Antas of the Boar felt no need for the usual courtesy. He just threw back the tent flap and stepped in to Hail Storm’s tent without so much as a greeting.

“Ugh.” Antas curled his lip at the stench. He stared at the mound of bedding before him. “You stink like a rotting carcass.”

The tent reeked of stale, sick sweat and piss. Hail Storm lay on his pallet of gurtle pads, covered in blankets and furs. At least Antas thought it was Hail Storm. As he’d been told, the man’s ritual tattoos were gone.

Hail Storm turned his face toward Antas, eyes dull and glazed. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead that glistened as he blinked against the light.

“So.” As much as it disgusted him, Antas stepped farther in and let the tent flap close behind him. “I return to my camp, expecting to find a powerful Eldest Elder of the Warrior- priests, his followers with him, rejoicing in the Sacrifice and ready to join with my warriors.”

Hail Storm closed his eyes and turned his face away.

Antas crouched by his pallet. “Instead, I am told strange tales about that pillar of light and the deaths of all of the warrior-priests. Except you, who crawled into my camp more dead than alive and demanded succor.”

“Not all.” Hail Storm’s voice was a rasp. “Wild Winds and his followers live.”

“Even better,” Antas snorted. “You could not even kill that sickly old man? What of your plans, Hail Storm? What of your magic?”

“I still have power,” Hail Storm turned his head back and snarled.

“And what of this?” Antas waved his hand over the mound of blankets.

“It is nothing,” Hail Storm said. “A minor wound.”

Antas reached out and yanked back the blankets.

Hail Storm’s arm was swollen to twice its normal size, the skin purple and bloated. White puss oozed from the wounds, and red streaks traced vivid paths up toward his shoulder.

“Nothing?” Antas said grimly. “I don’t wonder at the smell, now. You look like a bloated, dead gurtle.” He paused, considering the man. “Why do you not heal yourself?”

“My powers are strong, but they do not lend themselves to healing,” Hail Storm admitted stiffly.

“Anyone else, and I’d grant mercy without asking,” Antas said.

Hail Storm fixed him with a glare, and Antas saw strength flood into those dark eyes. A quick move, and Hail Storm flourished a dagger in his good hand. “Do not think it,” he growled.

“As you wish, Eldest Elder.” Antas rose to his feet. “I will leave you to your suffering.”

The dagger disappeared under the blanket. “We had a plan, you and I,” Hail Storm said. “You should follow through with it.”

“Aye, true enough,” Antas said. “I planned to go to the Heart, set up camp and join the Trials.” He curled his lip at the thought. “But that was with the support of the warrior-priests with you as Eldest Elder. Now—”

“I am Eldest Elder,” Hail Storm rasped.

Antas looked down at the sickly man before him. “You just said that Wild Winds lives.”

“I am Eldest Elder,” Hail Storm repeated, his eyes glazed, the sweat pouring off him. “Attack the Heart.”

Antas gave the man an astonished look. “Attack the Heart? Do you think me a fool?”

“You ignore my advice at your peril.”

“I will listen to your advice if you live.” Antas spun on his heel, and strode out of the tent, grateful for the fresh air.

He swept the stench away from his nose with a deep breath of clean air.

Veritt, his Second, and Leda, his Third, were waiting for him, a polite distance away. Antas walked toward them shaking his head. “Come,” he said. “I’ve a need for kavage after that.”

They fell in beside him. “You saw?” Leda said.

“I did,” Antas growled. “And I think it’s likely he will die of that wound. Any other warrior, and I’d grant him mercy. But we need him.”

Leda nodded. “I’ll assign some warriors from punishment detail to care for him. At the very least they can see him cleaned and fed.”

“See if any of the theas who have joined us have any ideas how to help him,” Antas said.

“They have no more healing skill than we do,” Veritt pointed out.

“No, but they deal with the cuts, scrapes, and bruises of children all through the day,” Antas said. “It’s worth trying.” He paused. “But do not let them know of Reness. I am not sure their support would last if they knew we held her.”

