No words were spoken between him and Snowfall the next morning as they prepared for the day. There was nothing to say. Simus ate, put on his armor, and took up his weapons with but one thought: This was the day that would see it done.

Snowfall waited for him by the tent flap, his token in hand, challenge banners in the other. His token would be needed if any warrior wished to rescind their oaths.

Snowfall looked him up and down, probably checking to make sure all his buckles were closed. Simus couldn’t resist, and did a spin for her benefit, ending with a graceful Xyian bow.

She didn’t even blink.

Simus sighed. A loss, then. Hopefully the only one of the day. He gestured for her to precede him and stepped out into a dawn just rising from the edge of the Plains. The sky filling with all the colors it had, from the palest blue to a blue so dark as to almost rival his own skin. Simus took it all in with a deep breath...

...and then dropped his gaze to find a young male warrior standing across the challenge circle from him, sword and dagger already in hand.

“I haven’t even raised the banners yet.” Snowfall’s disdain was clear.

Yers came to stand close to Simus. “He’s seen one, maybe two seasons of war, at the most,” he sniffed, his crooked nose twitching. “More insulting than challenging.”

A crowd had already gathered and more were coming. Mostly Simus’s warriors, but a few that had clearly come to see their friend fight.

Simus stood, contemplating the young warrior as Snowfall raised his banners. “Truth, but there is muscle there.”

“More ego then brains,” Yers muttered. “Needs to be taken down hard for that arrogance.”

Simus flashed him a smile. “And where would Keir and I be without arrogance?” he asked.

Yers rolled his eyes.

The young warrior walked into the circle. “I give challenge, Simus of the Hawk.”

Simus yawned, and stretched as obnoxiously as he could. “So I see,” he said as he scratched his chin.

Anger flashed through the youngster’s eyes. “I am Beom of the Fox,” he said, almost dancing in his impatience. “Answer my challenge.”

“Of course, of course,” Simus said. “But this sword won’t do. A moment,” he said, and turned toward his weapons rack.

“Come on, come on,” Beom snarled. “Delay will not assist you.”

“Let me just find the perfect...” Simus’s eye fell on the wooden sword and dagger he’d won from Pive.

Snowfall was watching him. He gave her a sly wink. “Oh, here’s just the thing.”

With that, he snatched up the child’s weapons, turned and brandished the wooden sword and dagger.

A startled gasp rose from the watching warriors, followed by snorts of laughter. Yers gave out an angry oath.

Beom’s mouth dropped, and then his face filled with rage. “You mock me,” he growled.

“Why, yes.” Simus strode into the circle. “Yes, I do.” He took up a dramatic defensive pose, as youngsters often did with their first weapons, and gave Beom his best vicious smile. “What are you going to do about it?”

Beom charged.

Simus waited, dodged, and swung at the lad’s wrist, dealing a stinging blow, calculated to enrage his opponent.

It worked. The lad slid to a stop at the edge of the circle, turned and charged again.

His choice of weapons had been impulsive, but Simus wouldn’t take another risk. He went on the defensive, warding off the blows as quickly as they fell. The lad was young and strong and fast, but angry, and it showed in his strikes.

Simus waited, using the wood of his blades to counter the steel of his opponent. Waiting for—

Boem’s sword bit deep into the wood.

It was what Simus had been waiting for. He jerked his blade, forcing Boem’s sword down, and then twisting it, hoping that the wood would hold long enough to—

Boem’s sword went flying from his hand just as Simus’s blade cracked in half.

Simus skipped back, his wooden blade broken off with a jagged end. Boem just stood there, stunned.

“Enough?” Simus asked.

Boem blinked at him, and for a moment Simus was sure he’d attack. But the anger in Beom’s eyes cleared, and his mouth twisted in resignation. “Yes,” he said, twirling his dagger and placing the point at his heart. “I would offer my surrender, Warlord.”

Simus gave him a grave nod. “Accepted,” he said as he took the dagger.

A buzz of talk rose from the watching warriors. This story would be all over the camps before the nooning.

Boem turned on his heel, and walked off, surrounded by what Simus hoped were friends. The lad would need them this night. Simus chuckled, and turned to rack his weapons.

Yers was standing there, scowling. He jerked his head toward the command tent.

Simus followed him in.

