“You ignore my advice at your peril.”
“I will listen to your advice if you live.” Antas spun on his heel, and strode out of the tent, grateful for the fresh air.
He swept the stench away from his nose with a deep breath of clean air.
Veritt, his Second, and Leda, his Third, were waiting for him, a polite distance away. Antas walked toward them shaking his head. “Come,” he said. “I’ve a need for kavage after that.”
They fell in beside him. “You saw?” Leda said.
“I did,” Antas growled. “And I think it’s likely he will die of that wound. Any other warrior, and I’d grant him mercy. But we need him.”
Leda nodded. “I’ll assign some warriors from punishment detail to care for him. At the very least they can see him cleaned and fed.”
“See if any of the theas who have joined us have any ideas how to help him,” Antas said.
“They have no more healing skill than we do,” Veritt pointed out.
“No, but they deal with the cuts, scrapes, and bruises of children all through the day,” Antas said. “It’s worth trying.” He paused. “But do not let them know of Reness. I am not sure their support would last if they knew we held her.”
“I will see to it,” Leda said.
“How bad is her leg?” Antas kept his voice low as they walked through the camp.
“Bad.” Leda shook her head. “She fought like she was enraged. We tried to tend it, based on the tales told of the Warprize. But those are twice-told tales and we have no skill.”
“How did this happen?” Antas said, feeling his anger rise. All of his careful plans seemed to be unraveling. “She was to be guarded at all times, controlled by the warrior-priests.”
“She was,” Leda said calmly. “But the warrior-priests collapsed when the pillar of light rose in the night. In the confusion, she took her opportunity.” Leda shrugged. “But for the warriors that spotted her fleeing, she’d have succeeded.”
“A fine thing.” Antas rubbed his hand over his face. “I go to seek out theas and return to find my prisoner wounded in an escape attempt, my all-so-powerful warrior-priest sweating in his bed, and all of his warrior-priests dead. And Hail Storm says ‘attack the Heart.’ Cursed fool—”
“Not all dead,” Leda said. “According to Hail Storm.”
“That’s what he said. But can I trust it?” Antas asked.
“When he first crawled into camp, he babbled out a lot of information,” Veritt said. “It felt like the truth, and his skin supports his tale. His tattoos are gone.”
Antas grunted, continued on to his command tent, and gave the nod to one of the guards to open the flap. “Kavage,” he called to Catha, his Token-bearer, and settled himself on his seat on the wooden platform.
Veritt and Leda settled beside him, and after the handwashing ritual, they ate in silence. Antas thought as he chewed, considering all the events as he washed down the meal with kavage.
He waited until the food was cleared, and bid Catha weave the bells in the flap and join the talk.
Catha settled beside him, the heat of her body a familiar comfort.
Antas broke the silence. “We must consider our options. Hail Storm still urges an attack.”
“Hail Storm is a fool,” Veritt said softly. “But his suggestion has some merit to it. The Heart is concentrating on challenges, not defense. We could strike hard and fast. Those candidates that support the old ways would come to our aid if we got word to them.”
“You might even secure Essa for your purposes,” Catha added quietly.
“Are we so certain of the support of the candidates?” Leda asked.
“Ietha for certain.” Veritt held up a finger, ticking off the name. “Loula, Nires, they are all—”
“No.” Antas took more kavage. “I cannot be sure of Nires of the Boar’s position.”
Catha nodded. “He outcast Iften, did he not?”
