Warprize (45 page)

Marcu and I were surrounded by horses and riders, which spilled out beyond the road as we moved. Keir had ordered that I travel at the center of this moving mass of warriors and horses. Even so, I knew that my guards would not be far away. Rafe and Prest were ahead of us. “Rafe!”

Marcus jerked his head beneath his cloak, and muttered.

Fall was upon us, but the day was fine, and the sun warm on our backs. Regardless, Marcus rode cloaked, wrapped well lest the skies be offended by his scars. Yet another aspect of these people that I didn’t understand.

Rafe turned and waved, and he and Prest slowed their mounts so that we could catch up with them. Marcus grumbled, but maneuvered his mount between them.

“Rafe, see that plant?” I tried to point it out to him as we moved.

“Plant?” Rafe looked in confusion at the ground. “Warprize…”

“The pale one; the one that looks like moss, but its butter-colored.”

Rafe shrugged. “Wouldn’t it be easier to pick it yourself?”

I rolled my eyes in frustration. “Marcus won’t stop!”

Rafe let his laughter ring out, then Prest reached over and grabbed the halter of our horse. Marcus exclaimed bitterly, but Prest guided us out of the crush, and off to the side where he pulled the horses to a stop.

I started to wiggle off, but Marcus would have none of it. “You are to stay off those feet, you are.”

“Marcus—”

Rafe swung down off his horse. “Point it out to me, Warprize and I’ll get you handfuls.”

Epor and Isdra came up besides us. “Problem?” Isdra asked.

“Herself wants to be picking weeds.” Marcus grumbled.

“Bloodmoss.” I corrected him. “That’s the one, Rafe. Let me see.”

Epor snickered slightly as Rafe bent to the task of getting the plants. I noticed that Isdra gave him an amused look and reached over to nudge his leg. He caught her hand, and raised it to his lips. I look away, embarrassed at such a display.

Rafe held up a handful of leaves and plants, their torn roots tangling. “Which one, Warprize?”

I heard a pounding of hooves behind us, even as I reached for the plants. Marcus heaved a sigh. “That’ll be the youngin‘.”

It was Gils, all right, riding his horse at breakneck speed along the army, grinning like a madman. It cheered me to see his simple pleasure in racing his horse like the wind. Marcus grumbled, bu the others smiled and made room as Gils galloped to my side.

“Cadr came to see me, Warprize! To ask for help with a bad boil.” He smiled broadly at me, his curly red hair dancing in the breeze, his words spilling out. “I told him that I would ask you, that I had to consult with my Master.”

I grinned back at him, the young Firelander that had declared himself my apprentice. While Keir had decreed that he had to keep his place as a warrior for now, his secondary duties were to act as my helper. At least until we reached the Heart of the Plains. I’d used every spare minute to give him lessons. “Good. With any luck I can show you how to lance it. But first, Gils, remember what I told you about bloodmoss?” Gils nodded, but I didn’t give him time to answer. I grabbed the soft yellow leaves out of Rafe’s hands, scattering the rest. “It’s there, right there, Gils. Get some for me.”

The army continued past as he swung down to join Rafe in picking the plants. The others had gone on alert, something I doubt they were even aware of, moving their horses to encircle us. Even though we were traveling in the center of the Warlord’s army, their instincts were to safeguard. There was no danger in being left behind, since the army was moving at a walk, and was spread out over what seemed to me to be miles.

“Prest, do you have any ehat leather to spare?” Epor asked.

“Yes.” Prest cast a look over his shoulder. “You have a need?”

“The handle of my club needs rewrapping.”

“He fancies ehat for the grip.” Isdra explained.

“Would take a piece the size of an ehat to wrap that fool weapon of yours.” Marcus groused.

I glanced over at Epor, who had his club fastened to his back in some kind of harness. It was a long thick piece of wood, half again as long as my arm, with metal studs along the length of the top. “What’s wrong with his weapon?”

Rafe popped up next to my leg, bloodmoss in two hands. “Marcus doesn’t approve, Warprize.”

Marcus grunted. “Too slow and unwieldy.”

“For you,” Epor responded, as if this were an old argument. “I prefer a weapon where if I hit the enemy, the enemy goes down and stays down.” Epor gave me a saucy grin and a wink.

I gave Rafe a look, and he laughed at my confusion. “Warprize, a club is a two-handed weapon, best used by a big man with strength in his arms and chest. Like Epor or Prest.”

