The winter lodge wasn’t even close to full.

These ancient underground dwellings, used in the worst of the Plains winters, had been dug deep within the earth. No one knew when or how they had been created, and Simus knew of none that had been built in recent times.

The winter lodges were low-ceilinged, and most adult and young warriors walked stooped over within. But the sleeping chambers were warm even when the Plains grew frigid and the snows came. Each lodge had the same pattern. Multiple sleeping chambers off one large gathering place, the floor hard-packed dirt, with rough stone walls covered in faded stylized paintings and support pillars evenly placed.

The air vents had been opened, and all the torches lit. Simus sighed as he walked in, hunched over to avoid hitting his head. As a child, he’d enjoyed the darkness and warmth; as an adult he’d disliked the confinement, especially when crammed with warriors. But then again, he’d welcomed their warmth when the winter winds blew and the snows came.

Essa stood, the top of his head touching the ceiling. The Singer had placed himself at the far end of the gathering place, opposite the main entrance, where all could see him. Essa had his arms crossed over his chest, clearly waiting as the room filled with latecomers. Simus was pleased to see that the man had cleaned up, and was armored, his weapons at his side.

No silken robes for this meeting.

Wild Winds had insisted on walking in, and looked like he regretted it. He seated himself to Essa’s left. Haya sat to Essa’s right, her familiar scowl firmly in place.

All of the Elders were seated before them, and with them, all of the Warlord candidates, their Seconds and Token-bearers. Simus caught a glimpse of Osa seated not far from him; he could hear Ultie’s rumble in the back. Ietha had also survived, as well as Nires, Loual, and Reht, Simus’s opposition all seated together.

Tsor was right, there were too few candidates remaining for the traditional four Warlords for each of the four elements. Simus drew a breath, and wondered what Essa would do if—

“I am Essa, Eldest Elder Singer of the Plains,” Essa said, his words rolling against the stone walls. “Draw close and heed my words. I summon this Spring Council into session and I call this Council to order.”

Clothing rustled as everyone sat, all eyes on Essa.

“The Council of Elders has always been presided over by the four Eldest of the Elders,” Essa said. “I am the Eldest Elder of the Singers, and Wild Winds is the Eldest Elder of the Warrior-Priests. Haya of the Snake is here to serve as the Eldest Elder of the Theas. That leaves the Warriors.” Essa turned and looked over to the side. “Nires of the Boar. You are an Elder of the Warriors. At the last Council meeting held before the snows, you agreed to serve as the Eldest Elder of the Warriors. Would you again take up the responsibility?”

Nires rose, and stood, hunched to avoid the ceiling. “I would.”

“Do any offer objection to this?” Essa asked as Nires moved to sit at Wild Winds’s side.

Silence was the only answer.

Simus briefly considered offering to serve, but he’d already tried that once before, when the Warprize had faced the Council. He wouldn’t try it now. But in the future...he smiled to himself. Elois gave him a questioning glance, but when he shook his head at her she accepted his decision and looked away.

“That done,” Essa continued, “let us speak of the beasts that have attacked us, and driven us from the Heart. I would share what knowledge the Singers have, which is none. Wild Winds? Nires?”

“None,” Wild Winds said as Nires also shook his head in the negative.

“Haya? Do the Theas have any knowledge of these creatures?”

“If we had,” Haya said drily, “we would have mentioned it before this.”

Essa nodded. “Nothing then, from the knowledge of the Plains. I would have us share any truths that have been gathered.”

There was a stir, but no one spoke. Simus rose to his knees. “I will share what truths I have.” He spoke of Hanstau’s tale, and then shared the observations of his scouts. “The beasts seem concentrated around the lake for now,” Simus concluded. “It will take time to learn more.”

“Interesting,” Ietha drawled. “That Xyians have a name for the monsters, but gave no warning.”

“Your truth, Ietha?” Essa asked.

