“I call this senel to order,” Simus announced, letting his joy and satisfaction ring in his voice.

From the faces around him, the warriors shared his pleasure.

They may have set a temporary camp with no large tents, but they’d done him proud with braziers heaped high, the flames burning merrily. The light surrounded the group with a golden glow, one that could probably be seen for miles since the sun had dipped beyond the horizon.

Simus stood among them and raised his hands. “The fire warms us,” he recited.

The crowd responded, their voice rising together. “We thank the elements.”

Simus raised his voice a bit louder and stronger. “The earth supports us.”

“We thank the elements,” they responded, raising their voices with his.

Simus let joy fill his voice. “The waters sustain us.”

“We thank the elements,” came the echoing response.

“The air fills us,” Simus said, booming out the words.

“We thank the elements,” his people shouted in adulation.

Simus grinned in shared pleasure, and his words echoed in the air. “We thank the elements, for their gifts to the People of the Plains.”

“Heyla,” was shouted by all.

Simus waited for them to settle. “We have fought together for many a season under Keir of the Cat,” he said. “We have faced dangers and enemies no other warriors of the Plains have confronted, and we have emerged alive, our weapons still sharp.” He took a deep breath and let his smile grow wide. “It is fitting then, that I declare my intent to you, to enter the Trials and become Warlord in this season.”

Shouts of “Heyla,” erupted from all around. Simus couldn’t resist a glance at Joden, seated at his side. His friend met him grin for grin.

“Joden of the Hawk intends to take the path to Singer this season as well. As such, as is our way, he takes no sword oaths to any warrior. His oaths will be to the Plains themselves if he succeeds in his Singer Trials.” Simus bowed his head toward his friend. “Until such time, we will have his company and his truths—”

“Not to mention his songs!” Yers added, his white skin, dark brown hair, and crooked nose gleaming in the firelight. Simus joined the laughter.

“Truth!” Simus said. “Now, as is tradition, I would ask that Joden recite the rules of the Spring Trials for us.” Simus settled back down on his gurtle pad.

Joden rose, his broad face flushed with pleasure. “I am honored,” he said, and then raised his right hand, palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”

The response rose from every throat, including Simus’s. “We will remember.”

Joden lowered his hand. “Now begins the Spring Trials, when all may challenge for a place in the armies of the Warlords of the Plains.”

His audience was still, and silent.

“Battle is for survival, for gain.” Joden’s voice was a melodic chant. “Battle is vicious, brutal, and no quarter given.” He looked at the crowd. “Here, now, in the flowering of the Plains, in the new grass and the early rains, here is where we emerge from the winter lodges, sharpen our weapons, and show our skill.” Joden paused, and took a breath. “For in the Trials, we appreciate the beauty of the blade in motion, the finesse behind the blow. The Trials display the best of us.”

A soft murmur of appreciation came as the warriors nodded.

“So let it be that in our Trials we value more the grace and skill of the warrior. Each fight is to the first blood, but let that blood be no more than a trickle or a trace, the slightest whisper of metal parting skin. Let the contest within the circle of challenge be a dance, a display of all that is in the best of us,” Joden continued. “Bring into the circle only your sharpest blades.”

Blades, and not maces or warclubs. Blunt weapons meant to crush heads and break bones had no place within a challenge circle; pulling out a weapon of that kind signaled an intent to kill.

“The challenges take place within the circle, upon the bare earth, under the open sky, with water and fire as witnesses,” Joden said. “In no other place are challenges permitted, except within the circle, under the challenge banners. And with a Singer as the judge, neutral and unquestioned in their truths.”

Joden gave a small smile. “When we were children in the thea camps, our wooden weapons would be taken if we challenged and lost. Now, as adults, once the Singer has rendered judgment, the defeated warrior surrenders only their dagger,” Joden said. “Gone are the days we spilled blood and lives in the challenge circles. Now we look for the skillful to lead us into battle. Now we form our armies for the Season of War. Long it has been so, and long will it continue.” He raised his right hand, palm to the sky. “May the people remember.”

Again, Simus joined in the response, “We will remember.”

Joden sat.

