The uproar was getting louder and intense and drawing even more attention. Everyone around them had an opinion, and wished to be heard.

Snowfall stood in the center of the challenge circle, ignoring it all, her calm gaze focused on Simus. The morning sun made her sweet brown skin glow bronze. She stood with her hip cocked to one side, two oddly crooked long-knives belted at her waist. She had abandoned the traditional dress of a warrior-priestess. She still wore leather trous, but her chest was covered by a sleeveless leather corselet that laced up the front. Her shoulders were bare, but for the tattoos that capped them. There was a tightness in those muscular shoulders, but Simus couldn’t fault her for that.

Destal was screaming at the woman, standing at the edge of the circle. “You dare? You, who have never done service under a Warlord? Never seen battle? Never taken oaths of service?” She put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I am going to thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

“You may try.” Snowfall shrugged, as if it was of no matter.

Destal bared her teeth and started to pull her blade.

“SILENCE,” Simus bellowed.

Everyone froze, jaws snapping shut mid-word.

“Sit, all of you,” Simus ordered.

He was obeyed, everyone sitting, cross-legged, sorting themselves out as the crowd settled. Snowfall still stood, facing him. But Simus noted that she glanced around as those closest to her eased down to the ground, and some of the tautness left her.

Some, not all. She was right to be wary. None of his people had any love for warrior-priests.

Yers and Joden both appeared, threaded their way through the crowd and sat closest to Simus. Simus gave them each a nod, but stood silent until he was sure he had everyone’s attention.

“Warrior-priestess Snowfall, what in the name of skies do you do here?” Simus asked mildly.

She didn’t change her stance, just lifted that heart-shaped chin a little and met his eye.

“I offer challenge to Destal for the right to serve as your Token-bearer.”

Those grey eyes still had hidden depths, but this was far more at stake here than a sharing of bodies. Whether she knew it or not, Snowfall had presented him with a decision that would test his leadership as Warlord.

“You cannot.” Simus kept his voice at a moderate tone. “Before you can offer challenge for Token-bearer, you must first offer me your sword. You have not.”

“I would do so,” Snowfall responded.

Simus narrowed his gaze at her. “You cannot. You are under oath to Wild Winds.”

“I am not.” Snowfall glanced to the north and Simus saw a flash of pain deep in her grey eyes before she turned her attention back to him. “Wild Winds has released me from his service.”

A murmur of surprise rose around them, and Simus found himself almost without words. “Why would he do that?”

Snowfall drew in a deep breath. “Wild Winds says we, the warrior-priests, are no longer what we were, and in what we were, we erred. That we, the warrior-priests, must become other than what we were and are, and yes, while I know that his words are cryptic, more I cannot say. I am—” She paused. “I was his student in-training. His thoughts are beyond my full understanding.”

Joden stood and looked to Simus for permission. At Simus’s nod, he addressed Snowfall. “You understand if you give Warlord Simus your oath and lose the challenge to be his Token-bearer, you are still bound to serve him? The oath binds you, even in defeat,” Joden pointed out. “You understand this?”

“I do,” Snowfall said. “If it cannot be that I serve as Token-bearer, still I have a place within this camp and duties of service owed to the Warlord.”

“You’ll be given scut work,” Destal snarled from where she sat. “The newest of the new will rank above you and—”

“Destal,” Simus warned.

Destal stood and appealed to Simus. “Warlord, she has no skills.”

“I served Wild Winds in the same office,” Snowfall said. “There is no difference with a Warlord, surely. Pots must still be cleaned and linens washed.”

A faint murmur of amusement washed through the crowd. At Simus’s gesture, Destal sat down with a huff.

“With respect, Warlord,” Yers rose to his feet. “She knows nothing of our ways, never having served within an army. And she and her kind are not to be trusted.”

“You do not hold my token.” Snowfall’s voice was cold. “And your words are offensive.”

“Warrior-priests offer no tokens.” Yers didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on Simus.

“I do and I will,” Snowfall said, pulling out a square of red silk. “Wild Winds gave it to me, saying that I would have a need.”

Simus stood, shaking his head. “I do not understand this.” He gestured toward her and the challenge circle. “Why would you do this?”

“Do you doubt my oaths, once given?” Snowfall asked, twisting the silk in her hands, the first sign of worry he’d seen in her.

