Warcry (11 page)

A short, fat man beamed at him and hustled into the room with two assistants, their hands filled with rolls of parchment. Remn paused, blinked at the crowd of warriors, and then headed for Keir.

“Warlord.” Remn greeted him with a quick bow. “I have brought all that you requested. This one in particular.” He gestured to one of the assistants, who unrolled and displayed a parchment filled with colors and lines.

“What are these?” Elois asked.

“Maps.” Keir leaned forward, watching as Remn pointed at something on the parchment. “Very, very old maps.”

“SO, IF THERE IS NO FURTHER DISCUSSION OF THE terms,” Lara said as she shifted in her chair. “We can conclude this meeting.”

Heath knew full well why she was uncomfortable. It felt like they’d been at this for hours.

“One thing, Your Majesty,” Lord Reddin said, his chair scraping the stone as he rose.

Heath stiffened. Reddin supported Durst.

“Yes?” Lara asked.

“The phrase here
regent for the child born of Xylara, Daughter of Xy
.” Lord Reddin tapped his finger on the copy before him. “I believe a different wording would be appropriate. Let us change the word
child
to
heir
.”

Othur frowned. Heath couldn’t see Lara’s face, but her tone was cautiously neutral. “Why so, my lord?” she asked.

Lord Reddin shrugged elegantly, as if it was of no matter. “I desire specificity, my Queen. It’s my understanding that Firela—” He paused with an expression of apology that looked false to Heath’s eyes. “That those of the Plains routinely bear twins. Should Your Majesty bear more than one child, we would be better served that there be no question as to which child the document refers to.”

Lara said nothing, just reached out to the table to draw the document closer so that she could read it. Heath kept his face neutral, but his thoughts raced furiously as the silence grew.

ATIRA CRANED HER NECK WITH ALL THE OTHER warriors, straining to look at Remn’s maps, and listen to Keir’s words. The idea that the land could be captured on parchment and cloth was a new and frightening one. Colors, lines . . . it was hard to believe it meant something.

Of course, she had thought that about words before Heath had taught her to read. And there stood Remn, the short, fat man, pointing and explaining about mountain passes.

“Liam of the Deer is due to arrive shortly,” Keir announced over everyone’s heads. “Warren and Wilsa have not yet returned from their task of ridding the land of bandits.”

Everyone started to settle, listening to his words.

“I do not ask any warrior to decide here and now”—Keir flashed a smile—“for the decision you make is an important one. But consider well before you decide, for understand one thing.” Keir paused, waiting for everyone’s attention. “I will do this. I will be Warking. The Warprize and I will unite these lands, for the betterment of both our peoples.”

Keir stopped there, but the message was clear. The Plains warriors all looked at one another.

“Consider well your choices,” Keir said. “This senel is closed.”

FOR HIS LIFE, HEATH COULDN’ T SEE A PROBLEM with the request, but he’d trust Lord Reddin about as far as he could throw him.

“I see no problem with the change, Your Majesty,” Lord Pellore said softly. Other heads were nodding.

Pellore was fairly neutral as far as Heath knew. He saw Lara’s head turn toward Othur slightly, saw the faint nod Othur gave her.

“Very well,” Lara said. “Let us have the scribes make the final changes, and be about it.” She shifted in the chair with a sigh as the document was removed and rushed to the waiting scribe at the corner desk. “In the meantime, my lords, I will hold a High Court feast this night, in celebration of our safe arrival in Water’s Fall. I’d ask all of you and your ladies to attend.

“On the morrow, we will hold the Justice, to resolve any pending issues.” She placed her hand on her belly. “After that, I will withdraw from view for a time.”

Most of the lords looked a bit uncomfortable at that statement, but Pellore smiled and nodded. “May I say, Majesty, that we wish you well in the coming days.”

Heath watched as Lara thanked him, even as the other lords offered their best wishes.

All except for Durst.

ATIRA HEAVED A SIGH OF RELIEF ONCE THE WARLORD was back in his chambers, the Warprize safe at his side. Lara was yawning her head off as Keir took her into the sleeping chamber and closed the door behind them.

“That’s done,” Heath said, his own relief in his voice.

Prest and Rafe were starting to settle before the hearth, watching Marcus grind beans for kavage. Ander and Yveni were making themselves comfortable as well, and there were two castle guards outside the door. Atira stretched, trying to loosen the muscles in her back.

Heath drew closer. “Sore?” he asked softly.

