Antas had quite a bit to say, and Joden didn’t trust any of it.

It was a perfect day in all other aspects. They’d met between Simus’s camp and Antas’s, equal distance from both. Out of the range of hearing, but not out of bow range.

The grass was trampled by the movement of warriors and horses. The sun was high, the sky clear, and just enough breeze to cool the skin.

Simus stood just behind Keir, arms crossed, glowering. Keir was intent, listening to Antas speak about preserving the lives of warriors.

Joden was listening, but he was also watching. Ietha was clearly confident and strong in her support of Antas. But something in Veritt’s stance gave Joden pause.

“If I die,” Antas said. “Then my army leaves to raid elsewhere. If you die,” Antas’s smile was nasty. “I will give your forces a day before we attack. We—”

“Agreed,” Keir interrupted Antas.

“Wait, what?” Simus sputtered.

“When?” Antas was smiling, confidence shining in his eyes.

“Now,” Keir said. “Let us cut a challenge circle here and now and—”

Horns blew in the distance, and everyone looked over to see five riders bearing down on them.

“Essa,” Antas growled.

“Essa,” Keir confirmed, and the both took a step back, and waited.

Essa and the other Singers rode in at a gallop, the horses blowing as they stopped and dismounted. There was no sign of bright colors or silks; they were all armored, weapons ready. Joden eased behind Keir blocking Essa’s view of him.

He really need not have bothered. Essa was focused elsewhere.

“Keir,” Essa strode forward to stand before them. “Antas.”

“Warlord Antas,” Antas growled.

“Really?” Essa arched an eyebrow in a way only a Singer could. “Did you contest at the Spring Trials and I did not see?”

Antas puffed up but Joden could see him rein in his temper.

“What say you both?” Essa demanded.

Antas launched into his speech, and now Essa’s eyebrows climbed to the top of his forehead. He listened, and waited, and when Antas was done he turned to Keir. “What say you?”

“I agreed,” Keir said. “Let it be decided. Here and now.”

Essa nodded. “It has ever been the way of the Plains to use the strength of a warrior’s weapon to support their truths.”

Essa looked coolly at Antas. “The death of one of you ends this conflict,” he said. He turned his gaze to Keir. “The death of armies wastes the lives. Quartis and the others will prepare the challenge circle. My Singers will ride to your respective armies and warn them of what is to happen. Warn them also not to interfere. A trial to the death needs no Singer to judge. But we will witness.”

Simus pulled Keir away. “A word,” he said.

Keir moved, and Joden found himself eye-to-eye with Essa.

“Joden?”

All the Singers stopped in their tracks, and stared, rendered speechless. Joden would have laughed, but there was no humor here.

“E-e-eldest E-e-elder E-e-essa,” Joden let him have the full truth of his voice.

Essa’s eyes bugged out for a moment, but then they narrowed into slits. He opened his mouth, and then snapped it closed, as if remembering his audience. “We have Singer matters to speak on, after this,” Essa said.

Joden bowed his head, and followed Keir and Simus. The other Singers dashed to their horses, and started off with their messages. Quartis started cutting the sod to create the circle. Joden glanced back to see Antas and Veritt in a whispered discussion as Ietha stood off, calmly watching. Essa stood where he had been, looking aloof. But as Joden walked to his friends, he could feel Essa’s glare on the back of his neck.

“What are you thinking?” Simus asked Keir in hushed tones. “You risk everything.”

“The skies favor the bold,” Keir said calmly, reaching for the waterskin on his saddle.

“Lara is going to kill you, if he doesn’t,” Simus pointed out.

Keir drank, then glanced up at the keep. It was too distant to make out anyone, but Joden was sure Lara was watching. “Best if this is over before she knows she needs to worry,” Keir said. He turned back to glare at Antas. “I will kill him and end this.”

“You’re good,” Simus said. “But he is, or was, the Eldest Elder Warrior.”

“I fear treachery,” Joden sang softly.

Keir fixed him with a stare. “Do you have a vision of this? One way or another?”

Joden shook his head.

