Warprize

him sleep, but he declined. As soon as I finished, Marcus hustled me out.
    Once outside, I resisted. “I want to check Atira’s leg.”
    “None of that.” Marcus barred my path. “Hisself said ‘to the tent’ and off to the tent we go.”
    Rafe coughed to draw my attention and spoke once he had my eye. “It’s the Warlord’s command.”
    I would’ve argued, but my arm was throbbing. We returned to Keir’s tent, only to engage in a heated discussion of just how Rafe and Prest were going to guard me. They interpreted their instructions literally, and intended to sit and watch me sleep. After some heated discussion, Rafe and Prest took up positions outside, and Marcus and I went in alone.
    I folded up the cloak and laid it on one of the benches, careful not to use my arm too much. “Marcus, do challenges happen often?”
    “Of course, Warprize. Before the armies are gathered, the challenges are fought to determine ranks. But that is for the early spring. No one issues challenge on campaign.”
    “Iften did.”
    “Iften is a fool.” Marcus chuckled softly. “Hisself took care of him without raising a sword.”
    “Could someone challenge Simus? While he is hurt?”
    “That’s not done, Warprize. Another would take his place while he healed. Iften in fact, since he stands third in rank.” Marcus fussed with the brazier. “Although few heal from such a wound.” He frowned into the coals, then turned, regarding me. “It’s off to bed with you. Hisself won’t be in until late, if I know him.
    ”
    I lay awake for quite some time, wondering about a world where a warrior held his rank and title by merit instead of class or birth. My dreams were filled with the images of Xy-mund fighting Warren for the crown when I slipped into sleep.
    I awoke to a warm embrace, a frowning countenance, and Keir’s voice in my ear.
    “You are not to leave this bed today.”
    The day deteriorated from there.
    Marcus was cranky from lack of sleep. Keir was wound tighter then he had been the night before, if that were possible. I was upset because my arm ached, Marcus was cranky, and Keir was impossible. He ordered me to stay in bed.
    I refused.
    He ordered me to stay in the tent.
    I refused.
    He ordered me to accept an escort of my guards, Rafe and ten more men to the tents, have my assistants check my arm, and return to his tent.
    I refused. I asked to go into the city with him to see Warren.
    He refused.
    During our discussion, we bathed, dressed, and ate. And discussed the matter at the top of our lungs. Finally, Marcus emerged from his area and roared “Enough!” We both stopped talking, and turned to glare at him.
    Marcus glared right back. “You.” He said, pointing at Keir. “Go to the city with some men and find out what Warren has learned.” He turned and pointed at me. “You. Go to the tents with your guards.” He glared at both of us. “Damned fools.” He stomped off. “And don’t come back ‘til after my nap!” he yelled from the back.
    Keir grabbed up his cloak and sword, and stomped out. I glared at the tent wall as I finished my kavage, then grabbed up my cloak and stomped out. Epor and Isdra were waiting outside, and they eyed me with trepidation as I walked past them. They fell into step behind me, and were smart enough to stay quiet as we walked.
    I strode to Simus’s tent, wanting to check his wound, but Joden was emerging as I walked up. “He’s sleeping, Warprize. He and Keir were up late, talking.”
    “I’ll let him sleep.”
    “I’ll walk with you, if I may. I wish to talk to Atira.” Joden fell in step next to me. Epor and Isdra followed.
    “For your song?”
    Joden nodded. “1 wish to see what happened through her eyes.”
    “Will you sing of what happened last night? Iften’s challenge?”
    Joden snorted. “No, Warprize. The songs I create now must be great songs of great events, songs that will aid me in earning the title of Singer. I will not sing of fools.”
    Gils awaited us at the healing tent, smiling next to a pile of bandages and a pot of fever’s foe. Atira was the only patient, propped up on her cot; they both looked up eagerly when we walked in. Epor and Isdra arranged themselves by the tent flap, sitting on stumps. Isdra flipped her long braid back and pulled out some leather work. Epor had some oil that he seemed to be rubbing into the wooden handle of his war club.
    “You must tell me what happened!” Atira threw up her hands in disgust. “They