Was that what made her trust him?
She fully expected the invitations he received, from warriors that asked him to join in their patterns. But he declined all of them with a friendly laugh and a smile. He even refused to join Yers in a battle dance.
She said nothing, but after a while, he caught her gaze and chuckled. “You wonder that I do not dance?”
She gave him the slightest of nods.
He faced forward. “The other Warlord candidates are not dancing either.”
She casually looked around, and searched her memory of the night. “They have not,” she confirmed.
“Not stupid enough to get themselves hurt dancing. We of the Plains do everything with abandon, and to risk injury so close to the end of the Trials is foolhardy,” Simus pointed out. “A pulled muscle, a sprain, could make all the difference tomorrow.”
“Ah,” Snowfall said.
“Besides, you can learn a great deal about a warrior by how they dance a pattern.” Simus gave her another smile, his eyes warm. “And I would deprive them of that knowledge.”
Snowfall glanced over to where Ietha was talking to Nires. Wyrik stood with them, glaring at Simus. “A good point,” she said softly.
“Praise?” Simus straightened, and placed his hand over his heart. “My dear Token-bearer, I—”
“Enough.” Essa was standing in the middle of the Heart, and once again his words were being echoed. “Let the drums go silent and the dancing end. Seek your beds. The morrow brings the final challenges.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
No words were spoken between him and Snowfall the next morning as they prepared for the day. There was nothing to say. Simus ate, put on his armor, and took up his weapons with but one thought: This was the day that would see it done.
Snowfall waited for him by the tent flap, his token in hand, challenge banners in the other. His token would be needed if any warrior wished to rescind their oaths.
Snowfall looked him up and down, probably checking to make sure all his buckles were closed. Simus couldn’t resist, and did a spin for her benefit, ending with a graceful Xyian bow.
She didn’t even blink.
Simus sighed. A loss, then. Hopefully the only one of the day. He gestured for her to precede him and stepped out into a dawn just rising from the edge of the Plains. The sky filling with all the colors it had, from the palest blue to a blue so dark as to almost rival his own skin. Simus took it all in with a deep breath...
...and then dropped his gaze to find a young male warrior standing across the challenge circle from him, sword and dagger already in hand.
“I haven’t even raised the banners yet.” Snowfall’s disdain was clear.
Yers came to stand close to Simus. “He’s seen one, maybe two seasons of war, at the most,” he sniffed, his crooked nose twitching. “More insulting than challenging.”
A crowd had already gathered and more were coming. Mostly Simus’s warriors, but a few that had clearly come to see their friend fight.
Simus stood, contemplating the young warrior as Snowfall raised his banners. “Truth, but there is muscle there.”
“More ego then brains,” Yers muttered. “Needs to be taken down hard for that arrogance.”
Simus flashed him a smile. “And where would Keir and I be without arrogance?” he asked.
Yers rolled his eyes.
The young warrior walked into the circle. “I give challenge, Simus of the Hawk.”
Simus yawned, and stretched as obnoxiously as he could. “So I see,” he said as he scratched his chin.
Anger flashed through the youngster’s eyes. “I am Beom of the Fox,” he said, almost dancing in his impatience. “Answer my challenge.”
“Of course, of course,” Simus said. “But this sword won’t do. A moment,” he said, and turned toward his weapons rack.
