Warsworn

Gils's watchful eye.
    Isdra looked at me with a raised eyebrow, waiting for my question.
    I kept my voice low. "What did it mean, earlier? When Gils said that he understood more than Keir knew."
    Isdra focused her eyes on the fever's foe, as if it were critical that her work was performed to an exacting standard.
    "I knew what you meant, when you said that you would see me safe before going to the snows. But why did Marcus and Gils say what they said?"
    I didn't think she was going to speak, and for a long moment she didn't. But I just out-silenced her, waiting for my answer.
    Finally she sighed. "Lara, if Keir dies, the next death will be Marcus's." I sat for a bit, scooping up the thick fever's foe. "Because of his scars?"
    "In the Plains, to be so crippled is to be considered afflicted and useless. An offense to the elements. Normally, such a one would end his or her life." Isdra set the full jar aside and reached for another. We no longer bothered to seal them.
    "He's not useless or an offense." I snapped. "That is so stupid, to think that way."
    "I would not have agreed with you before this campaign." Isdra responded. "But knowing Marcus, having seen his worth, well…" She shrugged.
    "But Gils is whole. Why—"
    "Gils proclaimed his desire to learn the healing ways publicly, for all the warleaders to see, rejecting our ways."
    Isdra reminded me, giving me a sharp look. "I wasn't sure he understood what he'd done, but apparently he does. A bold stroke, in its own way."
    "So he'd suffer, if Keir…" I couldn't bring myself to finish the thought. Isdra was content to work in silence, but I had to say something. "Isdra. Meara, how is she?" She stopped. "Well, Warprize." Her voice was steady, but the spoon in her hand smeared fever's foe on the side of the jar. Isdra looked over at Keir, pain in her eyes. "She's more theas than she needs. Worry more for your Warlord." She reached for a rag. "I will finish this. Get some sleep." Her voice was gruff.
    "The last of the dried ehat." Marcus said. "I've hoarded it 'til now. Do not waste it." His voice was stern, but Marcus gently supported Keir in his arms and helped him with the bowl of broth, patiently waiting as Keir took small sips. It took awhile, but Keir managed to drink the whole bowl.
    At the end, Keir closed his eyes and licked his lips. "That was a good hunt."
    "One of the best." Marcus agreed softly. "More?"
    Keir shook his head and shivered. Marcus pulled the bedding up around his shoulders then turned to me. "Warprize? Can I tempt you with a bowl? Can't have the young 'un upset with me, eh?"
    Curious, I accepted a bowl, and recognized the taste right away. It was the same broth he'd fed me the night Keir had claimed me in the throne room. "Marcus, what is this?"
    "Ehat."
    "What is an ehat?" I asked, taking another drink.
    Keir chuckled weakly from the bedding. Marcus gave me a small smile. "An animal of the Plains, Warprize. A fierce one whose horns are as large as its meat is sweet. Taller than a mounted man, and dangerous to hunt. His-self is known for his skill in planning ehat hunts." Keir, shivering under the blankets, gave us that smug look again, but it faded fairly quickly.
    "It's getting worse."
    I sat on the bed, and reached to stroke his face. "Keir, you're doing—"
    "No." He shook his head. "Each time, it gets harder to stay… I would die if I hurt you." I went to protest, but Marcus made the decision for me. "I'll get Isdra." He left the tent.
    "Lara, I…" Keir swallowed hard, his eyes cloudy, looking lost.
    "I'm here, beloved. You are not alone, Keir." I turned so that I faced the entrance, and pulled him close, so that he could put his head in my lap.
    With his eyes closed, he nodded. Marcus and Isdra entered, and Isdra pulled the straps from where she had hidden them. With grim expressions, they bent to their task. Keir was right. The raving started soon after, with Keir screaming and fighting his bonds. Marcus was asleep, and Isdra was pulling more water when I ran out of clean cloths. Keir was unconscious, the sweat starting to build again, and the scent was so rank… it only took a moment to duck out to my stilltent and return with a handful.
    I returned to our sleeping area to find Iften standing over Keir, his dagger in his hand.
     

 

     
     

Chapter 10
     
    I dropped the cloths, too astonished to cry out.
    Keir didn't react, still unconscious, bound to the bed, helpless. Iften turned toward me, and laughed, sheathing his