Warlord

she? Gathering Storm had forced one on her, hadn't he. Arrogant bastard.
    Anger cut through my pain and grief. The warrior-priests and that bastard Iften had done this. Killed my Warlord, destroyed his plans and dreams for his people. They'd tried to kill me, to make sure that my skills were lost. They'd isolate their people from new ways and new ideas to preserve their power and position, at the cost of their people's lives. They wouldn't truly lead. Not like my Keir has. Had.
    My pain welled up again as I corrected myself.
    But Keir's dream wasn't dead, so long as I lived. I frowned at the blade pressed against my skin. Reness had supported him, Osa had expressed interest. Even Liam might be looked to for support. And Xy needed me, needed Keir's dream, and a ruler who cared for her people. I stared at the blade. It would be so easy.
    And so selfish.
    I closed my eyes, and rocked as my grief returned. It would be so hard without Keir with me. Long days of pain and loneliness. I couldn't do this. It was too overwhelming.
    So easy just to go.
    I tried to wipe my nose on my sleeve. Besides, maybe Keir wanted me to join him. I puffed out a breath. Except he'd helped save me, hadn't he? I shivered at the memory of my Keir, all silver in the moonlight, riding so far behind me.
    The knife trembled in my hand.
    If I did this, if I joined him in death, Keir's dream and hope for his people died with me. I took a long, deep breath.
    I took another.
    If I killed myself, those miserable, rotten, tattooed bastards would win. Iften, that murderous bastard, would win.
    If I killed myself, our unborn child would die too.
    Oh, Goddess.
    I pulled the blade away from my wrist, and started to work it back under my sleeve. My heart was broken. It felt as if my life was broken as well, shattered with his loss. I'd grieved for my fa ther's death, but this was beyond any sorrow I'd ever felt. Part of my soul was gone, shriveled and black, a physical wound that would never heal.
    I'd seen people live with pain, adapting to their injuries, re-building their lives. But it was never the same. I'd never be whole again.
    I would see to our peoples, as best I could. I would see to our child, if indeed I was pregnant. Only then would I join Keir in the snows.
    And beyond.
    I sat and contemplated my satchel. The sun hung high over my head. Those goat-like creatures had moved further down the stream, chortling and chuckling among themselves. What was I going to do?
    It was all very well to decide to live, to carry out Keir's vision, but just how was I going to do that?
    What did I want to do?
    I pulled one of the long blades of grass, and played with it. What did I want?
    I wanted Keir.
    My tears threatened again, but I dashed them away. I needed to think, not weep. I wanted to go back to Xy. It made no sense to stay on the Plains, especially if my status as Warprize was not going to be confirmed. With Keir gone, I wasn't sure that was even possible anymore. I wanted Keir.
    My head snapped up, and I knew what I wanted. What I needed to do.
    I wanted to go home. And I wanted to take Keir with me.
    It made no sense, of course. To go back to the Heart of the Plains and demand the body of my Warlord? Goddess alone knew who survived that fight, who was in control. But even Iften had a degree of honor. I was almost certain that an unarmed woman would not be killed outright. Almost certain.
    I was going to return to the Heart of the Plains and claim my Warlord.
    I used my sleeve again, to dry my eyes. If they'd burned him, I'd demand the ashes. I'd let Reness know that I'd heal any that came to me, and teach healing to anyone who wanted to learn. That keep by the border, the one that overlooked the Plains. We could rebuild it into a school of healing. Those of the Plains who came in peace would be welcome.
    Yes. That was what I would do. But first, I was going to claim my Warlord, and find out what had happened in the Heart. Who lived? Who was in charge? Perhaps Rafe or Prest survived? They hadn't been with the dead, but—
    Marcus hadn't been either.
    I worried my lower lip with my teeth. If Marcus were dead, he'd be at Keir's side; I'd no doubt of that. I tried to remember what I'd seen, if there'd been anyone with Keir. But he'd been so far back, and I'd been crying . . .
    I wasn't sure.
    But there was a chance that Marcus lived.
    I glared at the hapless blade of grass in my hands. I'd claim Keir's body. I'd claim Marcus as well, dead or alive. I might