Warlord

death of a bonded pair, and caused them to die in shame. You have brought the filth of your cities to the Plains. You honor those afflicted by the elements." He glared, and pointed a wrinkled finger at me. "Worse still, you claim to be able to raise the dead." Stunned, I stood there, my mouth hanging open.
    "So tell us, Outlander, what do you bring to the Plains, other than lies, affliction and death?"
     

 

     
     

Chapter 8

 

     
     

     
    My fury rose at the Elder's words. I lashed out, lifting my chin in scorn. "This is not the Council of the Elders," I spat. "Am I offered cool water to ease my throat? Where is a seat for my weary body, or food for my belly? Not even water to bathe my hands and thank whatever power I choose for a safe journey?" I let my eyes rake over them, making my contempt clear. "Here I stand, in the Heart of the Plains, supposedly before the Council of Elders, and yet where is the courtesy of the Plains that I have come to know and respect? Nowhere that I can see."
    I was trembling, in exhaustion and anger, and knew that in a moment I'd collapse as weak as an hour-old colt. But not here. I turned on my heel and left the tent.
    Our horses were gone, there was no one to stop me. Without really seeing, I plunged into a chaos of people and tents, striding as fast as I could, away from the hatred within that tent. With new strength born of anger, I strode off.
    Thankfully, there were wide ways between the various tents. I chose the widest, lost in my fury. Every word spoken by that Elder had been false, or an exaggeration. How dare he say that of me? Of Keir?
    I drew a ragged breath, choking and laughing at the same time. Father had always despaired of my temper. Fierce and hot, it would rise to the surface in an instant, unleashing my tongue with an angry retort, only to fade almost as quickly. He tried every way he could think to get me to control it. "Take a deep breath," he'd urge. "Mind that tongue of yours, and think before you speak." Advice I'd never been able to follow.
    My feet propelled me down the course at a fast pace, and it was only the laughter of children that brought me back to the world around me.
    Off to the side, there was a large tent with a cooking fire in front of it. A few men and women were trying to get a group of small children to settle down before eating, with no success. The children, of all ages, were laughing and giggling in some game only they understood. A young man, no older than Gils had been, was trying to pour water over small grubby hands and getting nowhere for his efforts. An older woman emerged from the tent and looked about. Suddenly, each child was settled, all with sweet smiles of absolute innocence and hands held out for the ritual.
    I had to smile, and with that, some of my anger faded. Instead I was overcome with curiosity. So this was the Heart of the Plains! The home of the dreaded Firelanders.
    I strolled now, looking about me, taking it all in. Clearly everyone was preparing for the evening meal, and tents glowed with light from within. There were some outside firepits, burning with coals and surrounded by people, talking and laughing and eating. How like home it was. And yet, how different. Here there was color everywhere, and no one seemed conscious of rank or position. Men were cooking as well as women, and there were quite a few men taking care of small children.
    But it was more than that. There was the tang in the air of grilling meat and spices I didn't recognize. There were no buildings, no mountains to block the vaulted sky filled with stars above us. The tents seemed to range from tiny shelters to large, sprawling structures cobbled together from many tents. People were laughing and talking, and there was color everywhere, in the clothing, in the tents, in the banners that hung all over. The clothing ranged from full armor to scraps of cloth or complete lack thereof. All were at ease with their nakedness, from the smallest child to the tough, scrawny old warriors. Naked or clothed, everyone carried weapons. Even the small children had wooden daggers at their belts. But even as I looked about, I sensed that I was being watched as well. I knew from experience that to those of the Plains, my lack of weapons made me stand out like a sore thumb. I sighed, suddenly very homesick: for Anna's big kitchen, and my old bedroom, with its small bed and a window that looked down on the city. My feet began to drag, as my newfound strength