Somehow, they’d assigned sexes to the various pieces. They didn’t like the fact that the Queen was the only female piece on the board. I wasn’t sure how they’d assigned genders but they managed to their satisfaction. So now they both looked at the remaining pieces intently. Finally, Keir sat back. “With no Warprize to offer, I suggest we regroup our troops and meet in battle again.”
Prest nodded, and they started to rearrange the pieces.
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. I suspected by the time we returned to Xy, the rules of the game would be so changed as to be unrecognizable.
Ortis entered the tent, ducking his head to avoid the top. “Papers from Water’s Fall, Warlord.”
We both looked up, startled to see a bundle of letters in his hand. He spilled them out on the bed at Keir’s feet. “Exchanged at a distance, as commanded.”
I looked up at him, and he smiled and nodded. “I sent your papers back the same way, Warprize.”
“Thanks, Ortis.”
Prest had moved when Ortis had entered, and he now moved the board away from the bed and took his leave. I started sorting through the various letters, looking for familiar handwriting. Most all were formal missives from the Council, but I found one from Eln, Othur, and what looked like another one from Simus.
I paused, feeling the heavy paper crackle in my hands, looking at the wax seal. I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know their contents. These would contain word of the plague and its effects. I glanced up to see Keir looking at me, patiently waiting. I broke open Othur’s seal.
Lara,
All is well, dearest girl. Eln’s letter and the reports of the Council will give you the details, but the Sweat seems to have passed us by. Thanks to your warning we were able to close the gates, and isolate the few that sickened. Eln was surprised by the change in the disease, but I am sure his letter is filled with that information. I do not know of its effects in the outlying manors and villages, but we are well. Send us news of yourself as soon as you are able.
Would that all was as well within the castle. Alas, that you have inflicted me with one Simus of the Hawk.
Never mind the fact that Simus strides from his chambers to the mineral baths naked as a plucked chicken, smiling and greeting all and sundry with a cheerful smile.
Never mind the fact that he and Warren have taken to weapons practice in the Great Hall, jumping from table to table swords in one hand, flagons in the other, fighting and laughing, and cursing each other, causing ladies to swoon and leaving heel marks on all the tables.
Never mind that half the lords want to kill him, the other half want to befriend him and that all of the ladies seem entranced. Which includes my own Lady Wife, thank you very much.
Oh no, the worst of it is that Simus is having relations with Dye-Mistress Mavis, or so the sounds echoing in the castle halls at all hours of the night announce to all and sundry. By his tradition, Simus does no wrong, or so Dye-Mistress Mavis has informed me, Warren, and the Archbishop. Further, when we confronted her, she told us in no uncertain terms that she is an adult and Master of her trade and that her behavior is none of our concern. She added something to the effect that you aren’t the only one willing to make sacrifices for her guild. Which had the Archbishop clutching for his holy symbol.
I think Dye-Mistress is only after the cloths that Simus wears like a peacock. I have tried to explain that to Simus, but he just smiles that wide smile of his and indicates that he sees no harm to being ‘used’.
The entire Court and Council is scandalized. They all come to me and complain, taking the greatest pleasure in going over every juicy detail.
Durst is recovering, gaining strength slowly. Eln is uncertain that he will ever recover his full vigor. I think his health suffers more from the hate that festers within than the wound itself. He holds all of the
Firelanders responsible for his wound and the death of his son. Which places Durst firmly in the camp of those who wish to kill Simus of the Hawk and any other Firelander that he can get his hands on. Although he hasn’t moved from his bed, he foments trouble with the other lords. He has been warned, but his temper flares every time he hears of the Fire-landers. I’d send him to his estates, but I’d rather have him here under my eye.
The official letters will hold more of the details, Lara. Send us word as soon as you can. We are terribly worried about you.
My Lady Wife begs that I add this note and sends her love and best wishes and wonders if perhaps you are pregnant? She asks that you send word as soon as you can.
I fell back on the bed, laughing in delight at the image of Simus wreaking havoc in the Court of Xy.
I’d returned to the stilltent, after I’d read Simus’s letter to Keir, along with the rest of the letters from Water’s Fall. Eln had written of his dismay over the disease and its severity, but he’d come up with no alternative remedies. I took comfort from the fact that I had already sent a letter to him outlining our treatments. But I took far more comfort that the Sweat had not reached the City. It would be months before we knew its true effects.
The Council reports were dry, but Keir seemed interested, so I read them out to him. I’d left him with a firm promise that he’d sleep. I decided that the time was right to clean and reorganize the stilltent. It had been sometime since Gils had reported a new fever, and I prayed that we’d seen the last of it.
I had a bucket of jars and bottles to clean when I was done, and I took them outside and sat on a log to start cleaning them. There was still a bit of sunlight to enjoy, and I wanted to take advantage of it. Isdra was off some ways, supervising some warriors doing laundry. Rafe and Prest were at the command tent, sitting outside, playing chess from the looks of it.
I was content with my small chore, setting the clean items on a cloth to dry when Gils stumbled up and sat next to me, his satchel in his lap. The strap fell off his shoulder. I smiled, then frowned as I saw how tired he appeared.
“Gils, you are exhausted. Let me get you some kavage.”
He sighed softly. “Just had some, Warprize.” His face was turned, and he was looking at the sunset. “I’s just very tired.”
“Gils?”
Without another word, his satchel slipped from his fingers, and he collapsed against me, his head on my shoulder. I put my fingers on his warm forehead and cried out for help.
Chapter 11
People poured out of the tents in answer to my cries. I’d clutched Gils in both arms, trying to keep him from collapsing. Clean bottles and jars rolled everywhere as I tried to get purchase to support us.
Yers reached us first, Isdra a breath behind. They lifted Gils off me, cradling him in their arms. As I stumbled to my feet, my gut clenched to see Gils so pale and still, as the baby had been before she…
Others came, even Rafe and Prest gathered about us. Keir was coming as well, walking slowly with Marcus hovering at his shoulder.
I reached my hand out, intending to feel the extent of Gils’s fever. He had run himself to exhaustion helping others. Would he have enough strength to survive the Sweat?
Gils convulsed, limbs jerking in spasms, his head thrown back, gasping for air.
Yers staggered, almost dropping the lad in horror. But Isdra stepped closer to Yers, taking more of Gils’s weight. They both managed to hold steady as Gils stopped thrashing as quickly as he had started.
I froze, dread deep in my bones. Convulsions? Goddess, what was happening to him? There’d been no others with such symptoms—