“I will see to it,” Leda said.

“How bad is her leg?” Antas kept his voice low as they walked through the camp.

“Bad.” Leda shook her head. “She fought like she was enraged. We tried to tend it, based on the tales told of the Warprize. But those are twice-told tales and we have no skill.”

“How did this happen?” Antas said, feeling his anger rise. All of his careful plans seemed to be unraveling. “She was to be guarded at all times, controlled by the warrior-priests.”

“She was,” Leda said calmly. “But the warrior-priests collapsed when the pillar of light rose in the night. In the confusion, she took her opportunity.” Leda shrugged. “But for the warriors that spotted her fleeing, she’d have succeeded.”

“A fine thing.” Antas rubbed his hand over his face. “I go to seek out theas and return to find my prisoner wounded in an escape attempt, my all-so-powerful warrior-priest sweating in his bed, and all of his warrior-priests dead. And Hail Storm says ‘attack the Heart.’ Cursed fool—”

“Not all dead,” Leda said. “According to Hail Storm.”

“That’s what he said. But can I trust it?” Antas asked.

“When he first crawled into camp, he babbled out a lot of information,” Veritt said. “It felt like the truth, and his skin supports his tale. His tattoos are gone.”

Antas grunted, continued on to his command tent, and gave the nod to one of the guards to open the flap. “Kavage,” he called to Catha, his Token-bearer, and settled himself on his seat on the wooden platform.

Veritt and Leda settled beside him, and after the handwashing ritual, they ate in silence. Antas thought as he chewed, considering all the events as he washed down the meal with kavage.

He waited until the food was cleared, and bid Catha weave the bells in the flap and join the talk.

Catha settled beside him, the heat of her body a familiar comfort.

Antas broke the silence. “We must consider our options. Hail Storm still urges an attack.”

“Hail Storm is a fool,” Veritt said softly. “But his suggestion has some merit to it. The Heart is concentrating on challenges, not defense. We could strike hard and fast. Those candidates that support the old ways would come to our aid if we got word to them.”

“You might even secure Essa for your purposes,” Catha added quietly.

“Are we so certain of the support of the candidates?” Leda asked.

“Ietha for certain.” Veritt held up a finger, ticking off the name. “Loula, Nires, they are all—”

“No.” Antas took more kavage. “I cannot be sure of Nires of the Boar’s position.”

Catha nodded. “He outcast Iften, did he not?”

“He did,” Leda confirmed. “And there are many other candidates who have not expressed support. Ultie being one of them. An attack may cause them to turn against us.” She glanced at Antas. “Our truths are more effective than our swords.”

“We need a Singer.” Veritt looked into his kavage glumly.

“True.” Antas frowned into his mug as well. “I had hoped that Joden of the Hawk would claim that place, but he betrayed us. Still, there are others who may be persuaded.”

“So we wait?” Veritt asked.

Antas scowled. “I hate waiting,” he said. “I am not good at it.”

“We know,” Catha said and gave him her soft smile. “Yet in its way, patience is as powerful a weapon as your sword.”

“Fine. Yes, we wait.” Antas took up his mug. “It is enough for now to build our strength. Although, I want far-ranging scouts sent out, to locate Wild Winds if possible. Especially if he has those with him who still wield power. They might yet be brought within our camp to serve our purpose.”

Leda nodded.

“We’ve voices and eyes at the Heart,” Veritt said. “They’ll let us know the ways the winds are blowing. They will tell us when the Council tent is raised.”

“When do we strike at Simus?” Leda asked.

“Perhaps we don’t,” Catha said.

Antas opened his mouth to protest, but Catha raised her gentle hand. “Our allies can strike at Simus and his allies. Shoot the horses out from under them while we wait to see how the Trials go.”

“Then, when the Council tent is raised, we act.” Antas nodded reluctantly. “The Elders must see reason.” He raised an eyebrow at his warriors. “And if they do not, my patience will come to an end.”