Keir had not yet pulled his sword, but I could tell that he was prepared, a cat about to leap upon its prey. My heart seemed stuck in my throat. He’d not refuse this challenge but—

Iften pointed his sword at me, his face full of disdain. “Gils had the new knowledge of healing and the elements killed him because of it. Epor was curse—”

A scream split the air, freezing the blood in my body. Isdra launched herself from behind my shoulder, her face a snarl, Epor’s warclub in her hands.

Iften moved fast, his sword out and his shield up to meet the blow. But he’d been facing Keir and Isdra’s attack forced him to shift slightly to meet her. What precious moments she gained Isdra used, the warclub a blur of motion in her hand. The blow fell on Iften’s forearm, and I thought I heard the crack of bone.

Everyone scattered, trying to give them room, forming a loose circle around the fighters. It was a large circle, showing a healthy respect for the reach of those weapons.

Isdra never paused, never let up, pressing Iften with a series of blows to his shield. She had eyes only for her target, grim and calculating.

Keir stood, unmoving, watching the fray. Yers was standing next to him, his sword in his hand. Marcus was slightly behind Keir, his gaze scanning the crowd for any threat.

Prest was behind me, and Rafe stepped to stand in front of me, a little to one side. They too were tense, but they did no more than place their hands on their weapons and wait.

I clutched at Rafe’s shoulder. “She’s smaller…”

Keir understood. “He insulted her bonded,” was his soft reply.

Iften was bigger, his sword flashing in sure strokes that surprised me. But he seemed to have the use of the arm still. Isdra parried, the blade skittering off the metal studs that lined the top of the warclub. She seemed to move well, but she was breathing hard. Iften, in contrast, seemed able to stand where he was and wield his weapon with ease. His face was triumphant. He fully expected to kill Isdra.

Isdra’s next blows hit Iften’s shield dead center, with Iften grunting under the impact. Iften would wait, lunging at Isdra each time he sensed that she was vulnerable. But each time she danced back, away from his blade.

Iften smirked, and lowered his shield. “You are no Epor, woman.”

Isdra’s grim face never changed. She took a step and swung for Iften’s knee.

Iften moved, dodging that blow. But Isdra somehow used the momentum to take a step closer, and drove the handle of her warclub into Iften’s jaw.

Iften’s head snapped back. He staggered, dropping his shield. Isdra cried out in satisfaction, taking another swing at his unprotected head and connecting.

Iften crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Isdra swung the warclub high over her head, as if to crush Iften’s skull. “For Epor!” She shouted, and started the blow.

“STOP.” Joden stepped forward.

Isdra caught herself in mid-strike. She glared, her chest heaving, never taking her eyes off Iften’s unmoving body. “Who dares?”

“Do not kill him, Isdra of the Fox.” Joden took another step forward.

“He insults Epor, my bonded, the first to meet the enemy and the bravest of all that have died in this battle.” Isdra spat out her words, trembling with anger. “He held no token of mine, or any other.” Her anger shifted. “It is my right, Singer!”

The crowd shifted, uneasy. I glanced at Keir, but he was intent on the drama before us.

“The skies are clouded, Warrior, and full of turmoil.” Joden stepped forward. “I do not know the truth in this. So I will claim Singer status long enough to declare Keir’s illness is in the nature of a war wound, although the enemy is one we have never met before.” Joden turned to look at the crowd, seeking out the warleaders. “As such, he is not to be challenged in the field, and remains Warlord until we reach the Plains. It will be a question for the Elders then.”

Relief flooded through me. There’d be no further chal-lenge from Iften or any other, at least until Keir had his strength back.

Isdra snarled, furious. “What has that to do with the insult given to Epor?”

Joden raised his hand. “If the truth is to be known, then Iften’s truth must be told as well, and I would preserve his words for the Elders to hear.”

“You are not yet full singer, Joden.” Isdra’s voice rasped in her throat. “It is my right as Epor’s bonded.”

“That is true, Isdra of the Fox, and I answer to your truth by saying that I only ask this. I can not, and do not, command.”

There was a long pause as Isdra stood there, breathing hard, glaring at Joden. No one seemed to breathe. I risked moving just enough to look at Iften, to see if I could determine his injuries. He lay like a broken doll, clearly unconscious, but he seemed to be breathing.

Finally Isdra lowered her weapon. “Epor honored your wisdom, Joden. I will do no less.” Isdra drew in a deep breath. “But this carrion will answer for his insults as soon as the Elders have heard his words.”

“Iften must answer to you.” Joden acknowledged.

Isdra sheathed her warclub in its harness, turned, and walked out of the circle.

Keir stood, and spoke. “It shall be as the Singer has said. This senel is over.”

I took advantage of the distraction, and pushed past Rafe, headed for Iften. With careful hands, I moved him into a prone position.

Joden had picked up his sword. “He will not thank you, Warprize.”

“I did no less for Simus.” I didn’t bother to look up. “I

will do no less for him.” I pressed my fingers gently to his jaw, but it wasn’t broken. The bruising had started, and I was certain that the arm would be badly bruised as well. I started to unlace the armor from his forearm. “Marcus, would you fetch my bag?”

There was no response, and I looked up to see quite a few people looking very unhappy. I returned scowl for scowl. “I have my sworn oaths, as you all know. He needs my aid. I will give it to him.”

Keir’s face was grim, but he nodded. “We remember, Warprize. And honor your oaths to heal all in need.”

I bit my lip, conscious that I had quite an audience around me, conscious that Keir was making a point. But my attention went back to my patient in an instant as Jo-den knelt beside me, and reached to unlace Iften’s bracers. Iften’s breathing was even, and I’d seen no blow to the chest or ribs. I concentrated on the head blow, and his sword arm. Without shifting him too much, I pried back first one eyelid and checked his eyes. They were unfocused and dazed, with no sign of awareness. Probably for the best right now.

Joden had his sword arm bare, and the forearm was beginning to blacken and swell, but the skin wasn’t broken. I took his arm carefully in my hands and felt along its length, using a firm pressure. There, right in the center, where the blow had landed. The top bone was badly cracked, but still in one piece. The bracers had probably kept the bone from shifting, but it needed to be set.

Someone placed Gil’s satchel by me. I turned to it quickly. “Splints. Gils, I need—”

There was a silence about me, and I closed my eyes as the loss of Gils coursed through my heart all over again.

There was silence all around me. I didn’t look up, I just wiped my tears, and cleared my throat. “I need two pieces of wood, flat and straight if possible. Bandages and a length of leather.”

“I’ll see to the wood.” Marcus growled. “Hie to the tent, Rafe, and get the rest.”

Rafe set off at a run.

Iften groaned, moving his head slightly. He was going to be in a lot of pain shortly from that blow to the head. I was tempted to dose him with some of my remaining lotus, so that I could set the bone in peace, but I resisted the urge. Besides, I was fairly sure the medicine would be wasted if I did.

“Broken?” Joden asked.

“Yes.” I rummaged in the bag for the bandages that I had there. “Help me hold his arm still.”