Warcry

advantage. He danced back again, forcing his opponent to follow him, gaining time.
    His foe gave him none, coming in at a rush. Heath braced, brought his sword up, blocking the first blade as he thrust the dagger at his foe’s ribs.
    And felt his enemy’s wooden blade crack against his own.
    “Damn,” Heath swore, stepping back. He took his practice weapons in one hand and ran the other hand through his sweat-soaked curls.
    “That’s better than the last time,” Rafe of the Wolf offered from where he sat in the grass, watching them. “A mutual kill, eh?”
    “I’d like to live to tell of it,” Heath said ruefully.
    Prest, his sparring partner, smiled, his teeth white in his dark face. “Good work.”
    That was high praise from Prest, who rarely used more than a handful of words in a day.
    Rafe sat up and offered Heath a waterskin. “You are improving, Heath of Xy. Since joining us, you have added to your skills.”
    “My thanks, Rafe,” Heath said. Before he left Xy for the Plains, he’d been part of the Castle Guard in Water’s Fall, a fighter of adequate skill.
    But the Plains demanded more.
    Heath hefted the skin and drank deeply. Rafe had filled it at a nearby stream just recently, and it was still cold.
    Prest stripped to the waist and started wiping himself down with a cloth. Heath glanced down the road behind them, but there was no sign of the others.
    “There’s time,” Rafe offered. “They aren’t moving fast.”
    Heath nodded and followed Prest’s example. He unbuckled his leather armor and stripped off his undertunic. The cool spring air felt good on his skin. The early afternoon sun wasn’t hot, but the days ahead promised to warm. They were advancing with the spring up the mountain valley that was the Kingdom of Xy. Although there were sun and new blossoms here, it was possible that there was still snow on the slate roofs of Water’s Fall.
    This wasn’t how he’d planned to return to his homeland. They’d left the Plains weeks ago, traveling slow. He was grateful. He wasn’t sure what his welcome would be since his abrupt departure last fall.
    “More than just your weapon skills have improved,” Rafe continued. “You have strengthened your—” The rest was gibberish.
    “Say again?” Heath asked. He’d learned the language of the Plains one painful word at a time. He was fairly fluent, but sometimes words escaped him.
    Rafe laughed, and looked at Prest.
    “Muscles.” Prest pointed to his own body, where his stomach showed the ripple of power beneath his black skin.
    Another thing that was different about the people of the Plains: Because they raided from every kingdom, their people were of every color imaginable. Black, brown, yellow, or even paler than Heath’s own people. Different indeed.
    Rafe was a smaller man, thin and quick, with fair skin, black hair, and brown eyes. His face always seemed to be lit with a smile.
    Prest was tall, a big man of black skin, eyes, and hair. He’d had long braids, but he had shaved his head after an epic hunt on the Plains. The hair was growing back now, but it was still trimmed short and close to his skull. Two very different men, yet both of the same tribe.
    “Your body has more strength, with more power behind each blow,” Rafe continued. “Now you will strike the killing blow first, yes?”
    Heath grunted. Standing watch at the castle hadn’t let him get fat, but the standards of the Plains warrior were much higher. To them, fighting and sparring were like breathing, something you did every day. Plains warriors were quick to take offense unless there had been an exchange of tokens, and insults were met with steel. He’d learned hard and fast.
    But a grunt seemed the only appropriate response. The Plains had other customs, sexual customs, far different from those of Xy. Everyone seemed to sleep with everyone else, and think nothing of it. He’d learned to gently refuse offers of sharing from both men and women, but it was still embarrassing as hell when a man . . . Not that Rafe had shown any interest, but he shared a tent with four women.
    Thankfully, one of their other customs was to stay as clean as possible, so he busied himself with the cloth and the waterskin.
    “I hope the Warlord decides to set up camp here,” Rafe said. “That pool we found looked inviting. We could all bathe tonight.”
    “Together,” Heath said, rolling his eyes mentally. That was another thing he’d had to get used to. These people had