At a pause in the conversation, she murmured, “Dantio, what’s the feminine of ‘doge’?”
“Dogaressa. What do you think of the beef, darling? Go ahead and stare if you want. They like it.”
Fabia said, “Oh!” with as much outrage as she could muster. She could feel her face warming up-because she had stolen a few peeks, and he must know that. “Father, this man is making highly improper remarks to me.”
Horth awarded her one of his meek little smiles. “Brothers do that, my dear. Terrible creatures, brothers. That’s why I always spared you the ordeal of having any.” Dressed in rags, the wealthiest man on the Vigaelian Face looked like an aging domestic servant of no consequence whatsoever.
“I hope Orlad can keep his Werists away from her,” Benard remarked solemnly, “or she may be screaming for her other brothers to defend her.”
“Orlad must have had a very narrow escape,” Dantio said. “He didn’t have those terrible scars on his back last night. Oh, look, everybody! Fabia is staring!”
She swung a slap, which he parried easily. “If there is anything worse than a normal brother,” she said crossly, “it must surely be a seer brother!”
“No, artists are the worst,” Benard said. “They keep gazing at you, wondering how to capture your beauty in marble or bronze so that future ages can marvel at it.”
“That’s an improvement. Continue.”
“I like the cut of your dress, but that blue does nothing for your coloring.”
“Her underwear is just hideous,” Dantio said.
Fabia wailed. “Not fair! I’ve worn the same old rags ever since I left Skjar, and I had no chance to visit the Tryfors bazaar. These are the best castoffs I could find in Sixty Ways. Mock me and I shall burst into tears! Then you’ll be sorry.”
Dantio said, “No, we shall be amazed. Personally I think Orlad is more likely to break down and weep than you are. I know I am.”
“Me too,” Benard agreed. “She’s tough as granite.”
“My lady!” Fabia howled. “Stop them! What do I do?”
Ingeld smiled. “You thank the gods, dear. I think it is wonderful that you four have been reunited after so long. They’re just teasing you to show you that they love you.”
“I’d hate to hear what they’d be saying if they disliked me. I’ll get Orlad to defend me.”
“I suspect Orlad’s sense of humor needs work, too,” Benard said. “What do you think, Dantio? Let’s practice on Fabia for the next sixday or so, and then start in on him.”
“No!” Fabia snapped. “Start with him and I’ll help bandage you.”
Ingeld laughed. “Well done! I award that round to Fabia.”
As flankleader, Orlad had claimed first choice of the available clothes-linen trousers and a leather jerkin left open to display his shiny brass collar and a hairless, badly scarred chest. His seven followers were doing the best they could with what was left, but most of them were far larger than river-folk and had to settle for makeshift loincloths. Leaving them amidships, he came forward to join what Fabia was already starting to think of as the family. Why not? Horth was as dear as a father to her; Benard and Ingeld were lovesick loons, and at a pinch Packleader Guthlag could be cast as Faithful Old Retainer. Moreover, the family had been purged of unwanted hangers-on, specifically Cutrath the Unknown Suitor. Gone and good riddance!
Dantio sensed Orlad coming and slid off the bench to make a space. Orlad accepted the seat as his right and Dantio went off to rummage in the cargo. The boat heeled as it caught the main current of the Wrogg.
Orlad bit into a peach and waited for someone else to speak. He was not smiling now, but he did wear a very satisfied, confident air. Fabia supposed it came from knowing he need fear nobody and nothing in the world except other Werists. And he had already changed the flavor of the world by killing Therek Hragson.
“I take it,” she said, “that you no longer approve of my enforced betrothal to Cutrath Horoldson?”
He flashed her a dark glance. “No.”
“Or command me to be loyal to the House of Hrag?”
“Shut,” he said, “up!” No sense of humor.
Benard said, “Last night Dantio told us about a place called High Timber. He says a lot of Werists have gathered there rather than go to the war. They’re called the New Dawn and they intend to overthrow Stralg.”
“Deserters!” Orlad munched more peach.
“If you say so, brother. I’d say they displayed good common sense. You have just killed a satrap, a hostleader, a Hragson. You need help, you need allies. You can’t take that collar off, can you?’
“Don’t want to.”
“You going home to Florengia?”
“Haven’t decided.”
The conversation did not prosper.
“Don’t pester the man, dear,” Ingeld said. “He has to be careful what he tells and who he tells it to. If he and his men still want to go and fight for Stralg, the New Dawn Werists will regard them as enemies. If they want to fight against Stralg, they’ll be mistaken for his men as soon as they cross the Edge.”
Benard pouted, puzzled. “You mean they shouldn’t go to High Timber?”
“I mean you should let them make their own decision.”
Dantio returned with an earthenware bottle and a beaker. He laid them on the boards and knelt between his brothers, closing off the family group from the riverfolk and other Werists. He worked on the wax seal with his belt knife. “This is an excellent wine. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind for looters. I dedicate it to the gods.” Having poured some into the beaker and sniffed at it, he surveyed his audience. A Daughter, two Heroes, a Hand, a Ucrist, one Witness, and a Chosen masquerading as an extrinsic-the wine ceremony often called for tricky decisions about precedence, but rarely as tricky as that.
“My lady, will you begin?”
Ingeld smiled a dynastic smile as she accepted the cup. “I shall be honored. I give thanks to the Bright Ones for reuniting the four children of Celebre and I pray for their future prosperity and happiness together!” She spilled a drop for the gods, then drank the rest.
The others chorused, “Amen!”
Dantio refilled the beaker. “Flankleader?”
Guthlag beamed with an old man’s long fangs at being granted the honor of speaking second. “I never heard of a Hero killing a hostleader on his first hunt, but it’s long past time someone sent Therek Hragson to the halls of our god, where he will be greatly honored. So I give thanks to Holy Weru for the favor He has shown my cult brother Orlad, and pray that the Fierce One will continue to exalt his name in glory.” He, too, spilled a drop and drank.
This time the amens were less certain. Orlad frowned as if suspecting mockery, making Fabia wonder if his show of indifference, which she had taken for confidence, was really a mask for an aching lack of it. Once, on the long journey up the Wrogg River, she had teased Flankleader Cnurg by saying that Werists had no minds of their own. He had told her quite seriously that life was much simpler when someone else took on all your doubts and worries and gave you orders in return. How could Orlad possibly be as calm as he looked when seven young outlaws now relied on him to keep them alive?
Again Dantio filled the beaker. This time he looked to Horth, but Be-nard’s great paw lifted it from his hand before it could be passed.
“I’ll add to the flankleader’s prayer. I joyously thank the gods for releasing my lady from bondage to Horold Hragson, and I pray that They send him to join his brother as soon as possible.” He offered and drank.
Now the agreement was certainly muted and Fabia was quite shocked. To curse anyone was unseemly, practically a prayer to Xaran. It was also dangerous, in that the Old One might take the curser before the cursed, and for a man to curse his mistress’s husband was utterly shameful. Yet Ingeld actually patted his thigh in approval!