Warcry

worked up about the feast.”
    Heath gave a mock shudder. “Worse than a battlefield in there.”
    “That it is,” the girl laughed. “But it will be worth it all tonight.”
    “Marcsi, where are you?” came a cry from the kitchens. “The sauce is burning!”
    “Oh Goddess,” the girl said, and ran for the kitchen door.
    “You sent word,” Atira asked.
    Heath nodded. “I told Detros, and he sent word to my father. Lanfer will be watched.”
    Between bites of warm bread smeared with soft white cheese, Atira told Heath what had happened in the senel. Heath listened as he ate, not interrupting, until she had finished.
    He waited as she took a sip of the tea. “Will the warriors leave?” Heath asked.
    “Not all of them,” Atira said. “Keir has never made a secret of his intentions. But the deaths from illness . . .” she sighed. “There is no honor in that death.”
    “No dishonor, either,” Heath pointed out.
    “That may be true here in Xy,” Atira said, “but on the Plains?”
    Heath shook his head and took a sip of kavage.
    “What of the Warprize’s senel?” Atira asked.
    Heath sighed and told her, explaining the importance of the paper and the writing that was on it. Atira nodded, so he went on, talking about Lord Reddin’s request.
    “I’m sure Durst is behind it,” Heath said, pulling apart the piece of bread in his hand, “but I can’t see why.”
    “Words on paper hold a strange power.” Atira tore another hunk of bread from the loaf. “They are always the same, unyielding in their truth.”
    Heath looked at her. “But your people have perfect memories, Atira.”
    “Not perfect.” She frowned, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Even with exact memories, each remembers his own truth, as each understands it to be.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Still, on the Plains, one can see an enemy coming for miles.”
    “Unless he is hiding in the grass,” Heath pointed out.
    Atira shrugged as she spread cheese on her bread. “That is a truth,” she replied. “But somehow it feels different here. Is this what it feels like for you when you try to play chess in your head? You can’t really play without seeing all the pieces. You lose track, or forget that—” she cut herself off at the odd look on Heath’s face. “What?”
    “You’re right,” Heath said slowly. “There’s a piece missing.”

CHAPTER 17
     
    ATIRA WAS STARING AT HIM WITH WIDE BROWN eyes, but she stayed silent, letting him think.
    “We can’t see all the pieces, can we?” Heath said slowly.
    “Well,” Atira said softly, “we can see Lanfer now.” She paused, focused on him. “We can see the threat he represents. And you and your father know the lords and their loyalties—”
    “No,” Heath said. “There’s a piece missing from the board.” He let his gaze fall on the kavage in his hand, thinking.
    He felt Atira move slightly, scanning the courtyard. The sounds of the guard’s practice, the kitchen maids, gossiping as they plucked feathers—they all faded as he ran through the events of the last few days.
    “The Archbishop hasn’t made an appearance, has he? He isn’t on the board.” Heath kept his voice low. “He sent word through Browdus that he was ill, but not so ill that a healer was needed.”
    “Is that unusual?” Atira asked, her voice just as low. “Isn’t it normal for Xyians to get sick?”
    “That man loves his own importance,” Heath said. “The entire city and all of the nobility knew when Lara would enter Water’s Fall. So sick that he couldn’t attend a moment of such great importance?”
    “Like a warrior-priest, more concerned about status than anything,” Atira said. “Is the Archbishop a clever man?”
    “No,” Heath shook his head. “He’s pompous and always looking out for himself. Easily swayed to a position. Lara ran right over him in her haste to be crowned and follow Keir. She talked to him privately for a short time just before she convinced the Council to let her have her way.” Heath looked at Atira and gave her a grin. “I wonder what she said.”
    Atira rolled her eyes. “When the Warprize wants something, she is like the wind.”
    Heath laughed. “I once overheard Xyron, Lara’s father, tell my father that the pennants and the Archbishop move with the breeze.”
    “Maybe he doesn’t wish to be seen as unable to decide?” Atira offered.
    “Or maybe someone is afraid that he will waver if he sees Lara,” Heath