Warsworn

childish glee in seizing my pieces and hiding them in the rumpled bedding, chuckling over my pending defeat. I spent the next morning barely avoiding the capture of my king. I hadn't lost to him yet, but it was only a matter of time. Keir was gaining strength, but he was still weak. He'd manage a trip to the privy area, and then I'd insist that he return to the bed. He made a token protest, but he leaned heavily on Marcus for the few steps back to the bed.
    But he felt and I agreed that he was strong enough to receive the reports of his warleaders. So there was a great deal of coming and going as the warleaders prepared to make their reports to their Warlord. For Keir needed to see and hear as much if not more than to be seen and heard. The warleaders needed the reassurance that he had survived the illness. I could feel the burden of command lift from my shoulders as we crammed into the sleeping area, even Sal, looking thinner and weaker, but determined to participate. Iften stood by Keir's bed, shooting fairly nervous glances in my direction.
    No one had the strength to talk long, so all kept their words short. Keir listened intently, asking few questions, sometimes only grunting in satisfaction. Yers's report took the longest, as Keir questioned him as to the minds of the warriors. Keir's eyes flickered with surprise when Yers began to speak, and his gaze traveled over the room before settling back on Yers, concentrating on his words. I suspected that Joden's absence had been noted. My heart lifted as Gils stood confidently under the scrutiny of his superiors and reported that the number of the newly ill had fallen off dramatically. As proud as I was of Gils, I also felt a guilty sense of relief at his words. Relief, that it was almost over. Guilt, because so very many were dead, and I still had my Warlord.
    Gils's report put new strength into everyone. Keir gave Sal permission to range the hunting parties further afield, and resolved a few other issues before his strength started to wane. And not just his—the others were tired as well. The warleaders departed quickly, with Iften in the lead.
    Keir reached for the chess board, but I beat him to it, removing it from his grasp. "Sleep, Keir."
    He sighed dramatically, but the effect was spoiled when it changed to a yawn. Marcus had put together a meal of fry bread, kavage, and gurt. As tired as I had grown of those foods while on the march, they were a welcome change from the soups and stews that we had been eating. Isdra and Gils joined us in the stilltent, and we all dug in, eating in silence. It was only after we were full to bursting that Gils spoke up. "Warprize, I's thinking that Iften is saying that the illness was spread on purpose by the Xyians."
    Isdra muttered something under her breath, and Marcus gave her a sharp look. "Careful, warrior. Iften is Second, and earned that rank through challenge. Twice your size, and the better warrior."
    I stiffened, surprised to hear Marcus say something like that without a token, but Isdra merely shrugged. Marcus scowled, and opened his mouth for a blistering comment, but there was a noise outside the tent. Isdra took advantage of the interruption. "That's Pisila, returning with Meara." She left the tent.
    I looked after her, but Marcus shook his head. "Young'un, you at least listen to me, yes?" Gils nodded. "I's staying out of his way." Gils also stood, grabbing for his satchel. "There's all that fever's foe that we might not be needing. Maybe Sal will have wax for the sealing, Warprize."
    I nodded. "Keep track of the new cases, Gils. We have to stay isolated for forty days from the last case."
    He nodded, looking serious. "I's remember, Warprize. Forty days." Voices rose outside, Isdra's the loudest, with a sharp exclamation of anger. We all rose and went out to find Is-dra yelling at Pisila, a younger girl, of fair skin and a serious look on her face. "Isdra, I did no wrong. She had to be marked!"
    "You had no right to make the decision without the Warprize's approval!" Isdra was outraged, her hands on her hips.
    Between them lay Meara in her basket, her little arms waving about, playing with a wide strip of privacy bells. I took another step and bent down to look closer, and gasped. A tattoo. Goddess above, a tattoo .
    Marcus and Gils moved and we all stood there, looking down at the smiling babe, with two thin tattoos on her tiny upper arm. I confess, my voice was a shriek. "YOU TATTOOED A BABY?"
    Everyone looked