Or one man and a thing.
"Who are you?" it cried in a warbling, high-pitched voice. Then, "Oh, it's you!," as Fabia recoiled and was pushed aside by Saltaja.
Upright, the Vulture would have been grotesquely tall, but he was bent at the hips until he was almost horizontal, his leathery head thrust forward on a bizarrely elongated, leathery neck. He wore a brass collar and a dirty orange pall. With his hands behind his back, he came strutting forward, glaring at the visitors with sunken yellow eyes. He moved like a barnyard rooster, lifting each clawed foot high. Click... click...
"Yes, it's me!" Saltaja advanced two steps to meet him.
He stopped. For a moment they glared at each other. Therek backed off first, jerking his head away. He unfolded a ropy arm to point a taloned finger.
"Who's she?"
Belatedly recalling Fellard's advice not to stare, Fabia lowered herself in a deep curtsy. He detoured around Saltaja to approach her. She found herself gazing at scrawny bare legs, perhaps the strangest part of him—thighs of normal length, shins and feet grossly extended. He stood on long, scaly toes, and each heel bore a deadly spur.
"Fabia Celebre," Saltaja said. "Daughter of the doge of Celebre and future wife of Cutrath Horoldson. Where is he?"
"Don't grovel. Up!" croaked the monster. "Pretty!" Beaming toothlessly, he touched Fabia's cheek with a talon just to see her flinch. "Celebre, you said? Well! Holy Cienu is playing tricks again! Right, Leorth?" Cackling, he swung his head around to peer across the room.
Fabia had vaguely registered the other man as slumped on a stool and gazing out a window. Now he looked around, casually. He was a young Werist, his sash a flank-leader's blue. "It would seem so, my lord." Still taking his time, he rose, stretched, and only then began to stroll over.
"Where is Horoldson?" Saltaja repeated.
"The maggot? You want to see?" Therek demanded of Fabia. "I'll show you where. Here." Gripping her arm in scaly fingers, he moved her around the room toward an easterly window. Smiling, Leorth stepped aside to let them past, but not quite far enough, as if he intended to rub against her. She managed to avoid him, squirming in the satrap's harsh grasp.
The tower room stood high above the sawtooth roofs of the town, looking out over rolling, snowy moors, painfully bright under an indigo sky. To the northwest they opened up to display the winding Wrogg and its endless plains, with faraway storms as lines of white froth on the landscape.
"There, child, up there?" Therek cackled again, pointing east. "No, you can't see Nardalborg from here. Even I can't see Nardalborg from here. But that's where he is, behind those hills. If it wasn't for the hills, I could see Halfway Hall. You couldn't. That's where your dear betrothed was last night, or else he froze to death." He uttered his absurd laugh again. "I couldn't see him, not even me. I saw a mammoth this morning."
"Release her!" Shouldering Leorth aside, Saltaja strode over. "Call the boy back here. I want to see the girl married and bedded before they leave."
"No time." Her brother tossed his nightmare head and stalked away. Click... click ... "Caravan's late already. Send her up there. She can be married at Nardalborg. Or just bedded, mm?" He released a shrill bray. "Imagine the oaf can manage that much."
Saltaja was smoldering dangerously. "Very well. We'll leave first thing in the morning—you, me, your Witness, the girl—"
"Not tomorrow!" He swung around in a squeal of splintering wood. "Not safe tomorrow, right Leorth, mm?"
"My lord is kind," the flankleader murmured—softly, but as if he meant it. He gave Fabia a shy, satisfied smile. He, too, had yellow eyes, but if the satrap was a human bird the boy was a cat.
"Moving the herds," Therek said. At least, that was what Fabia thought he said. His lack of teeth made him whistle.
"Not all the herds, my lord," Leorth corrected, still amused.
"Not quite all. She can go the next day. Leorth's going to be leading the last contingent for Six. Caravan Six. His flank and the men you brought, if they're any good. Leorth's good, aren't you, lad? Tell them why you're eager to go over the Edge."
Golden eyes turned to Saltaja. "Revenge, my lady." His voice was low and husky. "Both my brothers were killed by Florengian turncoats. Those traitors swore loyalty to the bloodlord and then betrayed their oaths." Still he smiled.
Therek cackled. "Can't trust Florengians!"
"Indeed not, my lord."
Their private joke was clearly riling Saltaja. "What are you up to? Why are you skulking up here?"
"Watching!" said her brother. "Been watching half the day, haven't we, Leorth?" Cackle. "Seer says he's coming. Saw the mammoth and sent for the seer. Sent for Leorth. Been watching the road."
"Who's coming?"
The raptor's eyes turned on Fabia. "Cienu likes his little jokes. Celebre, mm?"
Then Fabia guessed who was coming. Although holy Cienu was usually thought of as god of wine and jollity, He was also god of odd coincidences.
♦
For a long time Fabia stood and shivered by a window, staring out at the snowy hills. Saltaja and Therek conversed in low tones beside another, on the downwind side so that their words were inaudible. Leorth sat hunched on a stool, endlessly stropping a dagger on his sandal while keeping a fixed stare on Fabia.
A boy walked in. She had known what to expect, and yet a Werist with brown Florengian arms and legs and face was a considerable shock. He wore his hair and beard trimmed close, in whorls of black stubble, and his limbs bore random white marks that puzzled her until she realized they were old scars. He had Benard's deep-set eyes and wide cheekbones, and although he lacked the massive shoulders, he was still impressively solid. He looked very young.
He bowed low to the satrap with a lack of revulsion that showed they had met before, but he ignored Saltaja, so he certainly did not know who she was. He did not even glance at Fabia, no doubt assuming she was a servant.
"Ah, Warrior Orlad!"
"Flankleader Orlad," Leorth murmured.
"Flankleader!?" Therek reared up—towering over everyone else even though he was still far from vertical—then sank back into his usual stoop. "So? At ease. What happened to blue pack?"
The youth straightened. "They are safe, my lord, except for six unaccounted for. They had two cold nights in the shelter, but we delivered food to them this morning and they were going to proceed to Nardalborg on mammoths."
"I saw. Good ... good ... This is Leorth. He and his flank will be joining Caravan Six."
Orlad nodded respectfully to the Vigaelian, who smiled without rising from his stool.
"I envy him, my lord! I have applied for transfer, but Huntleader Heth is still considering my request."
"Six has too many flankleaders already."
"I would be happy to revert to warrior. I am most eager to serve under your noble brother, my lord."
For a moment the satrap seemed to hood his deadly yellow eyes. "Of course, of course ... You would say that, of course."
Pause.
Orlad glanced around warily. Even if his air of juvenile eagerness was genuine, he could not be naive enough to miss the reek of conspiracy filling the room—Saltaja studying him in inscrutable silence, Therek smiling at Leorth, Leorth smiling back, Fabia being ignored.
"You summoned me, my lord?"
"Er... Yes, of course I did. I wanted you to meet your sister."
"I did not know I had a sister." Orlad stared accusingly at Fabia as if that situation were her fault.