Warsworn

seated on a stump, eating gurt with his left hand. The right was held against his chest, close to his body. I stepped far enough in to allow Prest to enter behind me, but stopped there, since Iften's expression made it clear that I was not welcome.
    "Iften."
    "Xyian."
    I stiffened. His tone, and choice of address was as clear an insult as I had heard. Prest put his hand on his weapon. Iften's eyes flicked, but he looked away, and spoke grudgingly.
    "Warprize."
    Prest lowered his hand.
    I cleared my throat. "Iften, I want to speak to you about your injury."
    "I want nothing from you, Warprize. Not your healing, not your words."
    "If you reject my care, I can't inflict it on you. You are free to make a choice, good or bad. But my oaths require that you know the consequences of your choice. So I will speak. Listen or not, as you choose."
    "I will not—"
    Prest spoke. "The wind will teach, if we but listen."
    I looked at him, startled. It wasn't like Prest to speak up that way. The words he'd uttered sounded like a saying of some kind. But Prest's face was bland and composed. Iften was taken aback as well. He looked at Prest, and then looked away, as if ashamed. "I will listen."
    "Your arm is still badly swollen and the flesh is discolored. Your hand and fingers are numb, and it hurts to move them. There is no strength in the arm."
    Iften eyed me, but made no response.
    "If you don't let me set it, you may heal, but you will not heal true. You may lose all use of your hand, or never regain the strength in it again." I paused. "It is your sword arm." He responded then, glowering in my direction.
    "If you allow me to care for it, the chances are good that the arm will heal true. If you wait to see a warrior-priest, the damage maybe too great for them to fix."
    "You'd cast your spells, eh, Warprize." He mocked me.
    "I cast no spells, Iften. I have only the skills and knowledge of my craft. The rest is in the hands of the Goddess. Or the elements."
    There was a long pause, and for a moment I held the hope that he would agree. But his face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. I'd lost.
    He spat out his fury. "I've listened, and the wind has brought me nothing. Leave."
    "Fool," Prest said.
    Without a thought, Iften reached for his weapon, but the pain caught him even faster as the arm began to move. He hissed, drawing the limb back against his chest.
    I turned and left without another word. As we emerged and headed toward Keir's tent, I questioned Prest. "What was that?"
    He smiled, the wind catching his braids. "A teaching tool."
    "For children." Rafe shook his head. "For a quiet man, you can sure make someone froth at the mouth."
    Prest grinned.
    Rafe turned back to me. "It goes like this, Warprize.
    The wind will teach us—if we but listen.
    The stars will guide us—if we but look up.
    The waters will cool us—if we but seek it.
    The fire will warm us—if we are wary.
    Remember this, Child of the Plains.
    I nodded, then looked over at Prest. "You insulted him."
    Prest shrugged, but there was no grin this time. "How long, Warprize?"
    "Before he loses the use?" At his nod, I continued. "It depends on the swelling. But the damage will be permanent if he doesn't get it seen to within the next week or so. And even then, I might have to re-break the bone."
    Prest grunted, but he looked oddly satisfied.
    The combats proved to be both unsettling and exciting.
    Unsettling because these warriors went at it tooth and nail, with bare steel and grim faces. I was used to watching practice sessions, but that didn't prepare me for naked combat. True, they were to first blood, but they took the fighting deadly seriously. Each combat had a judge, usually one of the warleaders, or Keir himself.
    Exciting because each combat had warriors watching, warriors who yelled out their support, their criticisms and encouragement. More mob than audience. The first one or two, I had sat there in fear, waiting for one to kill the other. But Isdra pointed out the level of skill that the warriors were using, and Yers explained that it was considered disgraceful to kill someone in these types of fights. So I started to relax. The noise was startling but the fever was catching, and I found myself yelling as well. Keir, laughing at my enthusiasm, had reminded me that it would be best if I showed no favoritism. It was hard to sit there and watch without really participating, so I spent more time in my stilltent. Because the combats accomplished more