 

 

Simus settled on his gurtle pad, accepting kavage from Snowfall. Looking into those eyes, nothing showed.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t feel her disapproval.

Yers’s reaction was clear. The warrior paced in the area before the platform. “I would ask for your token, Warlord.”

“There is no need for tokens between us, Yers.” Simus gestured with his mug. “Speak your truths.”

“Have the winds taken your wits?” Yers demanded, coming to a halt before him. “That you would risk all on a child’s weapons?”

Simus paused with his mug before his mouth. “The skies favor the bold,” he said, raising his cup in a salute.

“And the earth covers the stupid,” Yers snapped. “Marcus would gut you were he here, for risking everything Keir of the Cat has worked toward on a stupid—”

“You already said that,” Simus said mildly.

“—rash, foolish, gesture.” Yers started pacing again.

“I agree with the ‘rash’,” Snowfall said softly. “But he accomplished this much: No other young warrior will offer challenge and risk humiliation.”

Ah, a win. Simus smiled into his mug. “See,” he said smugly. “Snowfall thinks I am right.”

Yers gave Snowfall a glance, opened his mouth to reply, but a call came from outside.

Tsor stuck his head in. “Snowfall, a challenger for you.”

Snowfall gave a nod of her head and left the tent. Yers watched as she left.

“You wish her defeated,” Simus said, his pleasure in the moment fading.

“Yes,” Yers said shortly. “It would be for the best. Bad enough to have one in your ranks. In a position of trust...” Yers shook his head, then gave Simus a sharp look. “And do not think to distract me from my point.”

“Yers.” Simus set down his kavage. “I thank you for your truth. It was a calculated risk. I knew he’d lose his temper at the insult—”

“Don’t try to convince me that you had thought it through,” Yers said. “And how much of that was an effort to impress her?” Yers jerked his head in Snowfall’s direction.

Simus stopped smiling. “None,” he said shortly.

“This was not Keir’s plan.” Yers shook his head. “You haven’t changed. I thought you would step up, embrace the trust Keir placed in you and take your duties seriously. Instead, you hazard all to impress a warrior-priestess,” Yers continued. “For your own pride, you—”

“Enough,” Simus growled.

Yers drew up short, staring at Simus.

“What battle plan survives the first sight of an enemy?” Simus said. “Keir seized upon the opportunities the skies gave him; I will seize mine. That is my choice, and my decision to make.”

“If you survive the challenges,” Yers said.

“If I survive,” Simus agreed with a nod.

“I ask leave to go,” Yers said, his anger clear in his eyes.

Simus nodded his permission and watched him go with regret. If Yers was having doubts, what of the rest of his warriors? He picked up his kavage as he thought about it, then shook his head. Enough. For this day, there was only one thing to focus on.

“Warlord.” Snowfall appeared in the tent entrance. “Another challenger.”

 

 

At the nooning, Simus entered the tent, grateful for the break.

Snowfall had prepared a full meal, but Simus shook his head as he took up a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I won’t eat that heavily,” he said, gesturing toward the food. “And don’t bother with more kavage. Water only.”

“But—” She looked at the dishes. “You’ve fought more challengers this morning than the last three days combined. You need to keep up your energy.”

Simus gave her a grin as he sat on his gurtle pad. “I forget that you haven’t done this before,” he said, taking a handful of gurt. “Yers should have said something to you.”

“I didn’t know to ask,” Snowfall said quietly, fetching him water. “Those of us in training as...warrior-priests...were not permitted to mingle with warriors. Only those that had earned their full tattoos had that privilege.”

“And strutted around like arrogant cocks.” Simus nodded. “Still, this is normal, the number of opponents, the speed of the combats. But I won’t eat heavily tomorrow, and will drink only water. Which I will sweat out; I’ll have no need to make water.”

“So water, gurt, and drying cloths,” Snowfall said.

Simus nodded again. “Dried meat, and berries. And salt the gurt,” he said. He took up another handful of the white pebbled cheese and stood. “And don’t worry if I pace. I don’t want to risk getting stiff.”

“They will keep coming at you like that?” she asked.

“Yes,” Simus said. “But the more serious challengers will wait, watch, and approach when they think I am weary. Later this day.” He glanced over at her somber grey eyes. “But remember I control the pace. I can rest and renew between, as long as I don’t keep them standing overlong. The same is true for you.”