Keir nodded in satisfaction. “Simus, leave. If I fall—”

“I am not leaving,” Simus said. “Don’t die.”

Keir grinned. “I won’t.”

 

 

The circle finished, both Keir and Antas stepped into the circle and wasted no time. Keir, with his two curved swords. Antas, with sword and shield.

Antas moved fast, to block and swing. But Keir leapt to one side, and slashed hard, cutting Antas below the eye. Blood dripped down into Antas’s blond beard. He roared his anger.

Keir grinned, took a stance, and waited for the charge. Keir’s swords thudded on Antas’s shield. The air whispered as Antas’s blade failed to hit.

It was brutal, which was exactly as expected. Two warriors evenly matched as far as Joden knew. Antas was older and experienced; Keir was younger and stronger. They both hated each other with a passion, and Joden could feel it in their blows. Any outcome was possible.

Joden watched, holding his breath, transfixed as the two circled on another, looking for an opening. But a slight movement, caught his eye. Veritt, Antas’s Second had shifted his stance, his arms folded over his chest. Joden looked away, but something felt… wrong.

Joden focused on Veritt.

Antas’s Second was a troubled man if ever Joden saw one. The signs were subtle, but they were there. Twitchy, shifting weight, watching the fight with a desperation that made little sense.

“Ha,” Antas shouted. Joden looked back as he scored a blow on Keir’s arm, drawing blood. Keir never stopped, just charged in with a flurry of strikes against Antas’s shield, forcing him back.

Essa and the other Singers watched, their faces neutral. Simus and Ietha were stoic as well, arms crossed as unconscious mirrors of each other. Joden gave them a glance, then stared back at Veritt.

Who was looking at the piles of sod beside him.

The sounds of the continued fight filled the air, the sounds of two men locked in deadly combat.

But Joden kept his eyes on Veritt and waited.

Veritt looked up, and Joden caught his eye. Veritt met them for a second, and then flicked past to look at Antas.

Joden didn’t look away. He waited.

The fight raged on, with the sounds of scuffling feet, the ringing of sword on sword, and the clang of blows on the shield. Antas’s breathing grew ragged as the fight went on. Keir was silent, but Joden knew his friend’s entire focus was on killing his enemy.

Joden watched Veritt, who glanced at him every now and then. Joden made sure the man knew that his eyes were on him every time he looked Joden’s way. Joden didn’t look with hate, didn’t glare or threaten.

But he was watching.

Veritt’s glances grew more frequent as the fight went on. Joden kept staring. Veritt’s nervousness seemed to grow, and then oddly he stilled, staring at the earth.

Joden didn’t dare look away, although the sounds of the fight were changing. Antas seemed to be retreating, catching his breath behind his shield. Keir was having none of that, if the blows to the shield were any measure.

Veritt look up, and stared at Joden. He took a deep breath, eased his shoulders back and nodded at Joden. Just a quick nod that no one seemed to catch. Veritt had come to a decision, it seemed.

Joden nodded back.

A cry of pain. Antas was on one knee, his shield up. “Veritt!” he cried out.

Veritt stood like a rock, unmoving.

Keir lunged, and Antas dodged, rolling out of the circle to get to his feet. But he wasn’t fast enough for the block. Keir’s sword bit into his neck. Blood spurted out.

Antas snarled, charging Keir with the shield intent on beating him down. Keir stepped to one side, let him pass.

Antas stumbled, his sword and shield still up, but glaring at Veritt. “Veritt, you betray—

“Antas,” Keir roared.

Antas swung back, and stood there, panting. “I will kill you,” he screamed, and charged Keir.

Keir waited, dodged the charge, and hammered his sword into Antas’s neck, almost severing it.

Antas’s eyes rolled up. He staggered, fell, and died.

The only sound was Keir’s breathing. Keir stood there, blood dripping from his weapons and wounds. Joden had expected elation, a shout of triumph.

But Keir looked down at Antas’s body with satisfaction tinged with regret.

“What now?” Essa’s voice was silk as it broke the silence. “What now, Keir of the Cat. Will you declare yourself WarKing?”

Ietha growled.

Keir looked up, and to Joden’s eyes, looked more commanding then he ever had in battle.

