Warprize

He laughed, then pointed. “Here they come.”
    Looking out, I could see that someone was being carried on a cot, much like Simus had been carried to the senel. It was Atira, laying flat on the cot as some of her friends carried her through the crowd. The stones had been removed, but her leg was still in a cast.
    “Bring her up here.” Keir called out, and the cot started to head toward the platform.
    “Warprize!” Atira called out when they drew nearer. “Are you well?”
    “Very well. How’s your leg?” I asked, curious to see how the leather was holding up.
    “It itches.” She complained as they brought her cot up and placed it next to me, so that she had a good view of the grounds. “That grey one came and looked at it, and seemed pleased. Gils has been watching it too.” She smiled at me as she propped herself up. “I’m glad to see that you are well. Scared me to the snows, let me tell you, you being attacked.” She looked around. Keir was kneeling at the edge of the platform, talking to a few of the warriors. She dropped her voice and continued. “I managed to throw a knife and take one out, but got knocked to the ground before I could do more. It was the Warlord’s raging that saved our hides.”
    “Were you there when he…” I let my voice trail off, unsure how to ask the question.
    “When he was standing over you?” She rolled her eyes. “Aye, half under my cot and fearing to breathe. I
    ’ve heard tell of battle rage, but never saw it before. Knew enough to lay still and quiet. Good thing you talked him out, Warprize. Not something they can always do.” She flashed me a grin. “But never mind that, there’s a pattern dance to watch!”
    Keir had risen to stand at the very edge. “Would you see a pattern?”
    “AYE!” Every voice seemed to shout, and cheering began.
    Keir held up a small wooden bowl. “Iften, call the dancers forth.”
    Marcus was behind us, wrapped deep in a cloak. He muttered something that I didn’t hear, but that Iften picked up as he approached. There was anger on his face as Iften took the bowl from Keir’s hands. But he moved off into the center of the field without a word. Iften held the bowl before him with both hands. “
    Hear me!”
    The crowd grew quiet.
    “Heyla!” Iften called out.
    “Heyla!” The crowd responded.
    “Who would dance a pattern for us?”
    From all around the circle, nine running figures emerged from the crowd, dashing up to Iften and placing some sort of token in the bowl that he held. As they dropped in their tokens, they continued on, disappearing back into the crowd. The last one jumped up just before he reached the bowl and dropped the token in with a flare, prompting laughter from the crowd. After a pause, Iften raised the bowl over his head. “Let the sky hear our voices.”
    I was startled when a sound like a crack of thunder was heard, until I saw the drummers in the crowd, with large drums at their feet. Each had struck their drums once, and the vibration filled my ears.
    “Let the earth feel our feet.” Iften made a quarter turn to face another part of the crowd. Again the drums sounded. “Let the wind sense our strength.” He paused as the drums sounded in response. “Let the flames see our patterns.” He shouted, as he made another turn. This time, in addition to the drums, the torches were lit. The crowd roared out with the drums at the last call, crying a tremendous ‘heyla’!
    Iften reached in and pulled a token from the bowl. “Red, dance your pattern.” He called, then moved off the field.
    Again, runners emerged from the crowd. It was a group of ten men and women. They were dressed in tunics and trous, with red headbands, and red streamers flowing behind them as they ran. They ran to the center of the field, and stood in a circle. There was a pause, then the drums began to beat a fast, steady measure.
    The dancers took one step forward, linked their arms, and began to dance. It didn’t take me long to see what they were doing. I’d been taught court dances when I was a child, and seen the romps and rills that the servants danced when they celebrated the harvest. But I had never seen anything like this before. They wove a pattern with their bodies, stepping in then out of the circle then around each other to form the circle again. Just when I was sure they were coming to an end, from nowhere they produced wooden sticks, like axe handles, and started to beat out a counter rhythm to the drums.