On the far side of the muddy, rutted trail that served as a street stood another solid log building, the temple of Veslih. It was making noises also, because Ingeld Narsdor was in there with some local women, rededicating the sacred fire. High Timber did not possess a resident Daughter, although it was a sizable town. Three years ago it had been primeval forest. Three days ago it had held more than forty sixty Werists, plus uncounted civilians, a lot of whom were Nymphs. Today it was notably empty, with most of the residents away attending to their bloody business at Tryfors and Nardalborg. It would probably be burned before winter, whichever side won.
Around the corner to his right came Namberson and Snerfrik and two other people, whom Waels needed a moment to recognize. Horth Wigson and Orlad’s sister had acquired new clothes, surprisingly fine-looking garments to find in a temporary hill settlement. Fabia had her hair dressed in long black ringlets, trailing down to her sable wrap, which hung loose on her shoulders-broad shoulders ran in the family. The top of her gown was cut low to reveal the top third of a pair of nicely plump breasts. She was easy to look at, if not as winsome as her brother. It was a pity she had not found lighter colors to show off her brown skin, but there could not be much choice in High Timber.
The merchant was grandly attired in a many-colored robe and a fur-trimmed mantle, with gold bands glittering around his neck and wrists, all of which somehow made him seem even less imposing than he had done in his previous rags. Having two great muscular Heroes skulking along right behind him did not help, of course. He looked old and unhealthy by comparison, not to mention worried, shrunken, stooped, and mousy. How could a man so wealthy seem so insignificant? Was there a lesson there?
Snerfrik and Namberson were not happy at being assigned to keep their leader’s sister from being hassled by drunks. They wanted to go and join in the victory party, which was already audible, even at this distance, and would be a real roof-raiser by sunset.
Fabia accosted Waels as if the state of the world was all his fault. “He’s still in there?”
He waved the pig ribs expressively. “The last they told me was that they needed another pot-boiling or so.” He did not mention that the sanctuary had sent out for another three healers. In all, they had said, about eight Sinurists would be needed to assume all of Benard’s injuries, and he had been extremely lucky to have reached High Timber alive-which he had done only because relays of Werists had carried him in on a litter at warbeast speed. That was not an honor Werists ever accorded to extrinsics, other than a few mythical characters in ancient legends.
“You tell him I need to see him right away!” the girl said. “We’ll be in Panther Hunt’s gold barracks.”
Orlad, Dantio, Ingeld, and Huntleader Nils Frathson also wanted to see Benard as soon as possible. Revengers and Thunderbolt Hunts both wanted to carry him around the town shoulder high.
“I promise.” Waels gave her a big smile, hoping to win one in return.
He didn’t, so he waited until she and her companions had moved along the road, then set the dogs on them by hurling a pig rib over their heads. The curs exploded after it, racing by them and between them, yelping and barking, almost knocking Horth over. Even the two Werists jumped. Snerfrik looked back and made an obscene gesture. Waels waved cheerily.
He had time to gnaw one more rib before the door behind him creaked open.
An elderly Healer peered out. “Are you waiting to guide Master Artist Benard?” His seriously bruised and swollen mouth gave him trouble speaking.
“I am. Can he walk?” Waels thought he could carry the beefy lad to the Orlad flank billet, but would prefer not to have to try.
“Of course.” The old man smirked toothlessly and pushed the door wider.
Out came Benard, blinking in the sunlight, then smiling at Waels. His face was still puffy and multicolored… no, all of him was puffy and discolored by either bloodstains or fading bruises, but he did not seem to be in much pain.
“Good of you to wait for me, my lord.” He slurred the words. He had lost half his teeth and Healers could not replace those.
“A pleasure.”
Waels tossed the rest of the pig ribs to a fast-looking dog and watched the entire pack streak off after it. He licked his fingers. “I wish you would just call me Waels, Master Artist.”
“Every Hero I ever met insisted on being called ‘lord.’”
“But you’re special. You’re a hero to us Heroes. You trapped the Kosord boar! There’s nothing we admire more than really suicidal courage.”
As much as a badly bruised Florengian could, Benard blushed. “Thanks. Where’s Ingeld?”
“Playing with fire over there.” Waels pointed across at the temple with its Veslihan symbols. “I have orders to lead you to our quarters and feed you. The rest of us have all eaten.”
“Sounds promising, but I need a wash first.”
“This way, then. The bathhouse is this way.”
As they started along the street, Benard said, “Tell me what happened. I don’t remember much.”
“That’s a shame! It all went just as you’d planned. Dantio and Ingeld wanted to go back and catch you, but Orlad wouldn’t hear of it. He said you were probably going to be killed whatever we did and the least we could do was make your sacrifice worthwhile. He told Namberson and the rest to make sure the boat carried on up the Wrogg, out of harm’s way, and then he and I set off to fetch New Dawn.” Waels did not mention that keeping up with Orlad on the run had just about killed him. That went without saying. “We met Huntleader Nils coming down the Milky with Revengers Hunt and most of Thunderbolt Hunt. Nils set up the ambush.”
Waels remembered Nils from years ago, for they were both Tryfors born. Nils had even remembered him, because of his birthmark. It could not hurt an able youngster to be known to a man three ranks above him.
Benard pulled a face. “I vaguely remember seeing Horold battleforming.”
“I missed that. We were two boats upstream from you. He died well; took three Heroes with him. But it was a beautiful massacre! The Milky ran strawberry.”
The Hand did not comment. They turned at the temple of Weru and scrambled down the bank, all mud and exposed roots. The streambed at the bottom was a morass, trampled by innumerable feet, which hardly mattered on the way to the bathhouse. Regrettably this was also the way back, which made the journey seem self-defeating.
Waels paused outside the bathhouse door, in case there was someone inside. “Orlad said you want to ask a favor of me.”
“He did?”
“He did. Said he wasn’t sure what it was, but he asked Ingeld and she laughed, so he’s decided it’s not what he thought it was at first. Whatever it is, go ahead and ask.”
The Hand said, “You won’t get mad?”
“Mad?” Waels laughed aloud. “I won’t get mad at you if you tell me to eat mud. You’re so brave you’re insane, even by Werist standards. You’re also the brother of my, er, flankleader, and, I mean, why would I get mad?”
Benard smiled shyly, showing gaps and half-healed gums. “If I tell you I love your smile?”
Waels felt his fists and jaw clench. Blood pounded in his throat. He was a Werist now and didn’t have to take that from anyone, not ever again.
“If anyone but you said that, I’d eat him.”
Benard seemed truly puzzled. “Said what? You worried about that mark on your face? I don’t even see it when I look at you. All I see is shape. I have a commission to carve some gods. The marble is Vigaelian color. You think I’d paint that mark in? All I want is shape, and you have one of the finest male bodies I’ve ever seen. Gods must be as beautiful as possible, obviously, and your proportions are perfect. Your muscle definition is superb. And your smile is incredibly cryptic.”
Oh? Waels said, “Thank you,” awkwardly.
“My brother must think so too, judging by the way he looks at you.”
Annoyed again, Waels said, “Are we so very obvious?”