Warlord

snows and into the stars. So it is. So it will ever be."
    For the dead, perhaps. But not for the living. I squeezed Keir's hand and he gave me a solemn look. He shifted his stance, and raised our hands so that they were palm to palm, fingers intertwined. I looked into his eyes, and nodded. He and I would bring change to both the Plains and Xy. With our love, we could change the world.
    My stomach cramped again, and I shoved my free hand deep within my furs and pressed on my belly. Not now, little one. Later, I will be as sick as you please, but not right now. The flame was passing through the crowd as the torches were lit. Marcus held one to the flame of another, and so the light passed around us.
    "We dance, in thanks to the elements." Joden's words called us to order, and everyone started to join hands. Keir had explained the movements and I'd practiced the steps in the lodge with his help. We'd all join hands, and pace out the pattern in a twisting line.
    All but Marcus. He stepped to the side, holding his torch high.
    Keir took my hand, and Prest appeared to take the other. Rafe, Ander, and Yveni followed suit. Simus was holding the hands of two lovely ladies, and flirting with them. Atira and Heath joined in as well, although Heath had to fight to hold her hand. They were a source of much amusement within the lodge, what with Heath's pursuit and Atira's resistance.
    A drumbeat started, and we all took the first steps of this long slow dance. We'd return to Xy at the first sign of spring while I could travel. We'd arrive just as the first snowdrops appeared in the castle gardens. For my son would be born in the Castle of Water's Fall at the summer solstice, if all the theas who had pressed their hands to my belly could be believed. Those who traveled with us were all known to Keir, and trusted. They supported us in our efforts, and welcomed my new knowledge.
    Wild Winds had asked to winter with us. His position had not changed, but he indicated that he would welcome the chance to talk. I'd welcomed the opportunity.
    Keir had rejected it completely, and no argument would sway him.
    The drumbeat drew me back, and I minded my steps. We all melted into the pattern, holding hands and chanting, pacing out our sorrows in the snow. When we were done, when the rituals were complete, we'd return to the warm tents and lit braziers and Marcus would serve us warm kavage and the bitter gurt that I now craved. In the morning, we'd break camp, and ride south to winter in the milder lands. But first food, and warmth, and my Keir in my arms.
    Those of the Plains present a newborn babe to the elements, and listen for the sound of the child's name. But as I'd told Reness, I'd repeated to Keir in no uncertain terms that this babe would stay in my arms and be named and raised in my tradition, and he'd agreed.
    I rather liked "Xykeirson." Keirson of the Tribe of Xy.
    I could hardly wait to see Anna's reaction when my child was born and stained with the tribal tattoos. The dance continued, our steps slow and even. Joden's voice rose in the night, singing of forgiveness, for the dead, and for us.
    I looked over and squeezed Keir's hand. He returned the look, his blue eyes sparkling with pride, love, and hope. And a promise for this night.
    For the future.
    Forever.
    * * * * *
    Dearest Readers,
    Well that's it then. My magic spell is cast and well done, as far as I can tell. Lara and Keir's tale is over, at least for now. The snows are starting, blurring my vision of the Plains. My workroom is a mess. There are cold cups of kavage scattered around. I have notes and papers piled to the ceiling and all over the floor. I don't think I've seen daylight for about seventy-two hours. The fridge is full of moldy food and the cats are playing with gurtle fur and dust bunnies as large as they are. Oh dear. No help for it then. Time to clean. Open the window, get out the broom and the dust cloth. Unfortunately the magic that I wield doesn't lend itself to sweeping.
    I'll have to work on that.
    So, to start, I think I'll shift these notes over . . . what's this? Under all these papers?
    A pair of worn red leather gloves.
    Oh, I remember her. A mercenary, with a sword for a heart. Bold and sassy that one, who faced destiny on her own terms. And what was his name? I can't seem to remember ... a wounded soul, that I'm certain. Oh my, now that I think about it, they . . .
    Cleaning is overrated. Let me turn the computer back on, and get some more kavage.