Ietha mimicked Simus, and rose to her knees. “What should be clear to all of us. The creatures were sent to destroy us. They came from the north, out of the mountains of Xy, and laid waste at the exact moment the Elders were gathered. At the exact moment that Simus and his people were not within the tent—were, in fact, nowhere to be seen.” Ietha glared at Simus. “Keir and his city-dwelling bragnects—”

“Silence,” Essa said sharply.

Ietha pressed her lips together, breathing hard. She glared at Essa for a long moment, then obeyed and sat back down. Simus sat as well.

“A Council of the Elders is called and presided over by the four Eldest of each branch,” Essa recited in what Simus thought of as a ‘Singer’s voice’. The very tone seemed to calm the room. “A Council names the Warlords, make major decisions on behalf of all the Tribes.” Essa paused, scanning the room. “There are decisions we must make, prey we must pull down, at this Council,” Essa said. “But as we speak our warriors and armies are at risk. There are also our thea camps, each of which must be warned.” He looked out over all of them. “So I will cut short the hunt. We’ve not enough candidates for all the Warlord positions. All here are worthy. All here have met their Trials.” His face grew stern. “I will not waste breath or time. Here is the heart of the matter: Should Simus of the Hawk be named as a Warlord of the Plains?”

Simus’s tongue dried in his mouth.

“How is this fair?” Elois hissed, but he placed his hand on her knee. Thankfully, the anger that erupted around them covered her outburst. Anger from both sides, to Simus’s shock, from friends and foes and in-betweens.

Tsor said nothing, but shifted slightly to take in more of the room, so that he could watch Simus’s back.

“We have always debated,” Ultie said loudly. “You’d silence our truths?”

“Our people are at risk,” Essa’s anger flared, cutting through the noise. “They are exposed, and in need of guidance. Would you leave them in harm’s way?”

Haya spoke up. “The supplies for the Tribes must be gathered. We can’t delay the raiding season any further.”

The muttering subsided.

“If the tent were raised, if our skies were clear, we could exchange truths and argue for hours, days.” Essa folded his arms over his chest. “But I will deal with what is, and if in doing so I make the choices necessary for all, so be it. We have time for little else. I would call for a vote. Here. Now. Raise your hands in support of Simus of the Hawk as Warlord of the North.”

Simus had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping.

He wasn’t alone. Wild Winds was staring at Essa like he’d never seen him before, but then he raised his hand.

Haya’s hand shot up beside him.

Simus glanced around as hands were raised for him. Some anticipated, some a surprise. The hands not raised were not unexpected. Nires of the Boar. Ietha.

But the vote was divided equally. The look of satisfaction on Ietha’s face grated.

Simus watched as Essa drew a long breath, and lifted his chin as if still counting, but Simus knew the result. Essa’s bold move had not resolved the issue, but there was still hope. Now there would be debate and division. Simus resigned himself to—

Loual’s splinted hand slowly rose in the air.

“What?’ Ietha exploded. “Why?”

Loual lowered his hand and rose to his knees. “Because of what I have witnessed,” he said. “A city-dweller caring for me and my people.” He gestured to Mirro. “Because of what I have been told by Mirro, who was my Third, and now serves as my Second. He tells me of an unarmed city-dweller, a healer, who charged forward to render aid where no warrior would go.”

“You favor them,” Ietha accused.

“Do I?” Loual raised an eyebrow. “Sending Simus and his people north? To where the monsters came from? To where they and their get will likely return?” He gestured to Simus. “It will be their problem. Let them deal with the havoc they have wrought.”

“So it is done,” Essa intoned, to be interrupted when Ietha jerked to her feet, hitting her head on the ceiling in her haste.

“No,” Ietha growled. “I will not be a party to this, Singer. This is not our way. Already they have destroyed everything they have touched.”

“Ietha, listen to reason,” Wild Winds said. “It was not they that caused the Sacrifice, it was—”

“To the snows with your reasoning,” Ietha snarled. “I go to Antas.” She stomped out, keeping her head low, followed by her Second and Token-bearer.

