Warsworn

me. He was a smaller man, thin, with fair skin and deep black hair and brown eyes. Quite a contrast to my other guard, Prest. Prest was much larger, and a quiet one, with skin of brown, and black hair in twenty thick braids that fell to the center of his back. More a man of action than words, he calmly guided the horses off to the side, where we could stop.
    I started to wiggle off, but Marcus would have none of it. "You are to stay off those feet, you are."
    "Marcus—"
    Rafe swung down off his horse. "Point it out to me, Warprize and I'll get you handfuls." Epor and Isdra came up beside us. "Problem?" Isdra asked, her long silver braid hanging down her shoulder. Her skin was a light gold in the sun, and her slanted grey eyes were quietly amused. Epor didn't bother to hide his smile. His bright gold hair and beard shown like the sun. He always reminded me of the paintings of the Sun God in the temple back home.
    "Herself wants to be picking weeds." Marcus grumbled.
    "Bloodmoss." I corrected him. "That's the one, Rafe. Let me see." Epor snickered slightly as Rafe bent to the task of getting the plants. I noticed that Isdra gave him an amused look and reached over to nudge his leg. He caught her hand, and raised it to his lips. I look away, embarrassed at such a public display.
    Rafe held up a handful of leaves and plants, their torn roots dangling. "Which one, Warprize?" I heard a pounding of hooves behind us, even as I reached for the plants. Marcus heaved a sigh. "That'll be theyoung'un'."
    It was Gils, all right, riding his horse at breakneck speed along the army, grinning like a madman. It cheered me to see his simple pleasure in racing his horse like the wind. Marcus grumbled, but the others smiled and made room as Gils galloped to my side.
    "Cadr came to see me, Warprize! To ask for help with a bad boil." He smiled broadly at me, his curly red hair dancing in the breeze, his words spilling out. "I told him that I would ask you, that I had to consult with my Master."
    I grinned back at him, the young Firelander who had declared himself my apprentice. While Keir had decreed that he had to keep his place as a warrior for now, his secondary duties were to act as my helper. At least until we reached the Heart of the Plains. I'd used every spare minute to give him lessons. "Good. With any luck I can show you how to lance it. But first, Gils, remember what I told you about bloodmoss?" Gils nodded, but I didn't give him time to answer. I grabbed the soft yellow leaves out of Rafe's hands, scattering the rest. "It's there, right there, Gils. Get some for me."
    The army continued past as he swung down to join Rafe in picking the plants. The others had gone on alert, something I doubt they were even aware of, moving their horses to encircle us. Even though we were traveling in the center of the Warlord's army, their instincts were to safeguard. There was no danger in being left behind, since the army was moving at a walk, and was spread out over what seemed to me to be miles.
    "Prest, do you have any ehat leather to spare?" Epor asked.
    Prest cast him a look over his shoulder. "You have a need?"
    "The handle of my club needs rewrapping."
    "He fancies ehat for the grip." Isdra explained.
    "Would take a piece the size of an ehat to wrap that fool weapon of yours." Marcus groused. I glanced over at Epor, who had his club fastened to his back in a harness. It was a long thick piece of wood, half again as long as my arm, with metal studs along the length of the top and leather wrapped high on the handle. "What's wrong with his weapon?" I asked. Rafe popped up next to my leg, bloodmoss in two hands. "Marcus doesn't approve, Warprize." Marcus grunted. "Too slow and unwieldy."
    "For you," Epor responded, as if this were an old argument. "I prefer a weapon where if I hit the enemy, the enemy goes down and stays down." Epor gave me a saucy grin and a wink. I gave Rafe a questioning look, and he laughed at my confusion. "Warprize, a club is a two-handed weapon, best used by a big man with strength in his arms and chest. Like Epor or Prest."
    "Not you?" I asked.
    Rafe shook his head. "I'm one for speed. Quicker with a sword or dagger. Isdra, Gils or I would strike twice for every one of Epor's blows." His eyebrows danced as he gave Marcus a quick glance. "Or once for every three blows from Marcus with those daggers of his." Epor laughed, his blond hair gleaming in the sun. "Ah, but in need, even you or Isdra could use it