“Some don’t seem serious contenders,” Snowfall said.

“No,” Simus said. “Their goal is to wear me down for what is to come.”

“You can outlast them,” Snowfall said and it pleased him that there was no doubt in her voice.

“I can,” Simus confirmed. “I have been training and preparing for this day for seasons. I will win.”

Snowfall tilted her head. “Unless they get lucky.”

“Ah, but luck has always been on my side,” Simus grinned.

“That would be the arrogance,” Snowfall pointed out.

Simus laughed. “Sunset will prove me right. The serious contenders will challenge close to sunset. Then we shall see.” He paused, and frowned at the gurt in his hand. “Snowfall, make no move out there that would cause any to think you were using your magic. That would make things worse for both of us. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

He gave her a nod of approval, and started on some of the dried meat. He ate quietly, lost in his thoughts as he chewed. Snowfall wasn’t one for idle talk; she was quiet as well. The silence was comfortable and welcome.

Simus finished his food, and refilled his mug with water. “Snowfall,” he said. “If I die this afternoon—”

She jerked her head around to stare at him.

Simus held up a hand. “We must consider every possibility. If I die, all warriors will be released from their oaths. Yers will take what warriors he can gather and head to Xy. Yers may try to re-form the army, or Liam of the Deer will. Either way, I command you to use your powers and return to Wild Winds.”

“You will not die,” Snowfall said firmly.

“But if—” Simus started, but Snowfall held up her hand.

“And where is your arrogance now?” she asked, but then she bowed her head to him. “I will obey, Warlord.”

Satisfied, Simus finished his water, and stepped out into the sun.

 

 

Snowfall watched him leave the tent, and heard him greet his challenger. She stood there for a moment, listening to the sounds of combat, and tried to make sense of the man.

A warrior who declined to dance, but took the risk of using wooden weapons to a younger, stronger challenger.

A warrior who displayed such arrogance, and yet planned in the event of failure.

A warrior who expressed concern for her well-being even in the face of the hatred of his own people.

He was such a contradiction. Such a fascinating—

A shout from those gathered outside brought her back to her duties. She fetched more gurt, dried meat, and water. The rest of the food she told her helpers to eat. It would not go to waste.

And while she worked she considered her own truths.

There was something about his smile, the joy underneath it. It wasn’t wide-eyed foolishness. It was the strength of his convictions. Hope with the practical truth of reality woven in.

Yet she believed Simus could walk this path. Weaving the new with the old to aid all their peoples. But that made her pause, and frown.

When had that happened? When had their desires, their goals, woven into one pattern?

A cry went up from outside. He’d defeated another challenger. Snowfall allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

“Snowfall.” Tsor stuck his head within the tent. “You’ve another challenger.”

Snowfall nodded, and headed outside to meet her opponent. She wished to stand beside Simus, aiding him, working with him. He’d not be defeated.

Neither would she.

 

 

By mid-afternoon Simus had met all of the challengers. They’d come like a steady rain. He took care to rest, to eat and drink between bouts, but he met and defeated them all. The fights were fast, some ending in mere heartbeats. But Simus took nothing for granted.

A few were latecomers, more testing his skill than offering a real challenge. One even offered his blade after their fight. Simus accepted him, then turned to face the next.

Snowfall faced quite a few of her own, and so far remained the victor in her bouts.

Yers and Tsor had fewer challenges, which pleased Simus. They were almost assured of their positions in his service.

The crowd of watchers grew larger, warriors sitting in the first few rows, others standing behind. His own people, and other warriors, come to see. Elois was hovering on the fringes of the crowd, watching as well. Simus paid them no conscious mind, focused solely on his opponent.

The hours became a blur of blades, strikes, counterstrikes, and victories. Simus kept pace, not concerned that his strength would hold, but always with an awareness of the sun on its path through the sky.

Offered yet another dagger, Simus stepped from the circle and added it to the growing pile. He glanced over his shoulder, but no other challenger stood opposite. A break then, in the shade of the tent. “Snowfall,” Simus said. “I would have—”

“Nothing for you, bragnect.” Wyrik of the Boar stepped through the crowd, shield and axe in hand. He positioned himself at the edge of the circle opposite Simus. “I challenge you, Simus of the Hawk. Come and die.”