“You wish me to leave?” Hermesk asked stiffly.
“No, I rely on you to be discreet.” Dantio looked around the group. “I congratulated Benard on his recovery tonight, just before Orlad’s horde carried him off to the bathhouse. When I hugged him, I learned that he has lost his seasoning. I don’t know when the change happened, but I suspect it was when he snared Horold. Or it may have been in the bathhouse with Waels. He still had it when we left Tryfors.”
There was a puzzled pause until Ingeld appointed herself spokesperson.
“What does it mean, though?”
“I don’t know,” the seer said. “I honestly do not know. Seasoning is very rare, very mysterious. I think it means that Benard has done everything he ever can to change the world. He had his chance at glory and he took it. I don’t think it means he is about to die.” He shrugged. “But even that I don’t know. Seers do not prophesy. Orlad and Fabia still have theirs.”
“And you?” Orlad barked.
“I can’t taste my own flavor, brother.”
“So what does Witness Tranquility say?” Waels asked softly.
Dantio’s chuckle sounded forced. “A Werist with brains is against nature! Yes, mine has gone also. It’s up to Orlad and Fabia from now on. Ah, listen!”
Orlad frowned suspiciously. “Cheering?”
“Certainly cheering! Two runners arrived in town a little while ago, probably from Arbanerik. They reported to Huntleader Nils and he went over to Revengers’ Mess, where the remains of the celebration is collapsing into a collective stupor. Whatever his news is, they have stopped heaving long enough to cheer it.”
“You could hear what he said, couldn’t you?”
The seer smiled. “Well, yes, but I’ll let him tell you. He’s on his way. Have you met him yet, Fabia?”
She shook her head.
“Nils Thranson and Hordeleader Arbanerik are lifelong friends. They trained together, were initiated together, crossed the Edge in the same summer. They were even disabled the same day, in the ambush at Merilan, which was the Mutineer’s first big victory. Arbanerik’s arm was torn off, and Nils lost half his face. Orlad will tell you that one-eyed Werists and one-armed Werists are equally useless. Both men were invalided back to Vigaelia. They founded New Dawn together. And here comes our sculptor. No more miracles, brother?”
Benard loomed in from the gathering dusk and went straight to Ingeld’s side. He was soaking wet and scowling ferociously.
“No! They wouldn’t believe me when I said I didn’t do anything to Waels, the goddess did it, and all I could ever do was ask, and he was special. They made me ask Her for each and every one of them!”
“Why is Waels special?” Fabia asked.
“Ask him. Or ask Orlad. Stupid, bone-headed…” Benard’s growl faded into angry muttering as the rest of Orlad’s men trooped in. They were all still Vigaelian pink, apparently unhappily so.
Before anyone else could speak, Dantio warned: “Nils is here.”
The current ruler of High Timber was small for a Hero, and younger than Fabia had expected, no more than middle twenties. He wore a two-colored pall and a curiously tied head scarf, one end draped down the left side of his face and tucked into his brass collar. He marched straight to the hearth and turned to survey the group with a menacing one-eyed stare. Knowing or guessing who everyone was, he dispensed with formal introductions.
“Heroes… Daughter Ingeld… Ucrist Horth… Herm…” He nodded to each in turn, ending with Fabia. The half-face smiled. “The news is good, as you probably heard. Tryfors has fallen. The Hordeleader confirms that Satrap Therek is dead, as you already knew. His successor, Huntleader Karrthin, has sworn allegiance to New Dawn. There was almost no bloodshed at all at Tryfors.”
Orlad’s Heroes raised a cheer, but it sounded halfhearted. Bloodless victories were in poor taste.
“Saltaja?” Fabia asked.
The solitary eye swung around to regard her coldly. “Escaped. Yesterday she fled upcountry with Huntleader Fellard and the Fist’s Own. By now she is almost certainly at Nardalborg. Two of our hunts, the Fangs and Weru’s Sons, set off in pursuit. At Halfway Hall they met considerable resistance from Fellard and his men. Heavy losses on both sides.” No cheers. “The hordeleader feels no great urgency about this. He can starve Nardalborg into submission if necessary. If the woman escapes over the Edge, she will no longer be our problem.”
But she would certainly be a problem for Florengia and Celebre. Fabia opened her mouth and Horth laid a warning hand on her arm. She closed it again-Orlad was watching them suspiciously.
Nils Thranson said, “So the Hragson tyranny has collapsed, and much of the credit goes to the sons of Celebre gathered here. Witness Mist has been a tireless supporter of our efforts for years. Flankleader Orlad and his Heroes disposed of Therek Hragson by seizing a god-given opportunity with commendable courage and resolution. Hand Benard displayed incredible, legendary courage when he led Horold Hragson into our ambush.”
Pause for more cheering. Benard looked bashful. Ingeld kissed him.
“For the first time,” the hostleader said, “I am free to acknowledge the vital contribution of Ucrist Horth, who unstintingly financed our revolution. Without his gold and his courage, there would have been no New Dawn.”
Gasps of surprise turning into wild cheering. Horth smiled shyly. Fabia hugged him; others flocked over to shake his hand.
When order had been restored, the huntleader said, “Now we must consider the future and your rewards. Hordeleader Arbanerik has ordered me to extend any assistance within my power. At Daughter Ingeld’s request I asked our resident Speaker to join us. He will also witness any other oaths that may be required.”
Fabia wondered why a backwoods rebel cantonment would need a resident Speaker at all, then decided that every Werist who had enrolled in New Dawn must be already sworn to another loyalty. Speakers spoke the laws of holy Demern, but they also knew loopholes in them, ways to undo inconvenient oaths.
Benard eyed Ingeld suspiciously. “Why do you need a Speaker?”
The dynast somehow managed to look arch and supremely innocent at the same time. “Because Horold’s dead, dear. Don’t you want to make an honest woman of me and give your daughter a legal father?”
“Er. Yes. Course. But you’re a Daughter. Can’t you marry us?”
Dantio was grinning. So was Huntleader Nils. Everyone else seemed as puzzled as Benard.
“No Daughter can marry me,” Ingeld said. “As dynast of Kosord, I must be married by a Speaker, who will administer the oath to my husband.”
“Oath?” Benard was thoroughly alarmed now. “What oath?”
“Oath of office, darling. A dynast’s husband is city consort.”
His howl of horror was audible even over the massed laughter of everyone else. The Werists were convulsed.
“ Me? I can’t rule a city!”
Ingeld wrapped an arm around him and laid her head on his meaty shoulder. She was clearly sublimely happy. “Why not? You can just order other people to do all the work!”
“But… I can?”
“Yes, you can. Everyone in the city knows you.”
“That’s what I mean. You can’t make Kosord accept me as ruler!”
“Watch me!” she said.
“Then that’s settled,” Nils said. “Flankleader Orlad?”
Orlad’s new scar made his scowls more menacing than ever. “Dantio and I are going home to Celebre. Waels wishes to accompany us. So does Fabia. Pathfinder Hermesk refuses to guide us.”
The hostleader frowned. “That so, Herm?”
“It is not a matter of refusal, Nils. It is a matter of impossibility. I thought Heroes understood campaigning.” The Pathfinder turned a world-weary look on Orlad. “Listen, lad. You must carry your own food, because you cannot live off the land. You must also pack clothes and at least a bedroll, if not a tent, and even weapons until you reach the real Ice, where nothing else lives. The bigger and stronger you are, the more food you need. At the very most, you can carry about ten days’ rations, and when you reach the Edge itself, any burden at all seems impossibly heavy, even your own body. Understand now?”