As if the music started again, we moved. I tightened my grip as Keir spun for the tent entrance, with Joden right behind. Marcus and Gils scrambled to follow. Isdra calmly stepped into the corner of the tent and grasped Epor’s warclub as the flap fell to cut off my view.

There were seven horses waiting outside. One, a big black horse, neighed a welcome, and advanced to meet us. He was followed closely by my own brown mount, with the scarred chest. Keir handed me to Joden, then swung up into the saddle of the black. I opened my mouth to protest, since there was a horse for me to ride, but one look at Keir’s face and I decided it wasn’t the time to press the issue.

I did take advantage of the slight delay. “Joden, how many are sick?”

“Ten, Warprize. The longest for half a day.”

“Half a day?” Keir growled. “Why wasn’t word sent?” He leaned over to take me.

Joden said nothing until he was sure Keir had me safe in the saddle. “Iften’s orders.”

The black stamped, reacting to Keir’s sudden tensing. Keir shifted in the saddle, easing the beast, adjusting me in his arms, even as his eyes glittered with rage.

Joden stood there, his face bland. “I would have brought others with me, but none could disobey.”

“Except you?” I asked.

“There are benefits to being almost a Singer.” Joden’s teeth flashed as he gave me a rare smile. “Almost the same as being Warprize.”

“Where is Iften?” Keir ground the words out. Even in his fury, his arms cradled me gently.

“In your command tent.” Joden’s face was a polite mask once again, but I knew that his choice of words was deliberate.

I shivered, fearing Keir’s reaction. But he surprised me as he snorted, more amused than offended. He gave me a look, and I caught a glimpse of impish humor lurking in the back of his eyes just as he called out. “Marcus!”

Marcus opened the tent flap. “We’re packing as fast—”

“Leave it. I will send others to aid Isdra and Gils. I need you with me.”

“Eh?”

“Iften set himself up in the command tent.”

Pure rage danced over Marcus’s face. He disappeared, only to pop out a breath later, fully cloaked, heading for a horse, muttering something under his breath. Isdra looked out, even as Joden and Marcus mounted.

“Isdra, I will send others to break this camp. Bring Gils and the babe to the command tent as fast as you can.”

If she replied, it was lost as the black horse surged forward.

The wind whipped around us as we moved at a gallop. The camp was in the distance, spread out by the shores of a small lake, its waters a clear, cold blue. I was glad of the blanket and the warmth of Keir’s strong arms. But he was grim and silent as we rode. Joden and Marcus followed, and to my surprise, my horse was behind them, riderless, but following his herd.

Once we entered the encampment, the warriors about us started to react, calling greetings to Keir, and making those warbling cries. Keir didn’t slow the horse, but he responded to the calls, calling out names, summoning war-leaders. I had glimpses of people scrambling for horses and running off, obeying his commands.

A familiar voice caught my attention, and a smiling

Rafe rode up next to us, seeming almost to dance in his saddle. “Heyla, Warlord!”

“I call you back to duty, Rafe.”

“Good.” Rafe turned in his saddle to look behind. “Prest and I can give Epor and Isdra a rest, yes?”

“Epor is dead.” Keir’s voice was flat, but Rafe’s head whipped back in shock, his eyes wide. “Find Yers, Rafe. Bring him to the command tent.”

Rafe turned his horse off. “I’ll find Prest as well, Warlord.”

As we raced closer, I could see more and more tents around us. Keir had split the army, leaving about half of his troops in Water’s Fall with Simus, but he still had a large number of warriors with him. If the plague had truly reached the camp, the deaths here would make the village seem like nothing. I swallowed hard as the horse came to a stop in front of the command tent.

Joden and Marcus rode up behind us as Keir dismounted. He wouldn’t let me walk the few steps to the tent, lifting me without even asking permission. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Save your strength for what lies ahead.”

The guards at the entrance held back the flaps, and Keir strode into the main room of the tent. Without stopping, he headed for the sleeping area. As he pushed through that flap, I heard an odd grunting sound. I caught my breath at the sight of Iften bare-assed and plowing a woman in our bed.

Our bed!

Thankfully, the glimpse was brief. Keir spun on his heel, taking me back into the meeting area even as I let out an exclamation. Marcus, on the other hand, stepped right into the smaller room and I heard voices raised in anger. I peeked over Keir’s shoulder to see a 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.