Destal sucked in a breath, but Simus knew it was already too late. He was within the circle and a Singer was at hand. And if the eyes of the fearful warrior now glittered with hate, well, Simus had no one to blame but himself.

She’d made her intent clear enough. Simus gave her no quarter. He crossed the circle at a run, ramming into her shield with the shoulder of his sword arm.

She stumbled back, not expecting his rush. It put her off balance, but she managed to keep her shield up, and swing with her mace. Simus grunted but took the hit in order to strike upward with his dagger.

She failed to block him. He thrust the blade deep into her throat, hitting gristle and bone.

The glitter in her eyes vanished. She collapsed to the ground.

Simus stood over her body, breathing hard. For a moment, no one moved.

The Singer cleared his throat. “Done,” he said, “with Simus the Hawk the winner.”

‘The survivor,’ Simus thought grimly as he sheathed his sword. He leaned down, feeling the burning of rising bruises along his ribs and grabbed the dead woman’s mace. Blood still dripped from his dagger onto the ground.

Two warriors approached and both went to one knee before him. “Warlord,” one said. “We were of her camp, and would see to her.”

Simus gave them a nod, and they stepped forward to pick up the body. The onlookers moved away, talking quietly among themselves.

Simus added the mace to his weapons rack, making sure it was easily seen. He grabbed up a cloth and started to clean his dagger. Joden appeared from around the tent and stood silent at his aide.

“A change in tone, indeed,” Simus growled under his breath, angry at himself for not taking the challenge seriously, and for letting her past his guard. His ribs would ache for some time to come. He turned away from the rack to watch the departing warriors with the body between them.

“What was behind that, I wonder?” Joden murmured, as he watched as well. “Did she decide on her own to make a death challenge, or was she sent?”

“Can you find out?” Simus asked.

Destal stood close. “Let me send someone else instead. Joden is a bit too...obvious. But this is hardly a surprise. Warlord, you are going to be a target for—”

“I, PIVE OF THE SNAKE, CHALLENGE FOR WARLORD,” a voice boomed from behind them, and something hard smacked into Simus’s calf.

Simus reacted swiftly and instinctively, jumping forward to gain space from his attacker, then spinning to face him as he drew his sword and dagger. Joden and Destal each jumped to the side, their own weapons out and facing the threat.

Simus’s heart leapt in his throat as his blades came to bear on his attacker—

—a small girl-child, who barely came up to his waist, wielding a wooden sword and dagger, holding them in the position for another assault.

Simus stared.

The child was frozen, her wide eyes taking in his blade hovering inches from her head. “I—” her voice cracked high in fear.

“Pive,” came an older, calm voice. “Hold.”

Simus knew that voice. He rolled his eyes in its direction, as did the girl-child.

Haya of the Snake stood there, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Dea-mine,” Simus blurted out in astonishment.

Haya raised an eyebrow at him. Simus flushed with embarrassment, but Haya paid him no mind. She focused instead on the girl. “Pive, you have erred. You have attacked an adult warrior, one fresh from a challenge. You struck with no warning and no ritual, and he would be within his rights to kill you.”

Pive swallowed hard, her face screwed up with anger and fear. Simus could see tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“What say you, Pive?” Haya demanded.

The child lowered her weapons, her shoulders sagging in defeat. Her mouth was trembling as she offered her wooden dagger to Simus, placing the blunted point at her heart. “I offer my sur-surrender, Warlord.”

Simus sheathed his weapons, and took her dagger, careful not to smile at this smallest of warriors. “I accept your surrender.”

“Pive...” Haya chided her.

Pive sighed, and gave over her sword to Simus as well.

“Go back and join the others,” Haya said and the girl was off in a flash.

There was an awkward moment as the adults recovered themselves under Haya’s gaze.

“Greetings, Elder Thea Haya,” Simus recovered first. He offered the wooden weapons to Haya, but she shook her head, and gestured toward the rack.

“Impetuous, that one,” Haya said. “She needs to learn consequences.”

Simus snorted softly, but racked the weapons accordingly.

“So, you are not yet a Warlord, I see,” Haya observed. She cast her eye over Joden. “And you, not yet Singer?”

“I—” Joden stumbled. “It is good to see you, Thea. You look well,” he finished lamely.

Haya snorted. “Seo will join us shortly. He is checking locations for our camp.”

“Our weaponsmaster is here, too?” Joden blurted out, his dread clear.

“You brought your thea camp to the Heart?” Simus asked with a strong sense of impending doom. “In the Spring?”

“Yes.” Haya walked over to the tent flap. “We have much to discuss. Perhaps you will offer me the courtesy of your tent? Offer kavage?”

Destal scrambled forward. “Allow me to see to your comfort, Elder Thea.”

They both disappeared within Simus’s tent.

Joden puffed out his cheeks and let his breath out slowly.

Simus rolled his eyes. “Theas,” he whispered in resignation.

Joden nodded.

“Perhaps you’ll join me?” Haya’s raised voice came through the flap.

They both hastened to obey.

 

 

Snowfall glowered at Simus’s tent from her hiding place in the deep grass. Rare anger coursed through her; her tattoos tight and tense on her skin. She’d found the flaw, sure enough.

Simus of the Hawk was an arrogant idiot.

He’d walked into the challenge circle, acting all put-upon, like an arrogant fool. No warning, none of his people had checked, the man was blessed by the elements to be alive, much less the victor.

He’d reacted quickly, and took his opponent down fast and hard, but still. He never should have entered the circle unprepared. Snowfall faulted him for that, but she also faulted his people. His Token-bearer especially.

Snowfall had watched Simus fight, but she’d also watched her potential opponent in the ring. Destal was good, true, but not good enough. Snowfall looked forward to challenging her.

