How The Warrior Fell (Falling Warriors series Book 1) (32 page)

W
EEKS HAD PASSED
since the feast, and the Izayges people grew accustomed to having the extra bodies of the Asori and Siraces men in the village. But with the extra population came more mouths to feed and more chores.

Since the feast, Leawyn and Xavier hadn’t had much time together during the day. They were too busy doing their perspective duties of running a village. Xavier was kept busy with council meetings. He wouldn’t tell Leawyn what they were discussing, but it wasn’t hard for her to figure out it had to do with her people being slaughtered.

Leawyn was likewise kept busy with the responsibilities as the lady chief, and overlooked the day-to-day activities in their village. Most days, with Xavier gone, she took over the responsibility of holding court, hearing and settling disagreements within the tribe. On other days, she could be found helping out wherever she was needed, whether it be preparing the nightly meals, or doing laundry.

Leawyn found herself with her fellow tribe women down at the river bank washing clothes when Namoriee came to her early in the morning—hand clasped tight around the wrist of young girl about the age of twelve winters—explaining how she would be unable to help the other women with the laundry today because of a fever she had.

The girl was clearly scared of Leawyn’s reaction and fruitlessly tried to deny what Namoriee said, insisting she was well enough to do her chores. Leawyn took one look at the girl and could clearly see she was indeed very sick. She insisted the girl spend the day resting, and offered to take her place. The look of shock that covered the girl’s face was comical.

Hours later, Leawyn, Namoriee, and other various women of the tribe were all spread out up to their knees in the water as they scrubbed the dirty articles of clothing against the rocks.

Leawyn stood up, sighing tiredly. Swiping the back of her arm against the sweat on her brow, she glared against the sun. “Why must you be so bright?” she grumbled to herself.

It was a particularly hot day. The sun was bright and shining down on them all, and the few times they were lucky enough to feel a breeze, it was warm.

“It’s not that bad. You’re just not used to working in the sun without a nice ocean breeze,” Namoriee teased, shaking out the shirt she was washing and placing it in the floating basket beside her.

“Well, that’s true.” Leawyn grinned back at her.

“Last summer was the worst, Lady Chief,” Tana, a woman in her early fifties with hair streaked with white, commented on the other side of Leawyn.

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” Tana nodded as she scrubbed a pair of breeches rather viciously against a rock on a particularly dirty spot around the knees. “It was a day like this, but with heat heavy in the air. Each breath you took was as if you were drinking steam. Quite a few women got sick.”

“That sounds miserable,” Leawyn frowned.

Tana nodded in agreement. “It was, Lady Chief.”

“I hope it’s not like that this summer. Otherwise you’ll have to manage the laundry without me!” Leawyn teased. “I’m already hot as it is.”

“Would you like to cool down, Lady Chief?” Garnette, who was there helping her mother, Micka, asked innocently in her sweet, child voice.

“I would to love cool down, Garnette,” Leawyn smiled over at her.

“Okay.” Garnette grinned mischievously, and—before her mother could stop her—she scooped up water with her hands and threw her arms forward, splashing Leawyn.

All the women stilled, holding their breath.

Leawyn looked down at her soaked front in shock, strands of her hair sticking to her face. Slowly, she looked up to Garnette, who seemed to have realized her playful action wasn’t the best idea.

“Oh, you’re going to get it now.”

It was the only warning Garnette received before Leawyn hauled her into her arms and tossed her away from her. Garnette let out a little squeal right before she sunk into the water.

Garnette reappeared with a gasp, blinking against the water in her eyes as she wiped her face. “Not fair!” she shouted, swimming her way back to them.

“Is too!” Leawyn laughed, matching the glare on Garnette’s face mockingly.

“Real mature response, Leawyn.” Namoriee snickered. “Garnette, you still have clothes to wash.”

Leawyn and Garnette looked at each other, before turning their attention back to Namoriee. The matching grins on their faces made Namoriee instantly nervous. “Don’t you dare,” Namoriee warned them.

It was too late.

Leawyn and Garnette charged Namoriee—Garnette letting out a mighty battle cry as she did—and tackled the handmaiden into the water.

It was a good many hours later before the all-out water war ended, and the women continued their work.

“You’re sure?” Yoro asked. He looked to Xavier, who stood across from him.

Xavier met Yoro’s eyes and nodded.

Xavier, Tristan, and Tyronian, along with Yoro and Kisias, had their most trusted men in their war councils gathered around a large wooden table. They were all looking down at a massive map sprawled out in front of them.

“It had to have been someone who was familiar with the land,” Xavier said, frowning gravely. “Likely a member from Rhoxolani, or someone who was familiar with that landscape.”

“It’s the only way that makes sense,” Tristan agreed.

The room fell silent. Lost in their own thoughts.

It was a troubling thought indeed. To think the destruction of the Rhoxolani tribe was done from within.

“If what you say is true, and the Rhoxolani had a traitor in their midst, then we’re all in danger.” Kisias sighed. His expression was apologetic when he met Xavier’s gaze. “These are troubling times. We were wrong to doubt you.”

Yoro hummed in agreement, frowning in thought at the map below him. “When did you say was the last time you came across this army?”

Xavier shared a look with Tyronian and Tristan.

“Few months back. They captured a child from my tribe . . . and my wife.”

Yaro and Kisias snapped their heads up to stare at Xavier. “They captured your wife and a child? Here?”