Simus picked up the leather bundle by his side, and rose back to his feet, using his height to draw attention as he pulled back the folds to reveal his new token. “Here is my formal token that I will use during the Trials, for any to take up and share their truths with me.” Simus lifted the gleaming, curved bone high. It was adorned with feathers, beads, and bells. “Keir gifted me with the tip of an ehat rib, from the four ehat hunt that occurred last season. I could not attend, but some of you were there—”

“I was honored to be on a musk team,” Yers chortled.

“And I, on a kill team,” Tsor laughed. “It was glorious!”

Simus lowered his token and gave them all a mock scowl. “I’ll not hold that against you.”

Laughter broke out then, for Simus had complained bitterly that he’d missed the hunt.

“Are you still crafting that song, Joden?” one of the warriors called out.

Joden nodded. “For use in my trials,” he said.

“Which means we cannot hear it this night,” another moaned as others expressed their disappointment.

Amidst the laughter and complaining, Simus knelt and placed the token on the gurtle pad that had been set before him. The white bone gleamed, and he could just make out the small hawk figure that he’d carved into the very tip.

The warriors grew silent as Simus rose back to his feet. “I seek to form an army,” he said, “but not for the usual reasons.” He turned serious, as did his listeners, focused on his words. “And this truth must be clear,” he said. “It must be a truth spoken under the open sky before I take any warrior’s sword oath this night.” Simus settled his feet in the ground, swept his eyes around the campfire. “I support Keir of the Cat in his goal of breaking the warrior-priests’ claims to power. I support him in the effort to join with Xy to bring new ways to our people.”

Nods and mutters of agreement from the warriors—but these warriors had served with Keir and himself, and shared their views. Others would not be so easy to convince.

“Long have our people warred to survive,” Simus continued. “But that way of life is not sustainable. Keir and those that support him would break that cycle and the false hold the warrior-priests have, and use the skills and ways of Xy to supply that which we raided for before.”

“Damn the warrior-priests to the snows,” Yers muttered, and there were nods of agreement all around.

“My intent is that the army that follows me will take up position at the border of Xy and the Plains, to protect Xy from any who might think to raid it while it is under the protection of Keir of the Cat and myself,” Simus said. “When new warriors approach us with an interest in joining, let this truth be shared immediately. I’d have no one claim they were not told, or that my plans were not revealed. If I expect truth from a warrior in my service, I must offer truth to them.”

Simus spread his hands. “I have shared my truths, and declared my intent. Who would offer me their swords under the open skies?”

Almost as one the warriors rose, pulling their weapons. They each stepped forward to kneel before him and swear the oaths that placed their truths and their weapons in his service.

Joy filled his heart as they proceeded one by one to swear. When the last had sworn and returned to his seat, Simus had to clear his throat before he could speak the ritual words. “I would be your Warlord. I take responsibility for your lives and hold them dear. Your blood is my blood, your flesh is my flesh.”

“Heyla, Warlord,” came the ritual response from all. Even Joden joined in the cry.

Simus released the tension in his own chest with a great laugh. “Now just let those ‘bastards’ allow us access to the Heart, and we’ll raise my banners high.”

His warriors joined in the mirth, and started to pass around the waterskins with fermented mare’s milk. “To insult such a one in Xyian,” Eloix chortled, “That would have them choke on their own wrath.”

“Did the Warprize ever explain the meaning of that word?” Yers asked. “I never understood it.”

“Cadr,” Eloix called out. “You had training in healing with the Warprize. Did she ever explain the word?”

The younger warrior popped up out of the crowd, his long brown hair braided back. “No,” he said brightly. “But she sure used it when she was riled up!”

That brought much laughter, for the temper of the Warprize was well known.

“Did she ever explain it to you, Warlord?” Yers asked.

“Something about the nature of one’s birth.” Simus shrugged. “I still don’t understand how a birth could be unnatural.” He settled down onto his gurtle pad, took up his drink, and decided to savor it. After this night, he wouldn’t indulge. He’d need his wits the next few weeks. “I look forward to the Trials.”

“To the dancing, more like,” Joden said, laughing. “And will you be teaching others the Xyian dances that you learned?”

“Maybe I will,” Simus crowed. “Wouldn’t that raise hackles and ruffle feathers.” He laughed.

“And the sharing after?” Eloix asked, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Or will you follow Keir’s ways in that as well?”