“No,” he said slowly. “I would have no doubt of oaths given to me, for they will be taken before the elements for all the skies to see.” He smiled slightly. “But you must admit, Snowfall, that this is not a path taken by a warrior-priestess before.”

“I am not a warrior-priestess.” Snowfall’s face didn’t change, but there was a sadness in her tone. “Wild Winds says that we are not what we were, so we must become what we are. I will swear an oath to you for this season, and then I will contest for Token-bearer. What happens after that is only for the skies to know.

“But this I do know. A leather belt does not re-stitch itself together. If I am silent, who will speak to mend the mistakes of the past?” Snowfall spread her hands out. “If I do not speak of peace and understanding, if I do not reach out to bridge the gap between what we were and what we will become, who will?”

Simus’s stomach clenched, thinking of another who’d spoken of peace and died for it. At least Snowfall had the good sense to have a weapon at hand.

A cough drew his attention to the back of the crowd, where Lander and Ouse, the first warriors to pledge to him, were rising to their feet. They each looked at the other, then Ouse nudged Lander’s shoulder. “Warlord,” Lander’s voice cracked nervously.

“Speak,” Simus said.

“We told you of our part in the journey of the Sacrifice,” Lander said. “This warrior-priestess, she was the one who came to the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer and offered herself as hostage to them.” He stood a little straighter and his voice grew stronger. “She came unarmed, and was true to her oaths with us, Warlord. We would speak for her.”

Simus gestured, and everyone resumed their seats. The challenge banners flapped in the morning breeze, and Simus raised his eyes to the skies and considered. Was she to be trusted?

The skies held no answers. It was up to him to decide.

He chose to trust.

He lowered his gaze back to the waiting crowd. “I will accept your oath, Snowfall.”

There were gasps, then silence as she pulled her blades, knelt before him and swore her oath.

“My first command is that you are to use none of your powers without my knowledge and permission.”

That got him a startled glance of grey eyes that fell away, hidden under dark lashes. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. There was a long pause before she spoke.

“I obey, Warlord.” Snowfall rose to her feet in one swift, graceful move.

“Further,” Simus said, “you may challenge for Token-bearer.”

Destal leapt to her feet, snarling. “I will kill you, bragnect.”

“It is not my wish that you kill her, Destal,” Simus said calmly.

“Is that an order, Warlord?” Destal snapped.

“It is if it needs to be,” Simus replied coolly.

Destal glanced at his face and looked away. “That will not be necessary, Warlord.”

“Quartis, will you judge?” Simus asked the Singer.

“It would be my honor,” Quartis responded quickly.

“Whoever wins should serve me my kavage,” Simus announced, turned, and went into his tent. The roar behind him indicated that the crowd was on its feet and had already chosen sides.

The clamor almost drowned out the voices of Yers, Joden, and Seo as they followed him within.

“What are you thinking?” Yers demanded.

“Haya will not be pleased,” Seo announced as they moved further into the depths of the tent, the better to hear one another. “She bears no love for warrior-priests.”

“Where is the Elder Thea?” Simus asked.

Seo beamed, his tanned face turning into a mass of wrinkles. “She’s trying to pry knowledge from that healer. She knows no Xyian, so he keeps speaking louder and slower as Cadr tries to translate. It’s going like a grassfire. I suspect that Haya may burst from sheer frustration.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Yers demanded again. “She is one of them.”

Simus sat on his gurtle pad at the head of the room. “I doubt she will survive the challenges. But if she does, as a warrior under my command she is a valuable source of knowledge about the warrior-priests, and she is sworn to my service.” Simus raised his eyes to Yers. “And you forget yourself.”

Yers drew a deep breath, clearly calming himself. “Warlord, I would be doing less than my duty to you if I did not point out that you are making a mistake. You yourself reminded us that the position held by Marcus is not the traditional role of a Token-bearer. You would have her speak for you? A warrior-priestess?”

Joden looked troubled. “Simus, he is not wrong. The choice—”

“The ultimate choice is mine,” Simus said. “At the end of the Trials, I pick my Token-bearer from those that have won the right to contest for it. It is a process, not an elimination. Allowing her to challenge is no risk to me.”

A roar came from outside the flap.

