Snowfall nodded, and headed outside to meet her opponent. She wished to stand beside Simus, aiding him, working with him. He’d not be defeated.
Neither would she.
By mid-afternoon Simushad met all of the challengers. They’d come like a steady rain. He took care to rest, to eat and drink between bouts, but he met and defeated them all. The fights were fast, some ending in mere heartbeats. But Simus took nothing for granted.
A few were latecomers, more testing his skill than offering a real challenge. One even offered his blade after their fight. Simus accepted him, then turned to face the next.
Snowfall faced quite a few of her own, and so far remained the victor in her bouts.
Yers and Tsor had fewer challenges, which pleased Simus. They were almost assured of their positions in his service.
The crowd of watchers grew larger, warriors sitting in the first few rows, others standing behind. His own people, and other warriors, come to see. Elois was hovering on the fringes of the crowd, watching as well. Simus paid them no conscious mind, focused solely on his opponent.
The hours became a blur of blades, strikes, counterstrikes, and victories. Simus kept pace, not concerned that his strength would hold, but always with an awareness of the sun on its path through the sky.
Offered yet another dagger, Simus stepped from the circle and added it to the growing pile. He glanced over his shoulder, but no other challenger stood opposite. A break then, in the shade of the tent. “Snowfall,” Simus said. “I would have—”
“Nothing for you,bragnect.” Wyrik of the Boar stepped through the crowd, shield and axe in hand. He positioned himself at the edge of the circle opposite Simus. “I challenge you, Simus of the Hawk. Come and die.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Finally,’ was Simus’s first thought.
“I will kill you,” Wyrik snarled, waving his axe around. “I will kill you and scatter your army.” Wyrik looked around at Simus’s people, curling his lip. “Then I will take my warriors and raid Xy for what we need.”
Yers and the warriors around him were scowling, fingering the hilts of their swords.
As if she’d read his mind, Snowfall came up beside Simus, water and platter in hand, a few clean cloths over her arm. “Warlord,” she said.
Simus took up a cloth, and ran it over his face, head, and the back of his neck. It felt good to wipe off the sweat.
“Come, Simus of the Hawk,” Wyrik bellowed. “Pick up your children’s weapons now, I dare you.”
Simus continued to wipe his face.
Snowfall stood patiently.
Wyrik continued to rant.
Simus tossed the cloth off to the side, and accepted a mug of water. It was cool and sweet and he drank carefully. Deliberately.
“Your death will be at my hands, and mine alone,” Wyrik shouted.
Snowfall continued to patiently wait. Simus thought he could see a glimmer of approval in her eyes. He looked over the selection on her platter, and picked out a hunk of the dried meat. Not too big, but not too small either.
He tore off a bite, and started to chew.
“Death to you!” It seemed Wyrik was starting to repeat himself. Some of the warriors exchanged quick glances with each other, and smirks. Simus tore off another bite and made sure to keep his face bland as Wyrik screamed at him. It wouldn’t take long for—
Someone in the crowd snickered.
Which was all it took. Tension shattered, smiles broke out all around, and warriors eased their stances. Wyrik’s flair for the dramatic had stumbled.
Wyrik realized it as well, glaring at the warriors. He then focused on Simus. “You stall,” he snarled. “Coward.”
Simus swallowed the meat, and then finished off the water. He took another cloth to wipe his hands. “My thanks,” he said to Snowfall.
She gave him a nod and stepped back.