Simus of the Hawk had no caution. He needed protection; needed someone to watch his back. Destal was not the one to do this. What would happen if he failed in this? How could the Plains unify under the Council of Elders if the fool got himself—

The pounding of feet came at her and children ran past her, heedless of the tall grasses and established paths.

Snowfall hunched down.

The Heart was becoming too crowded, too difficult to travel even hidden. And now, with a thea camp added, well...

She needed to retreat to her camp, but it would be best if she waited until the camp had settled and the sun was a bit further behind the horizon. She’d plenty to think on in the meantime.

“Look deeper,” Wild Winds had said, and as was almost always the case, her master...her former master was right. There was more there than pomp and arrogance.

He’d impressed her when he’d treated those young warriors with dignity, taking their oaths seriously, and welcoming them into his service.

He’d impressed her more when the horses had arrived loaded with supplies—and those saddles. Skies above, Snowfall had never seen a new saddle before, only those looted or stolen at war. Certainly, she’d never had one. The warrior-priests took the best for themselves and the leavings were for those in training. But Simus hadn’t even blinked at new weapons, new saddles, and ordered them distributed to his people based on their needs.

She had not expected such fairness from him.

Voices were raised, calling the children to order, and back to their tents. Snowfall didn’t move; patience was a form of protection in and of itself.

There was one more thing about Simus, and this one made Snowfall chew her lip and wish she could contact Wild Winds to talk of it with him.

Simus of the Hawk had mourned a city-dweller.

She would not have believed it if she hadn’t followed him, and seen with her own eyes. His words, his prayer, his tears all spoke of a great truth, that he had lost a friend.

A city-dweller.

Snowfall shivered, and then forced herself to concentrate on her power, flowing into the veil that kept her hidden.

If Simus could mourn someone so different than a warrior of the Plains, then maybe...maybe he would listen to a warrior-priestess. Or whatever she was now.

Snowfall swallowed hard and shoved the thought away. She didn’t even know herself, and that was terrifying and exciting at the same time and in the same breath.

The area around her was clear enough. She started to crawl off, taking care to keep herself concealed.

Time to prepare. She’d sharpen her knives, see to her meal and her rest, and then when dawn came—

Let it be as the elements willed.

 

 

“So you brought your thea camp to the Heart?” Simus asked again after they had settled within his tent, kavage and gurt all around. Haya had told them of her hostile encounter with Antas of the Boar. Weaponsmaster Seo had joined them, as had a Singer, one Quartis by name. Yers settled on a gurtle pad, eyeing Haya warily. Joden sat next to Simus, as silent as Simus had ever seen him.

“I have,” Haya said.

“The entire camp?”

“All,” Haya confirmed calmly. “Down to the last newborn and gurtle in our herds.”

“This is not wise, Haya,” Simus said, feeling like he was pointing out the obvious. “Live children around live steel? It is asking for trouble.”

“Wise enough, young one, to take the action I must to protect what I have sworn to shelter.”

“But I can’t offer—”

“You can and you will.” Haya held up her mug for more kavage. Destal moved hastily to fill it. “For isn’t that the truth of your message? That you and Keir will protect the children? Provide a better future for them?”

“I—” Simus had no answer for that. “The thea camps have always protected themselves well enough.”

“Do not challenge your thea’s decision,” Seo growled.

Simus rubbed his hands over his face. “Elder Thea—” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

“It is clear to me that Antas is a threat,” Haya said. “The added strength of your warriors combined with mine will see to it that he makes no moves. That, and the nearness of the Council.”

“The Council of Elders in the Spring is not attended by the theas,” Joden said carefully.

Haya shrugged, as if that was a matter of no importance.

Yers chimed in. “We could widen the perimeter of the camp and bring the children within its circle. The herds could remain outside, under guard.”

“I do not think Antas seeks the animals,” Seo said firmly. “He seeks control of the thea camp itself.”

“Spread the word among my warriors that children roam the camp,” Simus said to Yers. “Warn them, or else that Pive might not be so lucky the second time.” He offered Haya a smile. “That one will be a Warlord someday.”

“If she survives bearing five children,” Haya said starkly. “Survives the pain that is a life-bearer’s to bear.”

Simus went silent for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I do,” Haya said. “Every day. For they are my charges. Why do you think that Reness supports these ideas of yours and Keir’s? Because theas know the true price in death that the Plains pay.”

“There is a healer here,” Simus said. “Sent from Xy. With supposedly the same skills as the Warprize.”

“Ah.” Haya nodded. “I have heard much of the healing skills of the Warprize. I will have words with this healer. In the meantime, I’ve a camp to see to.” She rose to her feet, Seo and Quartis following her example. “And you’ve a title to win, Simus of the Hawk. See to it that you rest well this night. And have the healer see to that injury you are trying to hide.”

With that she was gone, Seo and Quartis after her.

 

 

In the morning, Simus felt worse than he had the night before, but that was to be expected with such bruising.

Yers and Destal raised their challenge banners at dawn, but Simus sent for the healer, drank the bitter tea he made, rubbed on an ointment that smelt of mint, and squirmed back into his pallet for another hour or so. Warlord’s privilege, he thought drowsily to himself as he faded back off to sleep.

Only to awaken to a commotion of angry and bitter words from a gathering crowd outside his tent. He grumbled as he pulled on trous and his armor, stomped into boots and burst from his tent into their midst.

“What now?” Simus roared, silencing the crowd with his outburst. “Are horses demanding to speak truths at a senel? Are the skies falling? Or rain falling up?”

“She offers challenge!” Destal was in Simus’s face, enraged. “To me! For Token-bearer!”

“Who?” Simus demanded.

“I do,” a cool voice answered him.

Simus looked over—

—to find Snowfall standing in the center of the challenge circle, her grey eyes cool and collected, her arms crossed over her chest.