The eight maligned young men sprawled amidships on and among the baggage were emitting an emotional storm sixty times stronger than the sailors’ as they adjusted to the morning’s stunning victory and their uncertain new status. (triumph-fear-love-fear) The seven’s devotion to Orlad was intense, almost sexual, and sex baffled Dantio, an irrational hunger he would never share.
Other conflicts roiled among the passengers in the bow: Horth, Ingeld, and Guthlag all anxious to go home but fearing revenge from the Children of Hrag (heartache-dread); Fabia cherishing impractical dreams of strolling over the Edge to Celebre and being acclaimed ruler. (greed) And Benard, sitting there with his arm around Ingeld? Often the lovers’ emotions were a sexual firestorm that Dantio found repugnant, although he was happy to sense Benard so happy. (lust-hunger-adore) Moments later they would be children together (covet-tease-make-believe) or mother and son. (guide-cherish-obey-protect) There was still a rejected orphan hidden inside the hulking sculptor and the hereditary dynast of Kosord had endured two loveless political marriages. He was hiding misgivings about becoming a father; she had seen frightening auguries in the fire last night. It was small wonder they clung hard to each other.
And if feeling was not enough, Witnesses also had “hearing,” which told them the recent history of things or people. Orlad and his Werists had fought a battle not long ago, and the carnage screamed at Dantio like trumpets in his ears. He knew which of the youths had actually killed, and how. He could, in a sense, hear the bloodstains they had washed away in the Stony.
Another of his divine senses badly overloaded was the one the Witnesses called “smell,” which detected the inner nature of people or things. Free Spirit carried many complicated, confusing people. Most of the Werists were naturally violent bullies, a few were misfits forced into an unnatural mold. Orlad was one of those, but it would be folly to tell him so. Fabia was not naturally greedy. She had modeled herself on Horth, who absolutely reeked of avarice. Her basic instinct was to mother her brothers, gather them under her wings.
It was all too much! Dantio needed to hide under a Witness’s veil. He needed a distaff and spindle to calm his thoughts and spin out the thread of events.
“Seer!”
Dantio looked around. “Lord?”
“Come here,” Orlad said. “Mist, or Dantio, or whoever.”
Dantio scrambled in among the baggage to join the Werists. Although he had about ten years on most of them, he felt like the new sapling in the forest. Orlad alone was a fair oak, although he was almost the smallest.
As Dantio settled in between Prok and Namberson, they scowled and wriggled aside to open space. Most of the eight were uncomfortable even looking at a eunuch, let alone touching one, although a couple of them were curious enough to make Dantio squirm. Earlier, when Orlad had shown off his manly brawn by carrying Dantio out to the boat, Dantio had learned that his brother was still a seasoner. “Taste” was the only one of the Witnesses’ five blessings requiring physical contact, and most seers went through life never using it, for seasoning was very rare. Orlad had not lost his by killing a son of Hrag. Both Benard and Fabia still had theirs, so the doors to greatness stood open to at least three of the Celebres. Dantio could not judge if his own seasoning had survived his meddling. He might have done all he ever could to alter the flavor of the world.
Orlad said, “Tell us about this horde at High Timber.”
“ It is known that Hordeleader Arbanerik Kranson was a hostleader in Stralg’s army on the Florengian Face and lost an arm in battle; that he returned over the Edge three years ago and began to gather a horde of his own, calling it New Dawn.”
“How many men does he have?”
“I have never visited his camp. He must have more than twenty sixty.” Saltaja had been quoting larger numbers than that and so had the Wisdom, the last time Dantio had been in Bergashamm.
The Werists exchanged glances. (excitement-approval-relief)
“And what is he going to do,” Orlad demanded, “this Arbanerik? He is opposed to Stralg?” His own motivation was vehement. Fanatics who changed allegiance kept their zeal. From being the Fist’s most dedicated supporter, Orlad had become his worst enemy. (hate-hate-hate)
“I cannot read thoughts, but I can witness, lord, that his detestation of the bloodlord is as great as yours.”
“How-” Orlad began, then scowled as his men chuckled. “I see.”
Waels, the one with the birthmark, said, “He bribes the riverfolk to recruit for him, to subvert new Werists on their way to Tryfors?”
“He does, lord.”
“So who supplies the silver?” (curiosity-suspicion) “Who feeds New Dawn?”
Waels was the smartest of the eight and that insight made Dantio smile-to his own annoyance. He felt naked without his veil.
“Others who support his aims.”
“The kings Stralg dispossessed? I thought they’d all died in failed revolutions years ago.”
Dantio said, “He may have a few of those around, but would they have wealth?”
One by one, with Waels first, the Werists picked up the hint and looked to where Horth Wigson was now talking with Benard. One did not have to be a seer to know from Benard’s animation and hand-waving that they were discussing art, but no extrinsic could have guessed that Horth’s polite air of bemused interest belonged to one of the shrewdest collectors on the Face.
“Did my brother really rescue Fabia from the satrap’s cells last night?” Orlad demanded. “How did he do that? An artist?”
“I don’t know!” Dantio snapped with less humility than Werists expected from extrinsics. “My blessing does not allow me to spy on the actions of gods, and he must have had help from holy Anziel. Even those shoulders could not budge bronze bars.” He had watched Benard go to the palace and return with Fabia, but he had not seen how the miracle had been done. He had asked her later, and she had not known. Benard had just mumbled about cult secrets. It was very annoying!
Orlad scowled. “How do you think he did it?”
How to explain art to a mob of Werist louts? “I think, my lords, that an artist sees the world as it is, but displays it as it should be. Benard sees a figure inside a block of marble and releases it so the rest of us can see the shape he saw.”
“He didn’t chisel a hole in the wall, though!”
“No. I am guessing, but I think he is such a superbly great artist that his goddess sometimes lets him just shape the world itself as it should be. Fabia said there were no bars on the window when Bena pulled her out. They were back there this morning.”
The warriors did not like that suggestion of personal miracle-working.
“I do not trust Werists,” old Nok warbled at the stern. “We must escape in the night and leave them.”
“Urth vouches for them,” said one of the women.
Fifteen years ago, at just about this point on the river, young hostage Dantio had decided that honor forbade him to learn Vigaelian, the language of his enemies. Instead he would learn the riverfolk tongue, so that one day soon he could escape and sail back up the river. By the time he reached Skjar, he had been almost fluent. His escape attempts had never prospered, and of course he now spoke Vigaelian like a native, but his Wroggian had proved very useful during his years as an itinerant Witness when he wanted to be Urth, the slave.
Orlad said, “If we go to High Timber, would we be allowed to leave?”
“Possibly not,” Dantio admitted.
“We would have to swear fealty to this Arbanerik?” (distrust)
“That seems likely, lord.”
“We might have to join in an attack on Nardalborg,” said one of the others, provoking an eruption of emotion. (hate-fear-disgust-outrage) Many of them were Nardalborg bred; all must have friends there, and some would have family also.