Xavier shook his head, holding back his smirk. “No. My wife followed them and managed to get the child to safety by sending her off on her horse before she was captured as well.”

Kisias and Yoro both raised an eyebrow, which caused Tyronian to chuckle under his breath, and Tristan to grin.

“Your wife went after the girl?” Yoro said slowly, not quite believing it.

“She’s very . . .” Xavier searched for the right the word to describe Leawyn. “Stubborn.”

Tyronian snorted.

“Most women are,” Kisias agreed

“How would you know? You haven’t had a woman in years.”

Yoro dodged the punch Kisias aimed at him, the men around them snickering.

“I’m a Siraces. I have lots of women!” Kisias defended, spreading his arms out to his side proudly, grinning. “Look at me!”

“We are. That’s why we don’t believe you,” Tyronian said dryly. The men around the table burst into more laughter.

Xavier held his hand up, and the room slowly quieted and gave him the attention he commanded.

“I know not when they will attack, or how many their numbers are,” Xavier said seriously. “But I do know they’re smart, and deadly. It’s not a matter of ‘if’ they will attack again, but when.” Xavier met the eyes of the men around him, the severity of his tone registering with them all. “We 
need 
to be prepared.”

Yoro and Kisias looked at each other again. “We are with you,” Yoro told him, speaking for them both. “What will you have us do?”

Xavier hid the relief on his face and leaned forward so both his hands braced the edge of the table. “Keep a lookout. Scout your areas every day and night, focusing on these places.” Xavier pointed to the areas on the map. “Don’t travel alone, try to keep everyone inside your village. Assign guards if they travel outside the borders.”

Xavier stopped and looked around to make sure they understood what he was saying. Seeing he still had their attention, he continued. “At the end of each week, we will report with each other and compare our findings.”

“How will we send word?” Tyronian asked.

“It’s too dangerous using horseback.” Xavier paused. “Use your birds to give the message.”

Yoro and Kisias nodded in agreement.

“Then what?” Tristan asked, frowning at Xavier. “Even if we do all these things, that doesn’t change the fact one of us will be attacked by them. How will we be any different than the Rhoxolani?”

Murmurs of agreement went around the room.

“We need to know where they’re coming from. We can’t do anything without knowing where they are, and having all the tribes in one place is too dangerous. They 
want 
that, but it might be the only way to draw them out.”

“Then what?” Yorick, one of Kisias’s men, spoke. “We wait for them to attack us? Like sitting ducks?” The man scoffed in disbelief. “I say we strike now, and hard. Let them dread the day they tried to go against Samaria!” Yorick slammed his fist on the table with his point, the men from his tribe riling behind him.

Tristan narrowed his eyes at Yorick, while Tyronian stiffened. Xavier’s facial expression however, remained smooth, not relaying his growing ire.

“Tell me, Yorick,” Xavier leveled him with his stare. “How many battles have you fought?”

“He’s always fighting!”

Yorick grinned at Kisias’s joke.

“That’s not what I asked,” Xavier said lowly, silencing the room. “How many battles have you fought?”

Yorick paused, his body stiffening. Though Xavier’s question seemed harmless, Yorick was reacting to the tension that suddenly filled the air.

“Well?” Xavier asked sharply.

“None.”

“None,” Xavier’s voice was soft and deadly. It carried a heaviness that was palpable, as if each vowel was able to strike out and draw blood at any given moment. The atmosphere in the room dropped in an instant by the presence that was Xavier. “Killed a man?”

Yorick’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed loudly. Gone was the cocky man he was before, and instead stood a man who sensed danger when it stood before him. “No.”

Xavier stood slowly, keeping Yorick ensnared with eyes that reflected the great warrior he was.

“I have killed many men. Boys too, much like yourself.”

Yorick tensed at Xavier’s softly spoken threat. Sweat slowly beaded across his temple and slid down the side of his cheek.

“I could sever your head clean off your shoulders with a flick of my wrist before you even saw it coming,” Xavier growled. “And while your head was too busy falling to the ground in a bloody heap, I would have already had three more deaths to my name.”

Try as he might, Yorick couldn’t hold back from flinching when Xavier leaned forward suddenly so they were nose to nose.

“I could do all this easily, and without remorse. Because I have killed my entire life.”

Xavier stood suddenly, leveling his ferocious glare to every man in the room. “Izayges have protected you for years. We protected you against foes you didn’t even realize you had. Our blood soaks the ground you all step on, all for the sole reason yours doesn’t.”

Xavier turned his attention to Yaro and Kisias, who were both stiff. “My men are the deadliest on this earth. I’ve been in more battles than I could count. Never have I been beaten, and never have I been caught unaware. Until now.” He turned his heated gaze down to the map on the table spread out in front them. “Until this army.”

Xavier looked back up to his fellow leaders. “We need to be prepared. We need to 
plan,
and when the time is right—we need to strike. Hard and fast. Because if we don’t,” Xavier paused, his brows furrowing together as he met the eyes of every man in the room. “There will be no more Samaria. Only echoes of our despair will remain as our bones turn to dust.”

It was silent. Each man processing the foreboding outcome Xavier envisioned to themselves.

It was Yoro who broke the heavy silence. “What’s your plan, Chief Xavier?”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Lady Chief?” Namoriee frowned down at Leawyn, who was in the same potion she found her in—huddled up under a blanket on her bed pallet.