Warlord

Plains, Warprize."
    I opened my eyes, and my stomach dropped.
    We were on a ridge that dropped away at a steep angle. Beyond, we looked out to where the valley opened up, the trees ended, and the land rolled out like a great, wide carpet. The land shimmered with heat, red and yellow flames flickering in the distance.
    "It's burning," I said with a hush.
    Keir chuckled. "No, Lara. The grasses, they turn all colors of red before the seasons of the snows. The winds move the grasses. But I will admit that it looks like it is on fire." Of course. The Firelands. That must be how they were named. I could just make out the front of the army starting to touch the foothills, the long line of warriors snaking back toward us, to be lost in the trees below. I glanced back for a moment at the old keep. What a view there must be from the top. But my eyes were drawn back to the horizon, a long flat line that stretched out endlessly. The land spread out for as far as I could see. The sky was huge, bigger than I'd ever thought the sky could be. It spread from horizon to horizon, and I had no words to describe it, or how I felt. I'd lived my whole life in the shelter of the mountains, looking down the narrow valley from the Castle of Water's Fall. It did odd things to my stomach, to see the world open and exposed, so wild, so free, so ... limitless. Just as my life had opened when Keir had claimed me.
    I swallowed hard, taking it all in, and shivered. I'd grown comfortable with Keir, with his people. The last few weeks, I'd been so busy dealing with so many problems that I'd forgotten to be afraid. But here I was, standing on the border of a strange land, speaking a foreign language, dealing with a peo ple whose ways were strange and new. Now that I actually stopped to think about it, a wave of fear and home-sickness washed over me.
    Keir's arms tightened, and his hands took mine in their warmth. "Do not fear, Lara," he murmured in my ear.
    "It's just so different," I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away, unwilling to show him the fear in my eyes.
    I felt him nod. "As frightening as a land where one is constantly surrounded by huge mountains of stone that restrict your sight and block the sun."
    I looked back over my shoulder into his blue eyes, and his gentle smile of understanding. It was awkward, but I pressed my lips to his in a gentle kiss, which he returned. I turned back, drew a deep breath, and relaxed, knowing that my land must have seemed as strange when he'd first seen it. I leaned against Keir, and felt him lean forward to support me. And while the fear didn't flee, it did fade to something I could face. That we could face.
    Together.
    "If we don't start, the army will reach the Plains without its Warlord," Marcus groused. Keir laughed. "That will not happen." He moved closer to Greatheart, allowing me to transfer back to my horse. "We ride!"
    The track continued down the ridge, a steep switchback that brought us out in the foothills, not far from where the army was gathered.
    Keir led the way at a gallop, urging us on, smiling in delight. I hadn't thought it possible, but the land seemed to become larger as we rode, expanding before us. The colors changed now, the patterns of red and yellow growing distinct. I knew now why they worshiped the elements, the sky and the land, the wind and the rain. How could they not, when confronted with this? What would it be like, to see a storm move over the land, or to watch the sun set in the distance? I urged my horse on, suddenly eager to learn all I could about this new world.
    Keir swerved off, following the outer edge of the troops, to a rise where the warleaders had gathered. He pulled his horse to a stop, greeting all with a smile. They greeted him in turn, with varied levels of enthusiasm. Iften had spread his discontent well, even among them.
    Iften was there, of course, mounted on a big grey horse, with the warrior-priest to one side, and Wesren on the other. None of them appeared pleased to see me. Especially the warrior-priest, since he was the one I had doused with the boiled skunk cabbage. Warrior-priests don't share their names, so I had no way of addressing him. Not that he had anything to say to me. Or I to him, for that matter. It seemed to me that Iften was making every effort to stay away from me. That was fine, except for one thing. When Isdra had challenged him for the insult to her bonded, I was certain that she had cracked or broken his arm in the fight. But