Orlad was registering joy. “But if Stralg loses Nardalborg, he will be crippled.”
“We might have to invade Florengia,” Snerfrik said.
This comment brought a roar of denials and argument-
“We’ve gone over that, Hrothgat!”
“Arbanerik would be crazy to try it.”
“He can shut Stralg out of Vigaelia and let the Mutineer finish him off.”
“He’d still have to hold Nardalborg against Horold and Eide.”
“Hold Tryfors, you mean! They’d starve him out of Nardalborg.”
When the argument wound down, Orlad said, “Where is this High Timber, Dantio? And why are you smirking?”
Again Dantio wished he had a veil. “Because that’s the first time you ever spoke my name, Orlad.”
Scowl. “Back in Celebre I must have.”
“No, you called me, ‘Anto.’” Orlad had been a beautiful baby, but to say so now would be suicide. “I am under oath not to reveal the rebels’ location.” Dantio winced at the resulting surge of anger and suspicion. “Near the Wrogg, but not on it. We can probably arrive tomorrow.”
“Anto?” sneered Snerfrik, the huge one. “Well, little Anto, suppose we decide we want to go over the Edge with Orlad and help him take power in this city of his-we have to get past Nardalborg?”
“No, lord. There is another pass, Varakats Pass.” Dantio sensed a breathtaking rush of interest in his listeners. “Indeed, Varakats was originally the easier of the two. Nardalborg Pass has been much improved, as my lords are aware.”
“So it would be possible?”
No, it was impossible, but Dantio would have to guide them to that conclusion gently. “The passes may stay open a short time yet. The problem would be on the other side. With respect, my lords, my skin and Orlad’s are not so very much darker than yours, but our hair is black, while yours is mostly pale gold, and it is hair color that determines warbeast color, yes? The opposing forces in Florengia are like pieces on a game board, black and white. If Orlad sets foot over the edge, he’ll be one of Cavotti’s. All the rest of you will automatically be Stralg’s, whether you like it or not.”
They did not like it. (fury-frustration) They were young, immensely powerful, had recently won a stunning victory, and why shouldn’t they see their hero elected doge?
“Where are we going now, today?” Orlad demanded. (worry)
“I must go to High Timber to inform the seers and Hordeleader Arbanerik that I have abrogated the compact between the Witnesses and the bloodlord. I will also pass on the news of your noble victory, of course.”
“But if we come with you, we will be recruited?”
“Seers cannot prophesy, but I expect so.”
“Or killed?”
Dantio sighed. “Detained, possibly. You will be hailed as great heroes, but the rebels must use extreme methods to keep their base secret.”
The Heroes were displeased. (anger-arrogance-belligerence)
Waels put it into words. “Or we could stop you going there. We could make the boat sail on down the Wrogg.”
“That is so, my lord,” Dantio said humbly. “But to where? Who else will give you refuge from the bloodlord’s wrath?”
They could hide their fear from his eyes, but not from his seer’s feeling.
One of the sailors said, “The Werists are talking about High Timber. Will we camp at Milk tonight?”
“If this wind holds,” Nok decreed. “The slave wants us to.”
“Saltaja told Fabia you were dead,” Orlad said suspiciously. “The seers must have told her.”
Dantio shrugged. “No Witness ever said that. It wouldn’t be true, would it?”
ORLAD CELEBRE
was sorely perplexed. For years his course had been laid out for him. He had no experience making decisions, but now his choices would be matters of life and death. Seven men expected him to lead them somewhere, anywhere, and also see that they were clothed and regularly fed from now on. Yet he did not know the world outside Nardalborg or how to deal with people, even on the most trivial levels. He was repeatedly reminded of his ignorance as the day wore on. People kept shifting around the boat for variety, and sooner or later he found himself in private talks, one-on-one, with all his new-found siblings.
The dark-eyed, self-important sister he had suddenly acquired, for instance. He did not understand her at all.
“I will trade you,” she told him pertly.
“Trade me for what?”
“I mean I need someone to escort me home to Celebre. There can be no finer protector than a Werist, yes? You defend me and in return I will teach you Florengian.”
“You speak it?”
“Fluently.”
It was maddening that he was the only one of the four who couldn’t. “How? I mean who taught you?”
“My foster mother. I grew up speaking Florengian with her and Vigaelian with Horth. Now, do we have a deal? Language lessons for protection?”
“Why not ask Benard to protect you?”
She laughed, running hands through her black mane. “Benard couldn’t guard a river from a duck, and Ingeld is in no state to tackle the Edge.”
“What’s wrong with her? She’s no kitten, but she looks healthy.”
“She is with child. I think she is. Even if she isn’t, she’ll have to go back to Kosord soon, and she has Benard by a ring through his nose.”
That was obvious. “Your old man, then?”
“Horth is far too old.”
“Dantio?”
“I love your dry sense of humor! No, it’s up to you to escort me safely home, brother, and in return I will teach you the language. You were three years old, for gods’s sakes! You must have known lots of words. You’ve just forgotten them.”
Orlad ran a hand over his stubbled scalp. “I don’t understand. If you want a Werist to take you back to Celebre, why didn’t you agree to marry Cutrath Horoldson? He has the appeal of a dead toad, but he’s bigger and stronger than I am. He also has an army guarding him and you’ll have sex every night.”
His sister pulled a face. “Brawn may impress other men, but not women. You cannot seriously expect Celebre to accept a Stralg nephew as doge? You really-”
He just did not understand her. “Why go at all, then? Horth is rich, I’m told. You’re his heir, aren’t you? Why don’t you stay in Vigaelia and buy yourself whatever husband you fancy?”
“Duty!” She glared at him. “Don’t Werists know that word? Our family has ruled Celebre for centuries. It is my duty to go back and see if I can help the people.”
Did help mean rule? “My duty too?”
“That is what I have been trying to explain, Hero.”
“If I decide to go, I’ll let you come.”
She pouted. “How much do you know about the pass?”
“I don’t remember any more of our crossing than you do,” he admitted. “But I do know Nardalborg Pass as far as the Fist’s Leap. I helped rebuild the bridge there.”
“Then you’re hired,” she said.
That was probably a joke.
Fabia might be too devious ever to trust, but Orlad thought he could grow to like her, given time. Benard, on the other hand, was historically weird. Conversations with him made no sense at all.
“Orlad?” the big man said. “Or do I still have to call you ‘my lord’?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good. You used to call me Bena. That man with the birthmark?”
“Warrior Waels.”
“Would he take his clothes off for me if I asked him nicely?”
“He had them off earlier.”
“But I didn’t get a good look at him.”
Orlad mulled the query for a while, then asked, “I thought you were humping Ingeld, Bena?”
The artist promptly turned redder than Waels’s chin. “That wasn’t what I had in mind!”
“What did you have in mind, then?”
“Holy Cienu! He has such a wonderfully cute smile.”
Orlad gave up. “It isn’t worth the risk, Bena. Snerfrik plays that way sometimes, but if you suggest it to Waels he will disarticulate your skeleton.”
Benard frowned in annoyance.