Atira nodded.

Heath sighed. “I could get us some more willowbark tea,” he suggested.

“I’ve a better idea,” Atira said, whispering in his ear. “We need something . . . physical.”

“Mmmm,” Heath sighed back, his blue eyes hot with want. “Something to warm us. Stretch us. Make us feel . . . good.” His eyes were sparkling now. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice warm and husky.

“Come with me,” Atira said.

CHAPTER 16

“SPARRING?” DISAPPOINTED, HEATH FOLLOWED Atira into the sunlit courtyard by the baking ovens. “But I was thinking of . . .”

Atira looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The sun glinted off her hair as she moved out of the shadowed doorway.

“Well, you know,” Heath shrugged. “Something a bit more . . . relaxing.”

“Sharing our bodies?” Atira said. She headed for the practice circle that lay beyond the courtyard. Heath admired the sway of her hips as she walked off. “That is for later. For now, we need to move and sweat.”

“There is movement in—” Heath stopped as he caught sight of two men, apparently rebuilding the chicken coop. They gave him a respectful nod as he passed.

“You are good in bed,” Atira said easily, tossing her hair back as she walked past the workmen. “But now, we fight, eh? Sex is for later.”

One of the workmen banged his hand with his hammer and cursed. The other stared at Atira, stunned.

Heath figured it was just easier to keep walking.

Atira was at the rack of practice weapons, checking them for weight and length. “Daggers?” she asked. “Or sword and shield?”

“Daggers,” Heath said, unstrapping his sword and placing it on a nearby bench.

He removed his cloak as well. Atira did the same, putting hers near his, but not quite touching. Heath wasn’t sure if he should read something into that or not.

Atira stepped into the circle, smiling, a wooden dagger in each hand and a teasing smile on her lips. She was a lovely sight, those brown eyes dancing with pure pleasure at the prospect of a fight. Heath turned his back, taking his time to choose his blades, letting her wait. But he could feel her gaze on the back of his neck, and his heart started to beat faster.

“Slow,” Atira’s voice was just a whisper. “So slow. City-dwellers think too much—”

Heath spun and charged into the ring.

Atira let out a whoop of joy, moved back just enough to avoid his lunge, and fended him off with her right dagger. Wood clattered on wood as she met his blade, forced it to the side, and brought the one in her left hand to bear.

Heath blocked that attack, even as he used the downward motion of his other dagger to slash at Atira’s thigh. But she was moving again, backpedaling around the circle and out of reach.

Heath didn’t follow. He gave her a grin of his own. “Firelanders. Always retreating.”

She came at him again, and he scrambled to fend her off.

Heath lost track of time as they traded blows, broke off to circle each other, then went back at it. His world narrowed to Atira and the fight. The warm sun, the sweet scent of her body, the burn in his muscles, they were all pure pleasure.

Not as good as sex, but very close.

Atira broke away, and Heath didn’t try to follow. He paused for a breath, conscious of feeling better than he had in days.

Atira was also breathing heavily, but she was smiling. “Had enough?”

“Hells, no.” Heath struck his chest.

Atira’s eyes narrowed, and she attacked. Heath planted his weight on his forward foot, braced and ready, but then realized his mistake. A rigid stance cut off his options. As Atira closed, he slashed at her face, forcing her to use one dagger to block instead of attack. He spun away, barely avoiding her strike.

“Oh, that’s gallant,” came a dry, male voice.

Heath knew better than to look away; Atira wasn’t going to stop because of a comment. Besides, he knew full well who was standing there. Lanfer was probably spoiling for a fight, and Heath was not going to oblige him.

But to his surprise, Atira backed off and looked over at the edge of the circle with a considering look. “More insults, Lord Lanfer?”

“Sun God forfend. I was merely making an observation, Lady.” Lanfer stood tall, his arms crossed over his chest. His blond hair shone almost white in the sun. “My Lord Heath has learned your ways quite well. That blow to the face, for example. I assume you also strike for the groin?”

“When survival is at stake, even so vulnerable a target as that is fair prey,” Atira said. “But I’ve other uses for Heath’s—”

“Perhaps you’d care to spar, Lanfer,” Heath interrupted.

“Not with you,” Lanfer said. “But Lady Atira,” Lanfer gave her a bow, “if she is willing.”

Heath snarled and opened his mouth to forbid it, but a quick look at Atira made him close his mouth with a snap.

