“And what do you think of your cousin Cutrath?” she asked, with one of her wonderful little smiles.
“Honest opinion, my lady?”
“You will always answer my questions honestly.”
“Of course! I think he is a thoroughly spoiled brat, but he does not lack courage or self-confidence. A few years of life’s rough-and-tumble could turn an overgrown child into quite a decent man.”
“Then we must oblige him! You are certain we cannot leave today?”
Heth glanced at the sunlight falling through the window. It was a little shy of noon. He slid off the bench and dropped to his knees. “Forgive me, my lady! I did not know that there would be this terrible urgency. The last supply train is not due back until this evening, and we must not leave without those mammoths.”
“Get up! Men go past that window all the time. You must not kneel to me when there is the slightest chance that anyone else will see you. You may do so when we are quite alone, if you wish.”
He scrambled to his feet. “Thank you, my lady.” He did not resume his seat, feeling it was disrespectful to sit in her presence. “But I fear that the few hours’ advantage we might gain by setting out today would be wasted or even harmful, my lady. The first campsite-”
She stopped him with a dismissive wave. “Dawn it shall be, then. I depend on you to see me safely to Florengia. How long to reach the Edge?”
“At least twenty days, my lady, but it depends entirely on the weather. Thirty would be good going at this season. The descent on the far side is reputedly easier, but at least another ten days to Veritano, I understand.”
“I should send a letter to my brother advising him that I am coming.” She sensed his alarm and smiled again. “No?”
“We do not know what is happening on the Florengian side, my lady. If the Mutineer intercepted your letter he might bring up enough forces to intercept you also.” To be responsible for her safety was a terrifying responsibility. “And now we even have the problem of traitors on this Face. They could try to stop us from reaching the pass, or might even cross over and ambush us on the far side, since you tell me that they are concentrated near Varakats.” She had not said how she knew that, but he did not doubt her word for a moment. “And then there is the uncertain situation in Tryfors. Your plans should be kept secret.”
She sighed. She did look a little tired, but then she was older than Therek and must be close to sixty, so it was amazing that she had withstood her journey as well as she had. “Yes,” she said. “Now, about those men from Tryfors who were escorting me when your patrol appeared-they all know about the satrap’s death. I don’t want them chattering.”
“No, indeed, my lady! No one else in Nardalborg should know about that. I imagine they are all still unconscious, recovering from their exertions, but do you want me to… to…” To do what? She wouldn’t ask him to put them to death, would she?
“I will have a word with them,” she said.
“Flankleader Verinkar, my lady? He was quite right to bring you in by the fastest means possible, but technically he was disobeying-”
“Do whatever you judge best, Huntleader. Kill him or pardon him and say it is a favor to me. It doesn’t matter. He is of no importance.”
“Of course not, my lady. Forgive me for wasting your time.” It would be best to put Verinkar to death, in case he babbled things that might imperil the lady.
She said, “I am a little weary. I shall lie down for a while. I know you have duties to attend to. How many children do you have, Huntleader?”
“Three, my lady. A daughter and two sons.”
“How old?”
“Ten, seven, and three, my lady.”
“Ah, then the boys are too young to be warriors. But the girl might make a good lady’s companion. Send her to me. If she seems promising, she can accompany us to Florengia.”
“That would be a great honor, my lady.” Heth knew that Femund would complain at not being consulted, but he had always been considerate of her wishes, and she would have to understand that a man sometimes had higher responsibilities.
“I shall require a room on the ground floor with a good bolt on the door and a squad of-Ah, that must be my other nephew at last.”
Heth did not recall sending for Hero Cutrath, but he barked, “Enter!” and the face that peered in was indeed that of his parboiled young cousin.
“I said, ‘Enter!’ not ‘Play peekaboo!’”
Cutrath jumped in like a startled coney and slammed the door behind him. He looked terrified out of his wits-such as they were-which was perverse of him so soon after Heth had praised his courage.
“You may greet your aunt, boy!”
Saltaja rose and held out her black-draped arms. “My, what a fine, upstanding warrior you have become since I saw you last! Come and give your old auntie a kiss, Hero.”
Cutrath made a choking noise, fumbling behind him for the door latch. Heth took him by the arm and marched him across the room. Cutrath went reluctantly. Something in the air suggested that he had a urinary problem.
FABIA CELEBRE
and Horth Wigson arrived back at their quarters, still escorted by their two grumpy Werist bodyguards. Huntleader Nils had assigned them a long barnlike building knocked together out of great undressed tree trunks, reeking of pine. The crude painting above the door showed that it was normally home to the men of gold pack, Panthers Hunt. Although daylight shone through the roof in places and there were no shutters to keep rain from blowing in the window slits, it was certainly roomy enough, and Fabia would not be staying long. That was another problem-time was desperately short. She must have a serious talk with Horth, and Orlad, and Benard… and just about everybody else.
The rest of the clothes she had bought had not been delivered yet, but her brother was waiting for her-her youngest brother, the dangerous one-accompanied by six gangly boys armed with cudgels. They wore peasant garb and unsightly hemp collars that must signify something to Werists.
Orlad bore a satisfied air. He was a seasoner. In the last two days two sons of Hrag had died by his hand, more or less. War was easy, wasn’t it? He had added a new scar, a jagged line, still red, from the corner of his mouth almost to his ear, as if a claw had ripped his face open.
“You can go,” he told Namberson and Snerfrik, and they vanished along the trail while still telling their lord that he was kind. He indicated the newcomers and rattled off some names.
“Probationers,” he told Horth. “They will look after you.”
The boys were regarding Fabia with interest, as if Florengian women were rarities thereabouts. She could see nothing in them to interest her.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Her brother shrugged. “You want to hear what I’ve promised to do to these maggots if you get molested, or insulted, or even annoyed?”
“No.”
“I warned them that I always carry out my threats. Didn’t I, maggots?”
They chorused nervously that their lord was kind.
“I must talk with you,” Fabia told him. “Come in here.”
She marched into the barracks, and continued along the narrow walkway that ran the full length of the building, between two raised platforms of packed earth. A thick litter of blankets and other personal gear on them suggested that Panther Hunt’s gold pack had left town in a hurry, no doubt right after Dantio’s letter had brought the news that Saltaja was entering the trap.
She turned. Orlad had chosen to sit down just inside the door, and Horth was perched on the edge of the platform opposite. Angrily she stalked back to them.
“I don’t want those boys eavesdropping!” She remained standing.
Orlad shrugged. “You think they haven’t noticed the windows?”
“Will they listen?”
“Certainly. Will it matter?”
That would depend on what was said. “You are going to Celebre?”