“No, Eldest Elder Singer.” Keir stepped out of the circle to face him. “It shall be as it always has been. When the grasses of the Plains turn red and the raiding season ends, the Fall Council will gather. I will attend, my warriors will have full saddle bags and be loaded with supplies for the needs of the theas. I will speak my truth before the Council, and then, yes I will ask the Council to name me WarKing.”

“I will be there,” Ietha snarled. “And I will raise my voice against you.”

“Each will speak their own truths,” Keir said calmly. “And the Council will decide.”

Ietha turned on her heel and left.

“I would ask for assistance.” Veritt gestured to Antas’s body.

Keir went to Simus, who took one of his swords and started cleaning it with a handful of grass. There was joy in their eyes, but they kept their celebration of the moment to themselves.

Two of the Singers heaved Antas’s body on the back of a horse. Joden picked up Antas’s sword and shield and walked over to offer them to Veritt.

Veritt took them. “My thanks,” his voice was a soft whisper. “You helped me face my truths, Singer.”

“Not Singer yet,” Essa’s voice came from behind them. “A word, Joden.”

Veritt bowed his head to both of them. “I will take Antas’s army. The raiding season is not yet over, and we will go to aid the other Warlords. I will see you at the Fall Council, Eldest Elder,” and with that he led the horse off with its burden.

“Joden,” Keir called, letting his pleasure show. “Come, let us return.”

Joden nodded toward Essa. “I’ve Singer business,” Joden called back, using the sing-song voice. “I will follow.”

“You just don’t want to face the Warprize,” Simus rolled his eyes but his smile never faltered. “Don’t be too long, for you should share in her wrath.”

Keir mounted, and pulled his horse around to face them. “Farewell, Eldest Elder Singer,” Keir said. He looked every inch the victor. “I will see you in Council.”

“And have no fear,” Simus grinned. “We will have the Council tent well repaired for you when we reach the Heart.”

Essa snorted, but the two men just grinned, turned their horses and galloped back toward Xy.

As they mounted, Quartis gestured and the Singers bent to replace the sod in the circle. Joden watched as the grass covered Antas’s blood.

“Joden,” Essa asked, and there was pain in his voice. “Where did the old paths take you?”

“T-t-to t-t-the s-s-snows,” Joden forced the words out. He faced Essa, well aware that Quartis and the others were listening as they worked. “T-t-then t-t-the w-w-winds b-b-blew m-m-me t-t-to X-x-xy.”

Essa winced. “They took your voice,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“And opened my eyes,” Joden sang.

Essa’s eyes widened. “You can still sing?”

“And chant,” Joden said. “But my true, strong voice? The Warprize says it may improve with time, but I know the truth. It is gone.”

“You must complete the rites,” Essa said. “Become the Singer you were destined to be.”

“Without a voice?” Joden shook his head. “S-s-speaking l-l-like t-t-this?”

“You can still sing,” Essa said. The others rose from their finished task, all nodding their agreement.

“You have songs that need singing, Joden,” Essa said firmly. “And the Ancients may teach you their songs. Come with us.”

Joden opened his mouth to tell him, but then closed it. He blinked.

Behind Essa, the horizon was clear. The armies were no longer there, the grasses were wide and empty except for a lone rider.

Wild Winds lifted his hand and summoned him.

Joden took a breath, and knew what he had to do. He focused back on Essa. “I will come,” he chanted. “I will come and tell you all. But first, I would celebrate with my friends, and say farewell.”

Essa nodded, clearly not pleased. “Very well. But do not make us wait too long, Joden. The rites should be completed before the Fall Council. And the skies know when the Ancients will appear to us.”

Joden nodded. “I will come.” He nodded toward where Veritt’s and Ietha’s warriors were moving off to the east. “Avoid them,” he suggested.

“I have a mind to travel west,” Essa said. “I will take word to Osa and Ultie, and shelter within their camps.”

“As soon as my business is finished,” Joden sang. “I will seek you out.”

 

 

The keep was alight with joy by the time Joden returned. The celebration was going strong, with drumming and chanting echoing from its walls.

