“I have given my word to my Warlord to not use any gifts without permission.”
“You know about this?” Simus blurted out to Essa. “That she can speak to those far off?”
“Yes, of course,” Essa said. “And the price they pay for it.”
Simus glanced at Snowfall. “The risk you mentioned.”
“As I explained, Warlord,” Snowfall said with an apology in her voice. “There are limits. And risks. Wild Winds warned me not to—”
“But you must,” Essa interrupted. “It is urgent that I speak with him.” Essa took a deep breath, and for the first time Simus saw worry in his eyes. “He must be here in time for the summoning of the Council, or the Council may splinter again. There must be an Eldest Elder of the Warrior-Priests present.”
Snowfall sat silent, her hands in her lap.
Simus considered. “There is sense to your argument, but I am concerned about the risk to Snowfall.”
Essa raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Simus frowned, thinking it through.
“Well?” Essa demanded impatiently.
Essa was right; Wild Winds needed to attend. “Do it,” Simus commanded. “But if you sense that another hears, then end it. Understood?”
Snowfall’s gaze lifted to his, her grey eyes wide. She nodded. “I need a few things for the casting,” she warned.
“Get them,” Simus said.
“We will wait,” Essa agreed.
Snowfall got to her feet and disappeared within the depths of the command tent.
Essa settled back on his seat with a satisfied sigh.
Simus could not bear to sit still. He rose and started to pace before the platform. “Such a thing,” he said. “Such a thing would have made such a difference. If they had shared this knowledge. If you had shared this knowledge.”
“Remember that power did not flow so freely to them before,” Essa said. “And when have any of us ever shared all of our secrets with the other? Each Tribe, each role, has its secrets.”
“That needs to end,” Simus growled, thinking as he walked. More importantly, Keir needed to know. If others had this power—
“I doubt Antas has any knowledge,” Essa said, as if following his thought. “Who would share this with him? All of the warrior-priests are dead. And the few that survived are apprentices and they travel with Wild Winds.”
“They shared this with you,” Simus pointed out.
Essa shifted on his seat. “Eldest Elder Wild Winds shared this with me, when I became Eldest Elder Singer. And he and I were tentmates before he became as he is. As he was.” The older man rubbed his hand over his face, and Simus saw the weariness there. “Accuse us all you wish, Simus. That was then. This is now.”
A soft step and Snowfall appeared from the cooking area with a large flat copper bowl and a pitcher.
“Is that all you need?” Simus asked as she set the bowl on the platform, placing it before Essa. “I was expecting, I don’t know, flames or smoke, or maybe a sacrificed gurtle.”
The corner of Snowfall’s eyes crinkled in amusement for just a moment. “If you wish, Warlord,” she said, all seriousness, “I could go and get an animal.”
Essa all but rolled his eyes at both of them. “If you don’t mind,” he said impatiently.
Snowfall knelt by the platform, and poured clear water into the bowl. “It will only be his face that appears, Eldest Elder. A larger image usually takes more warrior-priests, and much more effort.” She looked at both of them. “Do not disturb the bowl or the water,” she warned.
“How quickly can you find him?” Simus knelt as well, settling well back on his heels.
“That depends,” Snowfall said, “on where his attention is, what he is doing.”