“Not you?” I asked.

Rafe shook his head. “I’m one for speed. Quicker with a sword or dagger. Isdra, Gils or I would strike twice for every one of Epor’s blows.” His eyebrows danced as he gave Marcus a quick glance. “Or once for every three blows from Marcus with those daggers of his.”

Epor laughed, his blond hair gleaming in the sun. “Ah, but in need, even you or Isdra could use it two-handed.”

Rafe nodded. “Maybe. If I was desperate.”

“Or insane.” Isdra added.

Prest dismounted, and dug through his packs, pulling out a fold of dark leather. He handed it to Epor, who nodded his thanks. “I’ll replace it, Prest, after the next ehat hunt.”

“What exactly is a—”

Gils popped up and handed me a bunch of leaves, laughing up at me. “How much of this you want?”

I smiled at him. “As much as I can get, Gils. Do you remember what it can do?”

He gave me a scornful look. “I’s know, Warprize.” He bent to his task, his voice taking on a chanting tone. “Bloodmoss is for packing wounds. It grows at the site of great battles. It will not bind to the flesh, will not stick in the scabs. It seems to aid healing, fighting infection and closing the wound. It absorbs as much blood as it can, and when you are done with it you should scatter it about, for the plant will use the blood to take root and grow.” He stood, his hands full of more leaves.

Marcus groaned. “A blood-sucking plant. More knowledge than I need.”

I was pleased. But Gils’s memory had never been a problem in his lessons. It was the practical application of the information that was the problem. My feet had been a good example. It’s one thing to talk about cleaning and treating an infected wound. It’s another to work on a wiggling patient who couldn’t help but jerk her feet at every touch. Finally, in frustration Marcus had me lay on my stomach, and he and Keir held my feet as Gils cleaned them. The boy had done the best he could, but the right foot had become infected. An angry, red, and puss-filled wound, which the poor lad had to clean out with an angry and worried Keir hanging over his shoulder.

I leaned forward, holding my hand in front of Marcus’s face. “It’s wonderful, Marcus. Give me your knife and I’ll show you how it works.”

“Skies above.” Marcus jerked his head back and the horse danced beneath us. “It’s more like you’ll cut your hand off. Not with my knife!”

Isdra laughed, and moved her horse closer. “Show me, Warprize.” She pulled her knife and sliced deep into the meat beneath her thumb. Blood welled up quickly.

I took the leaves and twisted them, crushing their fibers. A strong scent of mold rose into my nostrils. “Take this and press it to the cut.”

Isdra wiped her blade clean on her trous and sheathed it, then used her fingers to press the mass to the cut. The leaves turned color almost immediately as it drank up the blood, changing to a pale green. Gils craned his head to see, and Isdra lowered her hand to let him get a good look. At my nod, she pulled the leaves away. The skin was healed, with only an angry red line left to show she’d been hurt. Isdra held her hand up to show the others, and let the used leaves fall to the ground.

Prest and Rafe were clearly impressed, and Rafe started to gather the crop in earnest. Gils knelt, staring at the bloody leaves intently. I watched for a minute, then smiled. “Gils, I don’t think it will take root while you watch.”

“Oh.” He was clearly disappointed as he started to gather more.

“And what do we have to be careful of when we use this plant?” I asked him gently.

He frowned a bit, then his face cleared. “Not to use it on a dirty wound. It will seal the dirt inside, if you are not careful.” He bit his lip. “I could not have used it on your feet.”

Marcus grunted at that. “Does it have to be fresh?”

“I was told that it works just as well dried, just not quite so quickly.”

“I can think of other uses.” Isdra smiled slyly. “It would be handy at moon times. Would it grow on the Plains?”

I flushed even as I shrugged. She spoke so casually about something that wasn’t discussed out loud by my people.

Epor had dismounted, and was looking at the leaves he was holding. His horse nosed his hand, but threw its head up when he offered it the leaves. “Would it work on a horse?”

“Why is it always about horses with you people?” I snapped, suddenly irritated.

There was an uncomfortable silence. The surprised looks on their faces made my pique vanish. I looked down at Marcus’s back and mumbled. “I don’t know.”

Gils, bless his youth, was oblivious. “How much will you want, Warprize?” His arms were filled with his pickings.

“As much as we can take.” I looked around, amazed to see that the little plant was spread through the grass as far as I could see. “Two handfuls in each warrior’s kit would be useful in case of injury.”