But he was stopped at the gates by watchful guards. Joden was pleased to see that those on duty had sharp, clear eyes.

The Great Hall was filled with the smell of roast cow, baked bread and kavage. Xyian and Plains warriors alike greeted him with smiles. “Keir of the Cat, WarKing of the Plains,” one crowed as he sloshed fermented mare’s milk from his cup.

Joden smiled, and continued on to the high seat at the end of the hall, by the huge fireplace. Keir had replaced the traditional high table with the low platform. He sat at the center, with Lara on his right and Simus on his left. Marcus was serving kavage, a rare smile on his face. For a heartbeat, Joden looked for Amyu.

She was not there, and would never be.

“You,” Lara called out, her expression a mix of joy and anger. “Joden, how could you let him take such a risk?” She and Anna were sitting side by side, the babes in their arms. Xykeirson and Xykayla were waving their arms, and staring at the commotion around them, fascinated.

Joden smiled as he walked forward, opening his hands wide to offer his apology. “The skies favor the bold,” he sang.

“And the earth covers the stupid,” Lara and Marcus said together.

All the warriors nearby laughed.

“We already tried that,” Simus said. “It didn’t work.”

“Join us,” Keir said gesturing to the platform. “We are another step closer to our goal.”

Marcus stepped down off the platform, bearing a mug and a pitcher of kavage. He offered the mug to Joden, and started to pour.

Liam appeared behind him, coming in from Marcus’s blind side.

Joden didn’t have time to react. Liam tossed his cloak over Marcus and struck his jaw, knocking him out.

The pitcher fell to the floor, shattering.

Marcus started to collapse, but Liam scooped him up and flung him over his shoulder. He stood for a moment, then patted Marcus’s buttocks.

“WarKing. Warprize.” Liam gave them both a nod. “I have supported you, and now I claim my prize.” He turned on his heel and strode from the hall before any could say a word.

In the stunned silence, Anna turned to Lara with a frown. “That’s not really about military tactics, is it?”

 

 

Later, when the fires had burned down and the celebration had ended, Joden turned to Keir and sang to him softly, “Will you stay here? On the border? Or return to Xy?”

Keir shrugged. “We have not discussed it. There is much to be done to prepare for the Fall Council.” He glanced at the stairs where Lara, Anna and the babes had disappeared earlier. “Lara will want to attend the Council, but the dangers…” he shook his head.

Joden nodded. “I must go,” he lied. “Eldest Elder Essa requires that I give a full account of what happened to me.” Joden kept his tone dry, “It will take days. I may have to repeat my words more than once.”

Keir chuckled, then grew serious. “But you will be at the Fall Council? You will seek us out?”

“As soon as my business is finished,” Joden sang. “I will seek you out.”

 

 

The next morning, Joden rode down the switchback trail, leading a re-mount piled high with packs and a tent. Keir had provisioned him well, he wouldn’t need to delay his journey with foraging.

There was no sign of Veritt’s and Ietha’s armies. They had wasted no time leaving, as they had said they would.

He paused on the edge of the milling warriors. Simus’s warriors were making plans to travel up the longer, sloping road to the keep and busy with their own tasks.

He sat for a moment, looking out over the wide expanse of the grasslands.

Part of him knew what awaited him beyond. Hail Storm needed to be confronted and stopped and not by an army. Joden knew his task, but there was no certainty that he could defeat the warrior-priest. Or whatever Hail Storm had become. He was willing to take on this task, willing to face his own death, for the Plains and his people of both lands.

His regret was Amyu. Not to see her again, not to tell her of his need, his want, his love of her. The ache was deep and wide and almost more than he could bear.

“I hope you fly, beloved,” he whispered to the winds.

If the winds heard, they gave no sign.

The warriors called out greetings, and Joden raised his hand in acknowledgment. Wanting no questions, he headed his horse to the east, in the direction Essa had taken, until he was out of their sight.

Finally alone, with only the grass and the skies for company, he looked south.

Wild Winds sat astride a horse, waiting on a far rise. He turned his mount and headed toward the Heart.

Joden followed.