Simus heaved a dramatic sigh. “Once my tent is raised, I will not share bodies during the Trials,” he announced. “And while I know that all the women warriors will be deprived of my gifts—” He swept his hand down his body for emphasis. Laughter and protests arose from the group. Simus held up his hands. “Sharing during the Trials makes things...complicated.”

“So you won’t be adding foalsbane to your kavage in the mornings?” Yers taunted.

“Wouldn’t taste right without it,” Simus called back. “Besides, who knows? Like Keir, I might find my Warprize.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And the need might arise, yes?”

Laughter again, and Simus settled back, well pleased with his warriors, with the night, and with what was to come. “So,” he said to his warriors, “who intends to challenge for what positions?”

Yers jumped to his feet. “I, Yers of the Cat, will contest for Second!” With much laughter, the warriors pulled him back down.

Simus grinned his pleasure. Yers had served under Keir and Simus before, and he was a loyal and excellent warrior. So loyal, in fact, that it had been he who had given Lara’s apprentice mercy when he had fallen ill of the plague. Yers had felt it best that he take her wrath, rather than Keir or Marcus. The Warprize had forgiven, in her own time.

If he met the challenges, he’d be a strong Second, not afraid to express his truths. Nothing was more valuable to a Warlord.

Many others called out to also contest for Second as well as Third. Eloix and Destal both declared for Token-bearer, and proceeded to glare at one another. Simus was pleased to see an interest in all positions. It spoke well for the Trials.

“No challenges for me,” Oxna said loudly. One of his older warriors, she’d served with him under Keir. The flames made her amber skin glow, and gave her slanted eyes a wicked glint. “Not if you’ll have me as Tenth, Warlord.”

“That I will, Oxna,” Simus said. “And pleased to have you. The Tenths are the strength of my army, being our warleaders. We need more in that same position.”

Oxna lifted her mug in response.

“I’ll take the scouts, if you will have me, Warlord,” Cimor spoke up. The older man was grizzled, but his skill was in his cunning. “I’ve served as such under—”

Simus held up his hand with a laugh. “No need to list your campaigns, old friend. I accept.”

They spent some time under the night sky as the braziers burned down, talking of the Trials to come and the positions that were normally appointed, not contested for.

“I’ll ask for supply master,” Sal said. “That is, if no other is interested.”

“No one has spoken for it,” Simus said. “And I’d be grateful if you’d take on the task.”

“Consider it done,” Sal said with clear satisfaction, but Simus was even more pleased. She’d served Keir in the same role, and understood the Xyian use of coin for trade.

“For those that would contest for Token-bearer, I have a caution,” Simus said. “We have all served under Keir, and have all known Marcus, his Token-bearer.”

Some of the older warriors were nodding now, anticipating his words.

“But Marcus is not a traditional Token-bearer,” said Simus, “due to his afflictions. Any who would contest for Token-bearer should be aware of this, for mine will fill all the traditional roles of one that speaks for the Warlord and is his voice and message-bearer.”

He could see thoughtful looks and nodding heads.

“One last thought,” he said. “Antas of the Boar shattered his oaths when he attacked the Council of Elders and called for the death of the Warprize in Council last season. There is no truth, no honor in him. I do not think he will appear for the challenges, but he is bold.”

“I had not thought of that.” Yers looked thoughtful. “Would he be considered a candidate?”

“That is for the Elders and Eldest Elders to decide,” Simus said. “But I ask that you all keep careful watch over yourselves and any that pledge themselves to us. Attacks may not just come in the challenge circles.”

Thoughtful looks all around, now. Simus was glad to see they were considering that warning seriously.

“For now,” he said, turning the conversation to happier things, “I thank you for the gifts of your truths and declare this senel closed.”

The warriors stood and stretched, and went to seek their tents, or to post the watches. Some started to gather gurtle pads and mugs, and stir the braziers to settle the coals.

“That was well done,” Joden said.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Simus said, well content with the day. He glanced off toward the Heart. “Now there’s just the worry of what they are doing.”

Joden shook his head. “Don’t think on it,” he said, then gave Simus a sly smile. “Didn’t Eloix offer to distract you?”

“So she did,” Simus said, catching Eloix’s gaze across the camp.

Her answering smile matched his.