“That would be lovely,” Atira said sweetly. “Which weapon would you prefer?”

Once before Heath had stepped between an enemy and Atira; she’d given him a black eye for daring to deprive her of a battle. He wouldn’t step between her and a fight again. But it took more than he cared to admit to go stand by the bench where their weapons lay.

They’d gathered a bit of a crowd since they’d started sparring. A group of women were just outside the doors of the kitchen, plucking feathers from fowl, talking among themselves. The two workmen were still at it, although they didn’t seem to have made much progress.

Lanfer had some others with him. Members of the court, and mostly second sons for all that. Heath wanted nothing more than to reach over and belt on his sword, but he stood instead, holding the practice daggers, trying to look unconcerned as Atira and Lanfer selected wooden swords and shields and stepped into the practice circle together.

Heath clenched his jaw as they started to spar.

Oddly enough, Atira didn’t leap forward for the first attack. She waited, shield up, watching Lanfer as he approached cautiously, and let him take the first swing.

Lanfer’s friends gathered at the edge of the circle, but some instinct of preservation kept them a good distance from Heath. At first they made comments, cheering Lanfer on, but after a few uneasy glances at Heath they subsided, seemingly content to watch. Quietly.

A wise choice on their part.

A few more blows, with Lanfer the aggressor. Heath relaxed his jaw a bit as he realized that Atira was holding back.

Lanfer was good, there was no mistaking that. Heath knew that. Not just from the various fights that they’d gotten into as kids, either. He’d sparred with Lanfer often enough, usually until blood spilled and they were separated by their teachers.

But here again, Atira fought as one who’d been taught by the need to survive. She had the keenness of a blade that was used to kill, not displayed on a wall.

Gods, he loved her. In all her bright, deadly beauty.

Was he wrong, to want to hold her? Heath’s heart clenched in his chest. Was it wrong to think that he and Atira could have what his parents had? Did he have the right to demand that of her? Maybe he should accept what she was willing to give, except they were both capable of so much more.

Why should she say yes to him? Why would he think that she would even consider staying in Xy?

Atira had grown bored with the fight. Heath saw it in her face just before she narrowed her eyes and really went after Lanfer. In the next heartbeat, he was disarmed, down on the ground, staring at the point of her sword.

Lanfer stared up with her in fury.

Atira stepped back and flashed a smile. “My thanks, Lanfer. Well fought.”

Lanfer stood. “Let us go again,” he snapped, reaching for his sword and shield.

“Nay,” Atira replied. She put her sword in her shield hand and wiped her brow. “You do well, but your skills are not much of a challenge. Still,” she gave him a bright smile. “I thank you for the practice.”

In a pig’s eye,
Heath thought. He eyed Lanfer carefully as the man went white with rage, then struggled to get control.

“Very well then.” Lanfer turned away from Atira, leaving his practice weapons lying on the ground. “But you must allow me a rematch.” He turned toward his friends.

“I’d enjoy that,” Atira said, reaching out and groping his ass.

AS SHE SUSPECTED, ATIRA FELT A BANDAGE UNDER her fingers.

Lanfer jerked and spun, his face a mixture of outrage and pain.

Atira opened her eyes wide. “Did I get that custom wrong? Do you not pat each other for a fight well fought?”

“On the back.” Lanfer’s lips thinned as he spoke through his teeth. “Between the shoulders.”

“Ah.” Atira gave him a friendly nod. “My mistake.”

Lanfer walked off stiffly, taking his friends with him, past the giggling kitchen maids and into the castle.

Atira watched him go, letting her smile fade. So Lanfer was behind that attack in the dark hall. She turned to tell Heath, only to find him glaring at her, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” she asked innocently as she retrieved the gear that Lanfer had dropped.

His glare deepened. “You know damn well what the custom is.”

Skies above, it was fun to tease him. She ignored him, moving over to the racks to put the swords and shields away. “Oh, but there are so many customs to remember. How to greet a person, when to take offense.” She glanced over at the roof of the baking ovens. “Which way is down? How is a poor Firelander to remember it all?”

“With your excellent Firelander memory, that’s how,” Heath growled. He tossed the wooden daggers into the basket and picked up his own sword. “Come on.”

Atira gathered up her sword and dagger as Heath stomped over to the well. She could see buckets and towels set out for anyone’s use. A wash would feel lovely.

So would teasing her Heath.

