Warlord

of this gift." Keir's face was tight with anger, but he controlled it. "Our skill at the hunt will show our worth. Any who think they are unworthy," he glared at Iften, "or have offended," he moved his glare to Aret, "they are free to decline the hunt." His upper lip curled. "They can chant for their evening meal."
    "I want fresh ehat, fresh from the fire." Yers smacked his lips. Keir laughed, nodding in agreement. "As is traditional, I will take the first musk team. Iften, if you would hunt, you may have the second. Yers—"
    Iften interrupted. "I'd rather first kill."
    Keir raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You decline the honor?" At Iften's nod, Keir wasted no more time.
    "Yers, you may have the second musk team."
    "An honor, Warlord." Yers reached for the buckles of his armor and started to remove it.
    "Ortis and Aret, if you would hunt, you may have third and fourth musk." Ortis nodded, and handed his weapons to those around him. Aret paused, then shrugged, and started to remove her armor as well.
    "Joden." Keir started to unlace his leather. "I offer you second kill." This caused a bit of a stir, but Joden refused. "I must watch the hunt, Warlord, if I am to sing of it."
    "Then Sal, Uzaina, and Tsor, you have the honors. Choose your warriors well." They all nodded, and moved off, talking and sending runners off as well, apparently to summon warriors. Wesren stood silent for a moment, without an assignment. His face flushed, he turned toward Iften. That warrior-priest was there as well, handing something to Iften, who placed it in his mouth. I looked away before they could catch me staring.
    Keir had dropped his leather armor in the grass, and started to pile his weapons on top. "Joden, would you keep watch over the Warprize during the hunt?"
    "I will tend to Xylara," Joden answered. "See to your own hide, Keir. Ehat horns know no difference between warlord and warrior."
    Keir nodded. "Rafe and Prest, would you ride with me?"
    They both jerked in surprise, Prest's eyes going wide. Rafe responded, "YES!" They both began to strip.
    "Marcus! Where is that oil?" Keir called, having stripped down to his trous.
    "Here." Marcus led a pack horse close, and started handing out pots of a thick greenish paste. I grabbed one to look at. Keir took a handful from the pot I held and started rubbing it on his chest.
    "What is this?" I asked, dipping my finger in and holding it to my nose. A faint sweet smell caught me by surprise, since it felt almost like lard. "I haven't seen this before."
    "Sweetfat," Keir answered, stepping out of his trous, standing there naked. "Would you do my back?" With a nod, I looked up to discover myself in a crowd of naked men and women, in the process of rubbing this stuff all over themselves and each other. I flushed, moved behind Keir, and focused on his back, and his back alone. Which was no real sacrifice, since his bronze skin looked well with the gleam of the oil. I tried to keep my mind on other things. "Sweetfat?"
    Marcus came up beside me with another pot. "We use it for rough skin, or when the wind blows faces red and raw. Or to prevent the musk from sticking to skin."
    "Musk?"
    Keir was rubbing the oil into his face and hair. "Ehat musk is vile. We have to get the animal to empty its sac before we can kill it or the meat will be tainted."
    I scooped up a handful and smeared more on his back. There was a very faint greenish tinge to the fat.
    "What kind of grasses do you use in this?"
    Keir shrugged.
    Marcus had gone to another pack horse, and was handing out cloths and garments that were torn and tat tered. The warriors chosen for the musk teams were putting these on, tattered trous, or wrapping shirts and loose cloth about their loins. Old footwear as well was offered and everyone tried to find something that fit.
    "The clothes will be burned when we are done. Water does no good to remove the stink. Instead we will strip and rub ourselves with dirt and grasses afterwards," Keir explained.
    "It sounds unpleasant."
    Yers laughed. "Which is why the 'honor' goes to the highest ranked warriors, Warprize." I kept my eyes averted, but I pondered Yers's words. If that was the case, why had Iften refused a musk team?
    The horses were being led up and I decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat out of the way. Joden fol lowed, as did Ander and Yveni. By now most of the teams were covered, although they all shone from the fat they'd rubbed into their bodies. The decision made to hunt, the