Warprize

“You’re not eating, and I’m thinking that you’re not sleeping either.”
    I watched the ground pass below us. “I’m fine.”
    “Are you pregnant?”
    I dropped my head onto his back and groaned. “Marcus…”
    “It’s a fair question.” Marcus replied. “Our women take precautions in the field, but you Xyians have such strange ways…”
    “I am not pregnant.” I growled. I didn’t want to think about that, although he was right. I hadn’t taken any precautions.
    My courses were due any day. But the idea of being pregnant raised issues that I didn’t want to consider.
    “Then what is wrong, Lara?”
    The fact that he was using my name told me that he was worried. I opened my mouth, but the truth would not come. “I’m fine, Marcus. Truly.”
    He snorted. “As you say, Warprize.” He stiffened in the saddle, and I knew that I had upset him. This scarred little man had come to mean a great deal to me within a short period of time. He was fiercely loyal to his Warlord, and I was included in that loyalty. I wasn’t sure that was by virtue of my own self, or that fact that I was Keir’s chosen Warprize. Regardless, how could I confide my worries and fears to him? He already held Xyians in contempt on general principals. My fretful complaints could only heap wood on that fire.
    I settled for an obvious question. “When do you think we’ll stop for the night?”
    “A few hours yet, Warprize. Hisself will keep us moving until we lose the light.”
    “Why is he in such a hurry?”
    “Hisself has his reasons. You’re to be confirmed when we reach the Heart of the Plains, and the sooner the better.” Marcus’s tone was a clear indication that the topic was now settled. I looked about for a different distraction, and caught a glimpse of Epor reaching over to tug on Isdra’s braid. “Epor seems sweet on Isdra.”
    “Eh?” Marcus growled. “Sweet? What means this?”
    I floundered for the unfamiliar words. “That he cares for her.”
    There was an unnatural pause. I leaned forward. “Marcus?”
    “They are bonded.” He spoke grudgingly, almost as if the words caused him pain. “Do you not see the ear spirals?”
    “Bonded? Is that the same as married?” I twisted about, trying to get a better look at their ears, but Marcus had apparently grown weary of me.
    “Ask Epor. Or Isdra.” His tone was curt and he whistled, somehow catching Prest’s attention. Prest raised a hand, and started to move back toward us. Because I was a burden on the horse, I was traded off every hour so as not to tire any one animal. The elements forbid that a horse be over-tried. I was starting to feel like a package in a trading caravan.
    Marcus spoke as Prest moved into position. “Joden is a good man, Lara, valued for his wisdom. He is heard in senel, although he holds no rank, and even by the Elders when he appears before their councils. He will make a great Singer once he is recognized as such.”
    Prest drew closer, preparing to transfer me to his horse. I was trying to figure out what Marcus was trying to say.
    “If you can’t confide in anyone else, you can confide in a Singer. Words spoken to a Singer are held to his heart, where they can not be pried free. Talk to Joden, Lara. Please.”
    With that, they transferred me to Prest’s horse without breaking stride, and Marcus faded back and away into the crowd.
    Prest is a full head taller then Marcus and easily twice as broad. I rather dreaded riding with him, since I could not see over his shoulders. Which meant that my stomach would be upset by the time I left his horse.
    Prest also isn’t much of a talker, which left me free to dwell on my miseries. If Atira were here, I might be able to confide in her, but she’d been left in Water’s Fall, under the care of Eln. Her leg would heal true, but the break would not let her travel. Even surrounded by thousands of warriors, I felt terribly alone. Keir had been absent now for two days, and part of me feared he’d decided that this Warprize no longer interested him. Maybe I could talk to Joden, confide in him. Joden had helped me so much when I’d been taken to the camp. He’d been the one to figure out that I’d been lied to by Xymund, my late half-brother. But I felt so very stupid and silly. Like a spoiled child with a broken toy. Just how could I tell anyone how miserable I was? Fire-landers already had a fairly low opinion of soft city folk, and if I started complaining it would only