Gils quickly handed out his crop, making sure that each had at least two handfuls. Even Marcus took a supply. Gils placed his own in his saddlebags and then mounted. “I’ll pass the word, Warprize. Two-handfuls”

“Tell them to dry it well, Gils.” I called after him as he galloped off. “We’ll see to Cadr once we stop for the night.”

Rafe mounted up as well, and Marcus headed us back toward the army at a more sedate walk. “Hisself will not like his warriors stopping to pick posies.”

“They all have to pass water at some point, don’t they?” I pointed out.

Rafe laughed, but Marcus just grunted.

As we returned to our position in the flowing mass of warriors, Marcus was careful to thread his way back into the direct center. Rafe and Prest rode ahead of us a little ways, and Epor and Isdra faded behind us. They didn’t really try to maintain any kind of positions, since there were warriors all around us. I shifted, trying to get comfortable, and tried not to sigh in Marcus’s ear.

Marcus must have heard me, for he cleared his throat. “Epor meant no offense, Warprize.”

“I know, Marcus.”

I yawned, tired now that the excitement was over. It had been a brief change from the monotony of the days since Keir had taken me up on his horse and reclaimed me as his Warprize. I fingered the leaves that I still held in my hand. Eln would be so pleased to hear that bloodmoss thrived in this area. I could send him a plant with the next messenger, dig it up, roots and all, and wrap it in wet cloth. Even his dour face would crack with a smile at the sight. I’d laugh to see it—except that I wouldn’t be there.

Suddenly, it all seemed too much. A flood of sickness rose up in my body, a sickness of the heart for which there was no cure. I was all to familiar with this feeling, for I was sick for my home, for the castle and the people that I’d left behind in Water’s Fall. For Anna’s stew and Heath’s teasing, and my old room with its four familiar stone walls. I sighed again, trying not to feel sorry for myself and failing.

“You’ve not been yourself, Warprize.” Marcus had his head turned, and I could just see his nose and lips under the hood of the cloak. His voice dropped to a low gentle tone. “You’re not eating, and I’m thinking that you’re not sleeping either.”

I watched the ground pass below us. “I’m fine.”

“Are you pregnant?”

I dropped my head onto his back and groaned. “Marcus…”

“It’s a fair question.” Marcus replied. “Our women take precautions in the field, but you Xyians have such strange ways…”

“I am not pregnant.” I growled. I didn’t want to think about that, although he was right. I hadn’t taken any precautions.

My courses were due any day. But the idea of being pregnant raised issues that I didn’t want to consider.

“Then what is wrong, Lara?”

The fact that he was using my name told me that he was worried. I opened my mouth, but the truth would not come. “I’m fine, Marcus. Truly.”

He snorted. “As you say, Warprize.” He stiffened in the saddle, and I knew that I had upset him. This scarred little man had come to mean a great deal to me within a short period of time. He was fiercely loyal to his Warlord, and I was included in that loyalty. I wasn’t sure that was by virtue of my own self, or that fact that I was Keir’s chosen Warprize. Regardless, how could I confide my worries and fears to him? He already held Xyians in contempt on general principals. My fretful complaints could only heap wood on that fire.

I settled for an obvious question. “When do you think we’ll stop for the night?”

“A few hours yet, Warprize. Hisself will keep us moving until we lose the light.”

“Why is he in such a hurry?”

“Hisself has his reasons. You’re to be confirmed when we reach the Heart of the Plains, and the sooner the better.” Marcus’s tone was a clear indication that the topic was now settled.

I looked about for a different distraction, and caught a glimpse of Epor reaching over to tug on Isdra’s braid. “Epor seems sweet on Isdra.”

“Eh?” Marcus growled. “Sweet? What means this?”

I floundered for the unfamiliar words. “That he cares for her.”

There was an unnatural pause. I leaned forward. “Marcus?”

“They are bonded.” He spoke grudgingly, almost as if the words caused him pain. “Do you not see the ear spirals?”

“Bonded? Is that the same as married?” I twisted about, trying to get a better look at their ears, but Marcus had apparently grown weary of me.

“Ask Epor. Or Isdra.” His tone was curt and he whistled, somehow catching Prest’s attention. Prest raised a hand, and started to move back toward us. Because I was a burden on the horse, I was traded off every hour so as not to tire any one animal. The elements forbid that a horse be over-tried. I was starting to feel like a package in a trading caravan.