“But it allows her within your camp, and confidences,” Yers said. “If she doesn’t poison your kavage, or attempt to bewitch you with her powers. What would Warlord Keir think of this if he were here? He’d never trust—”

“Keir is not here,” Simus hardened his voice. “I will be Warlord within my own right. And have you not given me your oath?”

Yers dropped his gaze and lowered himself to one knee. “Yes, Warlord.”

“Do you wish to rescind your oath?” Simus pressed.

“No, Warlord,” Yers said, his eyes still down.

“No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Simus stated firmly. “I will see this done as best I know how, knowing our goals. But the choices and decisions are mine to make.” Simus paused. “If you feel differently, give me your token, tell me your truths, and I will release you from my service.”

There was silence, then Yers bowed his head. “No, Warlord, I obey.”

“Like Keir, I wish to hear your truths,” Simus said. “But in the end, I will make my decisions and expect to be obeyed. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Warlord,” Yers said. With that, he seated himself at Simus’s side.

Simus glanced at Joden, who said nothing, then turned to look at Seo. The older man gave him a nod. Was that approval from his old weapons-master? He had to be mistaken.

Seo’s wrinkled face folded into a smile. “Can’t wait to tell this to Haya. She’ll have a few things to say, that is certain.”

The tent flap flew open, and Destal stomped through, a look of rage on her face and a cut on her cheek. Snowfall followed behind her, her face calm, her knives sheathed. They disappeared into the serving area, and Simus found himself holding his breath, listening. But there was only silence and the clatter of pottery.

Finally, Snowfall emerged carrying a pitcher of kavage and mugs. She walked up to them, still cool and calm. “Kavage, Warlord?”

“Yes, Token-bearer.” Simus took the mug from her hand.

Snowfall turned and offered kavage to Yers, who declined, and then to Joden and Seo, who both took a mug. She then turned back to Simus. “Should I raise your challenge banner, Warlord?”

“Yes,” Simus took a sip of the kavage.

“More warriors would ask permission to challenge for Token-bearer, Warlord,” Snowfall said calmly. “They are lining up outside.”

“Send them in,” Simus instructed.

Snowfall nodded, set the kavage pitcher down at his side, and walked out of the tent.

“That woman is in for one hard day,” Simus mused. “Meanwhile, we have work to attend to.”

 

 

Simus approved some handful of challengers, and then left the tent through the back way to oversee the placement of the thea camp with a very cranky Second. Simus was willing to give Yers time to adjust to his decision, but he wasn’t going to tolerate much else. They both concentrated on the duties before them, and when a warrior informed them that Destal had left on a long-range hunt, neither made comment to the other.

All during what was left of the morning, Simus was approached by warriors wishing to challenge for Token-bearer. Except for a few clearly unsuitable candidates, who had no skills to be a Token-bearer, and a few hotheads spoiling for a fight, he granted the requests.

But by the time the sun was almost at its height he was tired, and hungry and curious, so he returned to his tent with two of his Tenths.

Snowfall was facing another opponent, her wicked knives out and flashing, and had him cut before Simus drew close.

“Done,” Quartis the Singer declared. “With Snowfall the winner.”

The loser offered his surrender, and Snowfall took the dagger with a nod. She had quite a nice pile of them at the base of the pole.

“Quartis, have you been judging all morning?” Simus asked. “I thank you for your service.”

“As do I,” Snowfall added softly.

“It was an honor,” Quartis grinned. “And I will return after the nooning to continue, for I wish to see how this song will end.”

“I would offer food—”

“My thanks, Simus, but Haya will gut me if I do not find her and tell her the tale so far,” Quartis said as he headed off toward the thea camp.

“Take down the challenge banners,” Simus ordered, even as another challenger came up to the circle. The warrior looked about to protest, but Simus fixed him with a glare. “She will raise her banner again shortly,” he said. “But first I want my nooning.

“Which I will take privately,” he continued, turning to the Tenths. “Deny me to any who seek me out for this nooning. Let them know I’ll speak with them later. I will send messages when I am ready.”

The Tenths gave him a nod, and settled down on watch.

Snowfall was standing in front of the tent entrance, the banners in her hands.

Simus held open the tent flap. “In,” he ordered.

Snowfall obeyed.