Warsworn

woman warrior leaving the tent, her gear in hand, naked as a babe.
    Keir seated me on the platform. I glared at him, but he used his body to shield me from view, and placed a finger over my lips. In the background, I could hear Marcus yelling at the top of his lungs. A few more warleaders had entered the tent, listened and smirked. There was anger in Keir's eyes, but there was also a glint of humor there. I gave him a questioning look. He leaned a bit closer. "Marcus does with words what I'd use a sword to accomplish." Marcus's voice was sharp as a dagger and Iften's defensive. Iften was trying to justify his actions without much success. Of course, Marcus was giving him no quarter, no chance to put in a word edgewise.
    I snorted softly, but then reason reasserted itself as I remembered our situation. Keir sensed the change. Even though I was already wrapped in a blanket, he pulled off his cloak and swirled it out and over my shoulders. It settled on me gently, wrapping me in his warmth. I reached to pull the edges closed, but Keir knelt and did it for me. His head was close to mine, his breath warm on my cheek.
    I clutched at him. "Keir, I—" I couldn't continue for the fear that clogged my throat. He gathered my cold hands in his strong warm ones. "What happened in the village will not happen here."
    I swallowed hard, and stared at him, unable to speak.
    Keir kept his voice low. "You lived, Lara. Isdra and the child never sickened. Take hope from that."
    Marcus was bellowing at the top of his lungs, something about Iften using his cooking pots. The meeting tent was still filling with warleaders, much amused by the scene. I took advantage of the distraction to lean into
    Keir's arms, hugging him in return. He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, holding me like something precious. I drew a deep breath of leather and the scent of his skin, seeking a small comfort before facing what lay ahead.
    Keir waited, seemingly willing to sit there all day if necessary. But I pulled back, and he released me. "There's so much to do, Keir. I need—"
    "First things first." With that Keir stood and called out over the noise. "Marcus. Enough." Marcus got in the last word. "Clothe yourself. The Warprize will be offended by your naked ass."
    Iften emerged, still struggling into his trous, carrying a sheathed sword, his face red with anger. But everyone's attention was now drawn to Keir.
    "The enemy is in the camp. We must take action before it claims lives." Keir stood at my side, his hand on my shoulder. "The village is dead, leaving only one survivor. Epor has fallen as well." The response to this was immediate, with warriors stiffening all over the room. Keir didn't pause. He turned slightly. "Joden. Where are the sick?"
    "Spread out in camp." Joden replied.
    "We will gather them here. Set up the Warprize's still-tent, and—"
    "Why?" Iften stood, some of the red fading from his face. "They are afflicted. Let them crawl off, or better still, let us leave this accursed place and return to the Plains." Wesren was standing next to him, and nodded his agreement.
    "They'll die without treatment." I pointed out.
    "So?" Iften looked at me, honest surprise on his face. "This is our way, Warprize."
    "Then our dead will dribble behind us, as water from a leaking skin." A voice spoke from the tent entrance and we all looked to see Isdra standing there, with Gils behind her holding the babe's basket in one hand, satchel of healing supplies on his hip.
    From the look on Gils's face, he hadn't known of the meeting. To his credit, he didn't pause for long. He stepped past Isdra and walked through their midst to stand by my side. The babe was kicking at her blankets, waving her arms around happily.
    What astonished me was the reaction of the warlead-ers. Even Iften's face seemed to soften at the sight of the child, kicking and cooing. "Is that the only survivor?" Tsor asked softly, craning his neck to get a better look.
    "Yes." Keir smiled at the basket as Gils set it down next to me. "The babe and Isdra did not sicken. The Warprize became ill, but she survived."
    Isdra had followed Gils, to stand next to me. Without their speaking, I could see the various warleaders considering her with long looks. Was it because she lived? Or because of Epor's war club, still strapped to her back.
    Iften's eyes narrowed. "Why have you not joined your bonded, Isdra of the Fox?" Isdra's eyes were dark and cold and something in my stomach clenched. But