Essa spoke. “Let us waste no more time. We will take the oaths of the Warlords and disburse.”

“Let it be done outside,” Wild Winds said. “For the skies and all the people to witness.”

“Agreed,” Essa said.

They emerged, blinking in the sun to find a gathering of warriors awaiting news. Destal was standing there, arms crossed over her chest, her young warriors clustered behind her.

Simus’s heart caught in his throat. Snowfall stood with them.

He walked over as the others emerged from the lodge and organized themselves along Essa’s wishes. Other warriors, attracted by the sight, started to gather, leading saddled horses.

“Wyverns?” he asked Destal.

“They’ve settled since the nooning—the horns have not sounded for some time,” she said. “But I wouldn’t linger.”

Simus repeated her words for Essa, then turned back to Destal. Simus lowered his voice. “My thanks,” he said.

“It will be instructive for my charges to watch the Council administer the oaths,” Destal said. “Nothing more.”

Simus grinned at Snowfall.

Snowfall puffed out a breath from behind Destal. “Well?” she demanded, showing cracks in her reserve. “What happened?”

Simus opened his mouth to answer her, but Essa’s voice cut him off. “Simus of the Hawk,” the Eldest Elder Singer called. “Come and be the first to be sworn as Warlord.”

Snowfall’s smile was blinding and quick, for his eyes only.

Simus laughed, turned, and strode to where the four Eldest Elders stood, surrounded by the Elders and other Warlord candidates, and all the other warriors gathered to watch.

He stood before them, tall and proud, trying to take it all in.

“Kneel, Simus, and offer your sword.”

He pulled his sword, and knelt, offering his blade between his two hands.

Essa spoke loudly, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Simus of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains. You come before us as a candidate for Warlord. Do you wish to serve the Plains?”

“I do,” Simus said.

“Name your Second,” Essa said.

“Tsor of the Bear,” Simus said. Tsor stepped forward and rested his right hand on Simus’s left shoulder.

“Name your Token-bearer,” Essa said.

“Elois of the Horse,” Simus said. Elois stepped forward and rested her left hand on Simus’s right shoulder.

“Have they passed through their Trials?” Essa asked.

“They have,” Simus said. “I am witness to this truth.”

“Do any deny this truth?” Essa asked the crowd. There was no response.

“Tsor of the Bear. Elois of the Horse. Has Simus of the Hawk passed through his Trials?”

“He has,” Tsor said. “I am witness to this truth.”

“He has,” Elois said. “I am witness to this truth.”

“Do any deny this truth?” Essa asked. There was no response.

“Simus of the Hawk, we of the Council entrust you with the lives of the Warriors of the Plains. Will you take responsibility for these lives and hold them dear?”

“I will,” Simus vowed. “I will be their Warlord in all things. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood.

“Simus of the Hawk, the Council of the Elders names you Warlord of the North.” Essa drew a deep breath, and placed the tips of his fingers on Simus’s blade. “May the very air of this land grant you breath.”

Wild Winds moved closer and placed his fingers on the blade. “Simus of the Hawk, the Council of the Elders names you Warlord of the North. May the very earth of this land support your feet.”

Haya placed her fingers on his blade. Her voice sounded oddly rough, and Simus glanced up to see tears in her eyes. “Simus of the Hawk, the Council of the Elders names you Warlord of the North. May the very fires of this land warm your skin.”

Nires was next, and there was no hesitation in his actions or voice. He placed his fingers on the blade. “Simus of the Hawk, the Council of Elders names you Warlord of the North. May the very waters of this land quench your thirst.”

“Rise, Warlord, and serve your people,” Essa commanded.

Simus did, sheathing his sword and standing tall. And ever after remembered his pleasure in the moment, for the goal achieved, for the blue skies above, for the horns in the distance, for the cheers of the warriors around him...and the joy in Snowfall’s eyes.