Warprize

coming for the nooning with some of his men. He has sent a messenger to confirm that he will come, and to tell me that Durst still clings to life with the aid of Eln the Healer.”
    I caught my breath. “Eln is very skilled. I apprenticed to him.”
    Keir cocked his head. “Skilled with porcupine quills?”
    I smiled. “Yes, that too.”
    Keir lifted his chin, a gleam of humor in his eyes. “We will review battles and tell lies about our bravery. Do you wish to attend?”
    I looked around the tent. “There’s so much to do here. Do you mind?”
    “No.” His lips twitched. “Although you are missing Simus at his best, full of food and drink and tales of his prowess.” Keir shook his head. “Prest and Rafe have asked to be there. I will send someone to relieve them.”
    I shrugged and smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
    Keir frowned. “No. They will be relieved. I’ll have food brought to you as well.” He reached up, cradled my head in his hand, and kissed me. His lips lingered on my mouth. “I will be thinking about you.” He lowered his voice. “And about this morning.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “And about tonight.” He stood and smiled at my blush.
    “Maybe there will be night horrors again tonight?” He chuckled as he left the tent. I threw myself into the work, rather then try to think about anything else. Prest and Rafe helped me arrange the tables, with the crates below. It took a while to sort through everything and to get the heavy crates maneuvered into position.
    At last, we were down to one unopened crate. Prest had found something to pry off the top. He and Rafe were wrestling with it when their relief arrived, hailing from outside the tent. With one last heave, Prest pried the lid off. They both scrambled to their feet, eager to go. Rafe pulled the new guards inside. “Warprize, this is Epor and Isdra. They will guard while we are gone.”
    Prest and Rafe turned and left with my thanks floating behind them. I smiled at the older man and woman, the same that were with us in the castle. I remembered him for his bright gold hair and beard that shown like the sun. He had a warm, easy smile, and was big, like the paintings of the sun god in the temple. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the slight silver at his temples told me that he was older than most Fire-landers that I had met. He was different too, in that he had a long club strapped to his back, the top jutting up like the hilts of Keir’s swords. Epor smiled back and nodded. “I am Epor, Warprize. This is Isdra. Let us know if you need help. We’ll be outside if you need us, if Isdra can stop gaping.”
    The woman, who was almost his height but thinner, had a long braid of silver hair that hung down her back. Her skin had a yellow tint to it, and her eyes were oddly slanted. She wore a shield on her back, and a sword and dagger at her side. She’d been busy looking around at all the things in the tent. She seemed a bit more reserved to me but at Epor’s words, she whipped her head around, flinging the braid and glared at Epor with her grey eyes flashing. Epor just laughed, and pulled at her braid as they left the tent. I noticed that they each had some kind of metal wire laced along the outer rim of their left ears. It glittered in the light as Isdra turned her head. I’d have to ask Atira what it meant. I watched as Epor and Isdra took up stations outside the flap. It still seemed so strange to me, to see women dressed in armor, with weapons she clearly knew how to use. All of the women that I’d seen were so strong, confident of her abilities and secure in her position. I envied them to a degree, having so freely what I had to fight to achieve.
    I turned back to my work and lifted the lid of the last crate.
    I sat down. Hard. And stared.
    It was filled with paper. Ink. Blank journals.
    In one wonderful, horrible moment I knew that I was lost. Keir, Warlord, had taken me, claimed me, made me his warprize. But somewhere, somehow, he had managed to find a way into my heart as well. How had this happened? I’d given myself to a barbarian, a ravaging, crazed warlord, expecting little more than abuse and dishonor at his hands. But this man had offered nothing but kindness and respect to me, his property. I knew this gift was by his hand, I’d not spoken to Sal about paper or ink, and she’d not understand its importance.
    Could he care so much that he paid attention to this tiny detail?
    Did he want