Warcry

answers, for he has our full confidence in all things.”
    With that Lara and Keir strode from the room, leaving Heath standing by the throne, unable to breathe. He felt as if the floor had suddenly disappeared beneath his feet. The entire room was as silent as the marble walls. Heath felt the impact as every eye regarded him, and he braced himself for an onslaught.
    But the Herald stepped forward and struck the floor with his staff. His voice might be a bit shaky, but it carried with it the weight of tradition.
    “This audience is at an end.” The Herald stood right in front of Heath, almost as if the older man was giving him a few minutes to collect his wits.
    Heath drew a breath as the room began to buzz with talk. He wasn’t quite sure where to begin, or how.
    Detros was over by the side door, looking his way. Heath caught his eye and lifted his chin.
    Detros nodded and disappeared for a moment. Heath watched as Detros sent a number of the Guard his way through the departing crowd.
    First things first.

    ATIRA HAD ACCOMPANIED THE WARPRIZE AND Warlord into the throne room. She’d hung back, staying in the crowd, watching as Lara made her announcement.
    She could understand the look on Heath’s face as he was thrust into a position of power and responsibility. But the stunned look disappeared fairly quickly as he summoned the Guard to his side. Atira knew that he would make the safety of the castle his prime concern. She would have liked to have aided him, but she’d been given a different duty.
    As the lords and their ladies began to leave from the throne room, Atira scanned the room, finally spotting some Plains warriors off to one side. She worked her way over to them, hailing one as she drew close. “Zann,” she addressed him quietly.
    “Atira,” Zann greeted her with a curt nod. “Seems there is news of the Plains, and not all of it good. Would you share your truths with us?”
    Atira nodded. “I would do so, if you can guide me to Elois of the Horse. I was told she’d sheltered a Xyian child. The Warlord has sent me to learn her truth in the matter.”
    “Aye.” Zann looked about. “Come. I will take you to her.”
    Atira followed, as did a few of the others.
    “It is said that Keir is no longer Warlord,” one of them asked softly as they walked.
    “It is a truth,” Atira replied. “Before it was sundered, the Council of Elders faulted the Warlord for events beyond his ability to control. But the details must be told under the bells.”
    “So, that on top of the rest. It has not been easy,” Zann growled under his breath. “Living in stone tents, dealing with the food, the snow, and the ways of these people.”
    “Especially after what Simus of the Hawk did,” another said, rolling her eyes.
    “What did Simus do?” Atira asked, although she knew Simus and could only imagine.
    “That can wait until we are under the bells,” Zann said. “But to learn that Keir has lost his status . . . that is not well, Atira.”
    “Wait, Zann,” Atira said softly as they started to climb a set of stairs that wound around it. “The Warlord’s truths should come directly from him, not me.”
    “As you say.” Zann shrugged, but nodded as the door swung open.
    There, in a bright circular room, was a small girl dressed in a chain shirt, lunging at a Plains warrior with a sharp dagger, her teeth bared in defiance.

CHAPTER 12
     
    HEATH TOOK LONGER MAKING THE SECURITY arrangements than he’d planned, but it was done and he was satisfied. The Castle Guard was once again in control of the castle and its walls. He’d had to “discuss” the matter with a few of the members of Lord Durst’s force, but they’d withdrawn their objections.
    He hadn’t even needed to knock heads together.
    Of course, the fact that he’d had five of the Guard standing behind him at the time had been persuasive.
    Once his task was finished, he was free to seek out his father and talk. Lara had probably headed to Othur’s room as soon as she’d woken from her nap.
    Heath strode through the hallways toward his father’s chambers. There were other worries. He knew of at least one way into the castle that wasn’t secure—the tree outside his room. He should have it cut down, but he hated the idea. The tree was as old as the castle itself. He’d climbed up and down its branches for as long as he could remember. It offered cool shade in the summers, and Anna made jellies from its fruit. Maybe they could trim it