord. We would speak for her.”
Simus gestured, and everyone resumed their seats. The challenge banners flapped in the morning breeze, and Simus raised his eyes to the skies and considered. Was she to be trusted?
The skies held no answers. It was up to him to decide.
He chose to trust.
He lowered his gaze back to the waiting crowd. “I will accept your oath, Snowfall.”
There were gasps, then silence as she pulled her blades, knelt before him and swore her oath.
“My first command is that you are to use none of your powers without my knowledge and permission.”
That got him a startled glance of grey eyes that fell away, hidden under dark lashes. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. There was a long pause before she spoke.
“I obey, Warlord.” Snowfall rose to her feet in one swift, graceful move.
“Further,” Simus said, “you may challenge for Token-bearer.”
Destal leapt to her feet, snarling. “I will kill you,bragnect.”
“It is not my wish that you kill her, Destal,” Simus said calmly.
“Is that an order, Warlord?” Destal snapped.
“It is if it needs to be,” Simus replied coolly.
Destal glanced at his face and looked away. “That will not be necessary, Warlord.”
“Quartis, will you judge?” Simus asked the Singer.
“It would be my honor,” Quartis responded quickly.
“Whoever wins should serve me my kavage,” Simus announced, turned, and went into his tent. The roar behind him indicated that the crowd was on its feet and had already chosen sides.
The clamor almost drowned out the voices of Yers, Joden, and Seo as they followed him within.
“What are you thinking?” Yers demanded.
“Haya will not be pleased,” Seo announced as they moved further into the depths of the tent, the better to hear one another. “She bears no love for warrior-priests.”
“Where is the Elder Thea?” Simus asked.
Seo beamed, his tanned face turning into a mass of wrinkles. “She’s trying to pry knowledge from that healer. She knows no Xyian, so he keeps speaking louder and slower as Cadr tries to translate. It’s going like a grassfire. I suspect that Haya may burst from sheer frustration.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Yers demanded again. “She is one of them.”
Simus sat on his gurtle pad at the head of the room. “I doubt she will survive the challenges. But if she does, as a warrior under my command she is a valuable source of knowledge about the warrior-priests, and she is sworn to my service.” Simus raised his eyes to Yers. “And you forget yourself.”
Yers drew a deep breath, clearly calming himself. “Warlord, I would be doing less than my duty to you if I did not point out that you are making a mistake. You yourself reminded us that the position held by Marcus is not the traditional role of a Token-bearer. You would have her speak for you? A warrior-priestess?”
Joden looked troubled. “Simus, he is not wrong. The choice—”
