Warcry

stayed.
    “We coped with the Xyians. With their language, their odd ways, their insults.” Elois drew a breath. “We adapted to their stone tents and accepted this life as the warriors we are.”
    Atira grit her teeth at Elois’s tone.
    “Then the Council of Elders summoned Atira to give testimony, and Simus left to return to your side. And still we stayed.”
    Elois looked around, as if seeking support. The warriors around her were nodding, as if in agreement. “Again, a messenger came, but this time from the Council. Word that you were no longer Warlord. Yet, we still stayed, in honor of our vows and the Warprize.”
    “But now? Now you return, but not as the conquering Warlord. No, instead you follow behind, silent, as the Xyian returns to her land as the triumphant one.” Elois averted her gaze. “I mean no offense to the Warprize, for the Council has proclaimed her so. But spring has come, and I have no Warlord to serve. At least, this is the truth as it seems to me. And I would know your intent.”
    It was clear that Elois had finished; it was also clear that she intended to keep the Warlord’s token in her hands.
    Keir stood, tall and relaxed, his dark hair and black leathers a stark contrast to the white stone of the throne. “I thank you for your truths, Elois of the Horse, and will answer to them.”
    He looked out over the room.
    “Harsh truths, but truths that must be faced and dealt with.”
    “It is true that I no longer am Warlord. The Council held me responsible for the deaths of my warriors. Isdra and Epor were a great loss to all of the Plains.”
    Keir spread his hands. “If you wish to hear the winds laugh, tell them your plans.”
    There were murmurs of agreement then, and nods of understanding.
    “So we must deal with what is, and face these truths. The Council, in its judgment, proclaimed that I could strive to regain my status, and I would have done so this spring. But the Warprize bears a child, and her traditions require that the birth be here, in the Xyian tents, where the Xyians may witness the birth.
    “While I am no longer a warlord, still am I Overlord of this land,” Keir said. “But what use is there in repeatedly striking a foe that has already surrendered to me? Instead, the focus is on the Warprize and her babe, not on us. In this matter, I am her second. It is for the Warprize to rule her people and resolve conflicts such as the fate of the child you rescued.” Keir had a small half-smile on his lips. “But while the winds have altered my plans, they have not defeated them.”
    Keir lifted his head, and looked around. Atira had a feeling he was deliberately looking each warrior in the eye. “I would release any warrior who no longer wishes to remain in my service. They will depart with my thanks and packs full enough to hold them in good stead on the Plains. But for any willing to forge a new path with me, there will be even bigger rewards if my plans come to pass.”
    “And what are those plans?” Elois asked, confusion and hope warring in her face.
    “I will regain my status next spring,” Keir said firmly. “Simus will contest for Warlord this season, and Joden will offer himself to the Singers.” He smiled, almost to himself. “Liam of the Deer will aid me as well, and there are others of the Warlords who will listen, and I hope, support me. If the Council of Elders can be reunited, then—”
    Elois looked at him in astonishment. “You would be Warking,” she said, her voice the barest whisper.
    A thrill ran through Atira’s body at the idea as the other warriors stirred, exchanging looks.
    Keir nodded, slowly. “The need is there, Elois. Can you deny that? Too long the warrior-priests have—” Keir cut off his words. “Enough. If that debate starts, we’d be here a day and a night exchanging tokens.”
    Even Elois chuckled at the truth of those words. Many of the other warriors smiled as well, and tensions eased.
    “My plans must start here in Xy,” Keir said. “For this land must also change. The Warprize and I have discussed the matter, but I need the aid of another to show it to you.” Keir nodded to Marcus, who opened the door of the antechamber.
    A short, fat man beamed at him and hustled into the room with two assistants, their hands filled with rolls of parchment. Remn paused, blinked at the crowd of warriors, and then headed for Keir.
    “Warlord.” Remn greeted him with a quick bow. “I have brought all that you requested.