Warprize

admonished him, a blush rising in my face.
    Keir merely nodded, as if in agreement. “I must return to my men. Warprize, return to the meal in your own time.”
    With that he left the room.
    Remn clutched my arm. “Lara, Othur sends you a message. Xymund was the one to clear your room of the last of your things after the ceremony. He was in the room for a long time. And emerged in a towering rage. From the way he talks, it seems that he has somehow convinced himself that you betrayed him to the Warlord. Even when he spoke to the Warlord’s man alone, his rage seems centered on you. Be careful, Lara. He hates you.”
    “Remn, I have obeyed Xymund. He has no reason to hate me.” I clutched the book to my chest. “Can you stay?”
    Remn shook his head. “I must get back and get word to Anna before the poor woman loses another ounce.” He smiled and hugged me. I held on hard, until at last he slipped from my arms, his face wet with tears. “Be well, my child.” Marcus escorted him out as I wiped my face. I placed the book under my pillow, took a few deep breaths, and returned to the meeting area. Keir was speaking when I entered. “… so plans must change as well. Provided the peace holds, we will make new division of our forces. I now have no choice but to return to the Heart of the Plains with the warprize. Simus, I would leave you here in my stead.”
    “Ah, my suffering in your service knows no boundaries,” Simus replied in mocking tones. I stepped to my seat amidst the chuckles with a pit in my stomach that had not been there before. While my head knew that I was the Warlord’s possession, my heart had denied the possibility of leaving my home. Just talking to Remn made me long for Anna and the kitchen. How could I bear never to see them again?
    Keir continued to speak. “I’ve called for a ceremony honoring the dead, both Xyian and of the Plains, to be held at the castle tomorrow night. Discuss among yourselves who should attend. He stood and looked about. ”If there is nothing further…“ From his tone, there had better not be.
    “I’s hold your token, Warlord.”
    My eyes widened. Gils had somehow managed to get into the tent and now held the token in his hand. His young voice quavered, but he stood tall before the crowd, fresh scrubbed from the look of him. His tunic had no sleeves, and the tattoos on both arms were displayed clearly. Keir sat back down, his face serious but there was warmth in his voice. “What truth would you voice, warrior? At a senel that you were asked to serve, not join?”
    Gils swallowed hard, but did not back down. “I’s Gils. I’s give voice to one truth. I’s wish to a-pren-tice,
    ” he spoke the word slowly and carefully, “to the warprize and forsake the way of a warrior for the path of healing.” The feathers on the token were moving, and I realized his hands were shaking. There were cries of outrage as warriors leaped to their feet. Gils’s eyes widened and his hands clutched the token tighter, making the bells ring. He didn’t turn to see the men behind him. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on Keir.
    Keir held up both hands, bringing silence with a gesture. “He holds my token.”
    The others sat back down.
    “I will speak to your truth.” Keir stood at the edge and looked down at Gils, who nodded. The youngster returned the token to its place, but remained standing next to it.
    “What you speak of is not our way, Gils. This truth would change your life forever, especially in the eyes of our people.” Gils opened his mouth, but Keir raised a hand. “I will consider your truth. This is not a decision made lightly, nor should your truth be answered while we are in the field. Continue in your regular duties.”
    Gils’s shoulders slumped. Keir studied him for a moment. “What are your secondary duties, Gils?”
    Yers spoke up. “Kitchen helper, Warlord.” The man shook his head. “He’s talked of nothing but the healing tent since he started taking meals there.”
    “If I remember, kitchen duty is much sought after, if only for the treats one can sneak.” There was general laughter to that comment. Keir continued, “Gils, is it your truth that you would rather empty slop pots than work in the kitchen?”
    Gils looked up and nodded. Even I could see the hope in his eyes.
    Keir looked up and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it is your truth, lad, strange though it may be. So hear then, as I speak to part of your truth. Your secondary