Warprize

who filled it woodenly. “Oh, but that was nothing compared to…”
    After the second cup of kavage, Simus was grey, Joden looked faint and I felt wide awake and full of energy.
    I wondered what was in that stuff.
    I didn’t stay much past the second mug. Once his color came back, Simus looked tired. I knew that he should rest. So I stood, said my farewells, and left the tent. Joden followed me out, saying that he needed more wood for the fire. Once outside, he put his hand on my shoulder. “My thanks. Simus will listen to you.”
    I looked up. “I hope so. I didn’t make those stories up.”
    Joden shuddered.
    “Joden, where are the tents of the healers?” I frowned. “I am sure that they must have more fever’s foe, or something like it.”
    “The warrior-priests do not share their knowledge,” Joden pointed off behind the tent and further down the rise to a group of tents clustered together. “His tent was there.” He hesitated. “My thanks again, Warprize. For the life of my friend.”
    I studied him for a moment. “You used my name before, Joden.”
    He smiled ruefully. “You are the warprize now.”
    I grimaced, and turned to leave as he returned to the tent. I moved but a few steps toward Keir’s tent when I heard it. The sound of a whip being applied to someone’s flesh. I hesitated, and turned toward the sound, taking a few steps between the tents. A quick glance told me that the guards weren’t paying that much attention, so I moved a bit farther and looked toward the sound. Behind the tents a man was tied to a post, stripped to the waist, his back bloody. Two men were standing there, one lashing at him with a whip. I knew military discipline was harsh, Father had talked about it. But it was one thing to talk of something, another to see. The lash fell with a regular rhythm, the man making harsh grunts as they landed. I froze in fear, horrified, as they stopped, untied him and watched as he dropped soundlessly to the ground. The other men picked him up by the arms, dragged him to the warrior-priest tent, and dropped him just inside the flap. They walked off, as if he was no longer their concern.
    I expected some kind of outburst, some kind of response from inside the tent, but nothing happened. There were bedrolls, of warriors sleeping around open fires, but none stirred. I could still see the man’s foot in the tent entrance. No one was helping him.
    The camp around us was stirring a bit more. I could see men moving about with weapons and horses, bent on various tasks. He’d be found eventually. But if he roused, and rolled over into the dirt… I took a tentative step forward, then another. There was no outcry, no calls of ‘escaping slave’. I hurried forward to help. The man’s foot never twitched as I carefully raised the flap of the main entrance and went inside. I was hit with a terrible stench first thing. Gasping, I covered my nose with my shirt and looked around. What in the Goddess’s name…
    It was a large tent, with fewer cots then had been up at the castle. Men lay in them, some moaning. The stench came from the overflowing slop pots under each cot. The man at my feet was unconscious, but breathing. From the look of it, none of these men had been tended, or bathed recently. There was no one about that looked to be caring for the men at all.
    I staggered back out into the light and air, wiping my streaming eyes. I looked around, furious at this lack of care. There appeared to be some dozen warriors, sleeping around a fire pit at the side of the tent. The large cauldrons nearby told me that it was probably used for laundry. I stomped over, braiding up my hair as I went. Sure enough, these men looked healthy and sleeping off a drunk. I hauled off and kicked the nearest one in the shins.
    He yelled, coming out of the blanket. I had already moved on, kicking each body in quick succession. Their curses filled the air. I was unimpressed.
    “Are you tending the men in that tent?” Spittle flew from my lips as I shouted, I was that angry. “How dare you sleep while men are suffering?” The one I was yelling at rubbed his face, looking at me owl-eyed. A hand came from behind me, gripped my upper arm and spun me around.
    “What business is it of yours, dog? Eh?” A big blonde woman towered over me, clearly a veteran of long battles and hard living. The wonder of a woman warrior escaped me at the time, since she gave me a hard shake, her fingers digging into the muscle. I