Warprize

duties are now to the healing tent, as helper.” Gils opened his mouth, but Keir again held up a warning hand. “As to the rest of your truth, I will consider that upon our return home. You are not released from your duties as a warrior.” Keir looked out over the crowd. “I suspect a few months of slop pots may change your mind.” Laughter swelled at that. Gils beamed. “My thanks, Warlord.” He turned and left the tent, avoiding a glaring Marcus on the way out.
    “No.” Keir watched him go. “My thanks for your truth, warrior.” Keir raised his head to look out over the crowd. “If there are no other truths, then the senel is closed.”
    The warriors were all talking, some standing and milling about. Keir moved to stand by Simus. The black man looked grim. “Iften is planning something.” He spoke so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. Keir nodded, looking out over the heads of his men. “I agree. If you feel well enough, I’d like to talk, Simus.”
    Simus laughed. “I wouldn’t miss it, Warlord. Let us retreat to my tent for kavage and discourse.” He turned his head. “Joden! Where are you?”
    Joden appeared on the platform with the four bearers. “Offering bribes of kavage and meat to these men to heave your fat carcass back to your tent.”
    “Fat! I’m not fat.” Simus tried to look offended, but no one was fooled. The young warriors got into position with much groaning and moaning and sarcastic comments from Simus.
    “Come and see me tomorrow, little healer!” Simus laughed. “I wish to hear all the details of your newest escapade.” He shook his head with a great smile. “Healed a broken leg. The warrior-priests will curse the skies!” With a grunt, the men lifted his cot and started moving away, staggering under the weight. “
    Have a care!” Simus growled, then laughed. “Have a care!” Guards held the main flaps open as they left. Keir turned and gestured for me to precede him into the sleeping area. His growl came from behind me even before the tent flap fell closed. “You’re not to use the token.”
    I turned and faced him, clasping my trembling hands in front of me. “There was a need—”
    “There was no need.” Keir growled, his jaw clenched. “This is hard enough to accomplish without you
    —”
    “I cannot heal without—”
    “Damn the supplies! This is about the peace.” Keir bellowed.
    I blinked.
    Keir ran his hand through his hair. “A peace you seem determined to threaten.”
    “I!” My back stiffened at that. “I’ve kept my part of this bargain, Warlord. Nor has Xymund violated its terms.”
    “The attacks on the horses—”
    “There may be a few malcontents, as there are in this camp.” I raised my voice to match his, and glared just as hard. How dare he imply—
    “My people hold to their word, Warprize. Explain why your brother offers such insult?”
    I dropped my eyes and stepped back a pace. How to explain what I didn’t understand myself? Lowering my voice, I fell back to my strongest argument. “He will not risk his people by violating this peace.”
    “His head, you mean.” Keir stalked about, as if needing to pace.
    My temper flared back. “His head, then. He has no reason to jeopardize his life or throne.”
    “His actions will speak for him.” Keir snapped. “If he’s behind these attacks on the herds, he’ll answer for it.” He turned on his heel to go.
    Marcus popped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. “Done with your snapping?”
    Keir raised his eyes to the ceiling. “What?”
    “You are taking her to a mourning ceremony? Tomorrow?”
    “Yes.” Keir cast a glance back at me. “It would not be a bad thing for her to be seen in the city. Rumor has her treated badly.”
    Marcus tightened his lips. “What’s she to wear? Trous is fine for camp, but city women wear dresses more often than not. I’ve managed to keep her clothed so far, but she needs other things.”
    I pressed my lips together and looked away.
    Keir’s voice was thoughtful. “I had not thought of that.”
    Marcus snorted. “Seems to be happening a lot of late.”
    I looked over at that, to see Keir arch an eyebrow and tilt his head. “So, the clothing of one woman is a task beyond your skills, old man?” He moved past us, to the main flap. “Who’d have thought it?”
    “Where are you off to?” Marcus demanded.
    “To Simus’s tent.”
    “And me?” I demanded.
    “As you like.” Was the comment tossed over his