Heath dropped his sword on a nearby bench and threw the bucket into the well. He leaned on the wall, his leathers tightening over his ass. Atira gave them an admiring look as she set her weapons down as well. “You needn’t get so angry.”

“You needn’t feel up Lanfer’s ass, either,” Heath snarled.

“Well, it is a nice one.” Atira tried hard to keep her laughter out of her voice. “Firm and taut.” She moved next to him and leaned against the stone wall of the well. “And well bandaged.”

Heath jerked up and looked at her sharply. “You’re sure?”

“Oh yes.” Atira nodded. “Very sure.”

Heath said nothing, just reached for the rope and started to pull up the bucket. But Atira suppressed a smile at the relief in his face.

“I don’t suppose I could strip to the waist,” Atira said wistfully as he brought the bucket over the side.

“Now, now,” Heath said as he started to do just that. “Women’s breasts are not bared in Xyian society.”

“And that is somehow fair?” Atira grumbled. “My chest and your chest are no different.”

“Yes, they are.” Heath knelt by the bucket and started to splash himself with the water. “And I thank all the gods that they are so very, very different.”

Atira laughed. “Fool. That’s not what I meant.” She reached for a towel and handed it to him.

“I know,” Heath said, toweling off.

Atira dipped her hands in the cold water and splashed her face.

“Later, after the dinner, I’ll show you the hot springs under the castle,” Heath said quietly. “There’s pools for bathing and soaking down there.”

“Together?” Atira asked, toweling herself dry.

“No,” Heath gave her a grin. “Separate.”

“Joy,” Atira grumbled. She picked up her sword, belted it on, and watched as Heath did the same.

“Heath, lad.” Detros hailed them from over by the ring, standing with a group of guards. “Are ya done, then?”

“It’s all yours, Detros.”

Detros gave him a wave and turned to the others. “All right then, lads, let’s be about it.”

The guards started picking wooden weapons as Detros issued instructions.

Heath took care of the bucket as Atira hung the towel close by. “Feeling better?” Atira asked.

Heath sighed. “Aye to that.”

“We need to talk,” Atira said.

“We can sit here in the sun and talk here well enough. In your language, I think,” Heath suggested. “I’ll fetch something to eat.” He turned, headed toward the kitchen.

“And something cold to drink,” Atira called after him. She settled on the bench, leaned back against the cool stone wall, and watched as Heath walked over to Detros and spoke to the man for a moment. After a few words, Heath clapped him on the back and headed for the kitchens.

Detros called one of the guards over and sent him on an errand before he went back to directing the sparring. The old warrior with his paunch stopped his men in mid-stroke and pointed out their mistakes. Atira couldn’t make out everything he said, but his men listened, even those waiting their turns.

Detros backed off and barked a command, and the guards went at it again.

Heath reappeared with a kitchen maid at his side. He was carrying a pitcher of cooled herb tea and two mugs; the maid had a tray.

She placed it on the bench. “You need more, you call me, eh? Best to stay out of the kitchens for now. Your ma, she’s all worked up about the feast.”

Heath gave a mock shudder. “Worse than a battlefield in there.”

“That it is,” the girl laughed. “But it will be worth it all tonight.”

“Marcsi, where are you?” came a cry from the kitchens. “The sauce is burning!”

“Oh Goddess,” the girl said, and ran for the kitchen door.

“You sent word,” Atira asked.

Heath nodded. “I told Detros, and he sent word to my father. Lanfer will be watched.”

Between bites of warm bread smeared with soft white cheese, Atira told Heath what had happened in the senel. Heath listened as he ate, not interrupting, until she had finished.

He waited as she took a sip of the tea. “Will the warriors leave?” Heath asked.

“Not all of them,” Atira said. “Keir has never made a secret of his intentions. But the deaths from illness . . .” she sighed. “There is no honor in that death.”

“No dishonor, either,” Heath pointed out.

“That may be true here in Xy,” Atira said, “but on the Plains?”

Heath shook his head and took a sip of kavage.

“What of the Warprize’s senel?” Atira asked.

Heath sighed and told her, explaining the importance of the paper and the writing that was on it. Atira nodded, so he went on, talking about Lord Reddin’s request.

“I’m sure Durst is behind it,” Heath said, pulling apart the piece of bread in his hand, “but I can’t see why.”

“Words on paper hold a strange power.” Atira tore another hunk of bread from the loaf. “They are always the same, unyielding in their truth.”