WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(13)
They knew no restrictions, and she felt the twisting vines wanting to move, to writhe over her skin. They could not, of course. Her tattoos had been placed on her skin magically by her master, Wild Winds. As long as she was in training, they were under his control.
But they wanted to dance.
Snowfall watched as Wild Winds extended Simus and his people the hospitalities of his tent and offered to tell the tale of the night and the Sacrifice. Simus of the Hawk radiated distrust, but the one named Joden, the potential Singer, dismounted immediately to share in kavage and news.
Snowfall drew a deep, slow breath. So much had changed in a single night, a single moment, a single act by two city-dwellers strange to the Plains and hunted and abused by the warrior-priests. No one had known what would happen when Hail Storm had lured them to their deaths on the Heart.
But the pillar of light had sprung into the sky. Wild Winds had been healed, and those of the warrior-priests who had followed Hail Storm were dead or dying. And the magic, the power that the Sacrifice had returned to the Plains—that still made her skin tingle. She glanced at the coming dawn and wondered what else the elements had in store for them.
“You think that warrior-priests cannot change?” Wild Winds was asking Simus, drawing her attention back to their discussion. “Come and hear the tale, or not. As you choose.”
“Keir is going to gut me,” Simus grumbled, but he dismounted.
Well. Clearly, a warrior in servitude to a Warlord with dreams of ruling the Plains. Snowfall didn’t let her disdain show. She moved off, back toward the main tent as Wild Winds gathered those that would talk and explain, including the young warriors who had served as Guardians to the Sacrifice.
What did her master see in this Simus? Why had her tattoos reacted?
Snowfall didn’t heave a sigh, or even take a deep breath. She kept her outer face calm, even as her mind raced with questions.
She’d see to the brewing of kavage, see to the warmth of the tent, offer welcome to these warriors, as her mentor desired. But she’d also wait and watch.
And keep her blades sharp.
Chapter Six
Simus may have accepted the invitation into Wild Winds’s tent, but he took nothing at its face. Especially a face of an adversary, covered with the ritual tattoos.
And there was also that woman, but Simus would not allow that to divert him from his purpose. After all, as fascinating as she seemed, she too wore tattoos.
He gathered his warriors around him, and ordered them to make camp close by and wait for him. He lowered his voice when he arranged the watches. His warriors had all given him understanding nods. They’d watch both without and within, and keep their blades ready.
Only then did he lead Joden, Eloix, and Yers into Wild Winds’s tent, already filled with warrior-priests in training and young warriors.
Wild Winds gestured Simus and his people to gurtle pads set to his right and offered mugs of kavage and bowls of gurt. Joden took the mug and drank. Simus took his and kept it in his hand.
Wild Winds settled cross-legged before the crowd, his staff on the ground, with no weapon in hand. Simus noted that the young woman with the cool, grey eyes knelt beside the warrior-priest to serve him kavage. “My thanks, Snowfall,” Wild Winds said.
The equal of a Token-bearer, then, with no token to bear. She was truly lovely, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but again compare her skin to the color of kavage with milk. Perhaps with a touch of honey for sweetness. How would her skin taste in the midst of pleasure?
As if she’d overheard his thought, she raised her eyes to meet his. Those eyes considered him, giving nothing away.
Simus widened his smile, and nodded at her.
Her gaze passed over him like a north wind and was lost to sight when she lowered her eyes, her dark lashes hiding her thoughts.
There was a slight snort off to his left; Joden had seen. Simus ignored him, and brought his mind back to the moment as Wild Winds raised his hand, his palm up in the traditional gesture.
“May the skies hear my voice,” Wild Winds intoned. “May the people remember.”
“We will remember,” said everyone, echoing his words.
“This night, we share our truths together, with no exchange of tokens. Let no one take offense, let all listen with open hearts and minds,” Wild Winds said. “I would ask that all speak of what they have seen and what they have done. The warrior that has suffered the most this night, one Gilla of the Snake, now rests within the safety of her tents. But we have her fellow guardians, Lander of the Snake and Ouse of the Fox. They will start our tale.”
A warrior stood, young and as nervous as a colt. But he stood tall and steady and spoke his words clearly. “For us, this started when we were still in the thea camp of Haya of the Snake, days before our Rites of Ascension,” he said. “For on that day the sky opened above our camp, and two people fell from the sky...”
At the mention of Haya, Simus exchanged a quick glance with Joden. But the rest of the young warrior’s words left Simus amazed. The youth described the arrival of the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer to the Plains, along with a horse fully encased in metal and a small four-legged creature they called a cat. Of the attack by the warrior-priests, and the Sacrifice’s loss of control of the powers he carried. Of a desperate flight across the Plains, and then an even more frantic pursuit to try to rescue the warrior Gilla from Hail Storm and his followers. Until the final confrontation at the Heart of the Plains, and a pillar of light when the power, the magic was released.