Warsworn

down. "Good for him, to get some rest." Prest took his food outside, but Marcus handed me a mug of kavage, and a bowl of soup, and pointed to the stump. I sat, and started to eat, looking at Gils sleeping so soundly. He looked even younger, his tousled red curls falling about his face. My gaze wandered about the tent, coming to rest on the large basket under one of the tables.
    Meara's basket.
    The soup in my mouth turned to ashes, and I choked it down as I remembered. How could I have forgotten?
    Marcus followed my gaze, and sighed when he saw the basket. He reached under the table and pulled it out. "I should have said. She is fine, Warprize."
    "You were just as exhausted, Marcus."
    He grunted, pulling the blankets from the basket. "Eat something, then we will go and check on her." His tone was gruff, but I noticed that he smiled gently as he folded and smoothed the small blankets as he removed them from the basket. A few pieces of dried lavender fell to the ground, and I gathered the dried flowers up, and held them to my nose. The scent was sweet, and I put them aside. We could use them to freshen the clean swaddles. A noise made both Marcus and I look at the entrance. Prest was standing just inside the tent, his face grim.
    "Prest?"
    "You must come, Warprize."
    "Who's—"
    "The Warlord."
     

 

     
     

Chapter 9
     
    "Keir?"
    My heart in my throat, I entered our sleeping area, blinking to adjust to the cool darkness within. Marcus had followed me, and he paused behind me as well, trying to catch his breath. Keir was seated on the bed, head hanging down, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. I jerked to a stop, my stomach clenching. Keir looked up, and gave me a weak smile, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. I forced myself to slow my breathing, and calmly moved to sit next to him on the bed. My nose picked up the familiar stink and I placed my hand on Keir's forehead. "How long?"
    "Not long." Keir answered.
    "You think." Marcus knelt and started to unlace Keir's boot. He pulled off the boot with a jerk, letting Keir's foot fall to the floor. "You've been working yourself ragged for days. Who's to say how long?"
    Prest spoke from behind us. "I'll wake Gils."
    "Iften must be told as well." Keir's voice was rough. I looked at him in horror, but he frowned at me. "With Simus gone, he is Second. He will have command." With a nod, Prest left the tent.
    "Should have killed him when he challenged." Marcus grumbled, working at the other boot.
    "Who's to say that would have been best?" Keir sighed and closed his eyes. I moved closer and placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me. "Lara, I heard. About the babe." His eyes crinkled slightly in the corners. "So now you raise the dead?" I shook my head, choking on my tears. How could he jest when—
    Keir continued, clearing his throat, trying to strengthen his voice. "We must discuss what happens in the event that—"
    "Nothing is going to happen to you." I snapped, cutting him off. "If Meara can live through this, you can."
    Keir chuckled at that, but I wasn't laughing. My fingers trembled as I unbuckled his armor.
    'The best of warlords plan for all possibilities." He paused for a moment, gathering strength. "I will plan for the worst, yes? Then it will not happen."
    I pulled his tunic over his head. His head emerged, that dark hair all rumpled and mussed. I ran my fingers through it, feeling the heat of his damp scalp. He grabbed my hand and held it to his cheek. "If it turns to the worst, I want you to leave this camp before I draw my last breath."
    "I will not leave you." I whispered.
    "Stubborn. So very stubborn." He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his cheek against my palm.
    "Your head hurts." I leaned forward, seeing the pain in the lines etched on his face. He murmured agreement softly.
    "We'll get you into bed and get you some sleepease. It will help with the headache."
    "Not until I have spoken with Iften and Isdra." Keir tried to raise himself up, to help Marcus remove his trous, but his arms trembled with the effort. Marcus made no comment, merely went about his business. When all was done, I lifted the bedding and Keir settled back, his hands reaching to place his weapons at hand.
    Before I could say anything, Marcus covered Keir's hand with his own. Keir's face held a particular look of pain as he realized what had to be done. Marcus murmured something I didn't catch, and Keir seemed reassured, pulling his hand away from