Guthlag was on his feet shouting warnings, but it was shrill yells in Wroggian from the even older Master Nok, the boat’s patriarch, that averted disaster. The sailors froze.
“We will pay!” Ingeld shouted in the silence. “We have silver.”
“Hit a Hero and he’ll rip you apart,” Guthlag grumbled, sitting down.
The riverfolk understood more Vigaelian than they usually admitted, and the poles were hastily hidden away. On the bank, Orlad crouched, pulled Dantio onto his shoulder, and lifted him effortlessly. Then he waded into the water, carrying the seer shoulder-high.
“I can walk, you know,” Dantio said, amused. “ It is known that no one has ever seen a Werist acting as a beast of burden before.”
“I can’t get any wetter. You can.”
Yesterday Orlad had been a surly, humorless churl, fanatically loyal to Satrap Therek and his brother the Fist. What miracle had produced this conversion? He almost smiled a second time as he deposited his load aboard the boat, then hauled himself in also. His seven followers scrambled over the side. Suddenly Free Spirit was very crowded.
Dantio warbled at the riverfolk in fluent Wroggian, accepted a weighty bag from Ingeld, and proceeded to negotiate an extortionate fare of two handfuls of silver for the additional passengers. Calmed, if not contented, the sailors set to work to pole the boat out of the rushes, and some of the women began rummaging through the cargo. It seemed Dantio had either bought or rented all the towels and spare clothes aboard.
He turned to the newcomers. “My lords! Pray meet the lady Ingeld, noble dynast of Kosord; her Hordeleader Guthlag Guthlagson; Master Ucrist Horth Wigson; my brother Benard and sister Fabia. And you, gentlefolk, please greet these splendid warriors, lords Waels, Hrothgat, Snerfrik, Namberson, Narg, Prok, and Jungr. Their fame will shine forever!”
Snerfrik was one of the largest men Fabia had ever seen. Despite his obvious youth, he had a mean look. Prok was the smallest of the squad, and even meaner. As they stripped off their rain-soaked palls, many of them revealed fresh red scars, and some still showed traces of blood at the roots of their stubbly beards. The one called Waels had a scarlet stain covering the lower half of his face, but she decided that was a birthmark.
Dantio sat down on the bench next her to explain the miracle. “You know that Therek was planning to have Orlad ambushed on his way back to Nardalborg. Orlad got away, so the assassins had to chase after him. They didn’t know that the commander at Nardalborg, Huntleader Heth, had sent Orlad’s flank to see him safely home. They met up with him on King’s Grass and ambushed the ambushers! It was a wonderful battle.”
Fabia had never heard of this Heth. He must be one of Therek’s most senior officers, yet he had clearly saved Orlad’s life. Deliberately or unintentionally?
“What odds?” Guthlag asked.
“Flank to flank. Only one of Therek’s men escaped.”
The old Hero cackled in delight. “A great victory, then!”
But a full flank was a dozen men and there were only eight here.
“But there’s more. Therek couldn’t see what was happening in the rain,” Dantio continued. “So he drove out to King’s Grass without waiting for his bodyguard!” He grinned wickedly. “That battle was much shorter, but much more important! His death is a crippling blow to the House of Hrag.”
Glances were exchanged. Ingeld put the question.
“So what will happen now in Tryfors?”
Never mind Tryfors! — Now Fabia had all three of her brothers to compare: Benard beefy, amiable, scatterbrained; Orlad scarred inside and out, and, despite his current smiles, basically bitter and dangerous; Witness Dantio… She had not assessed Dantio yet. Clever, of course, and omniscient. And a eunuch. In his Witness robes and veils he had sounded like a woman and hence seemed tall; out of them he was a boyish man of average height, and appeared immature compared even to Orlad, eight years his junior. Werist husbands Fabia could do without, but a Werist brother would be a useful defender. A seer brother should be a perfect adviser. And an artist… perhaps Benard could redecorate the palace in Celebre for her when she succeeded their father as doge. Dogess?
Eight large young men toweling, laughing, and trying on clothes did tend to make the vessel seem rather crowded. More interesting than usual, perhaps, but Fabia had met similar Werist exhibitionism often enough on her journey up from Skjar, and she knew she was meant to keep her eyes averted even if the riverfolk were openly watching and commenting.
At a pause in the conversation, she murmured, “Dantio, what’s the feminine of ‘doge’?”
“Dogaressa. What do you think of the beef, darling? Go ahead and stare if you want. They like it.”
Fabia said, “Oh!” with as much outrage as she could muster. She could feel her face warming up-because she had stolen a few peeks, and he must know that. “Father, this man is making highly improper remarks to me.”
Horth awarded her one of his meek little smiles. “Brothers do that, my dear. Terrible creatures, brothers. That’s why I always spared you the ordeal of having any.” Dressed in rags, the wealthiest man on the Vigaelian Face looked like an aging domestic servant of no consequence whatsoever.
“I hope Orlad can keep his Werists away from her,” Benard remarked solemnly, “or she may be screaming for her other brothers to defend her.”
“Orlad must have had a very narrow escape,” Dantio said. “He didn’t have those terrible scars on his back last night. Oh, look, everybody! Fabia is staring!”
She swung a slap, which he parried easily. “If there is anything worse than a normal brother,” she said crossly, “it must surely be a seer brother!”
“No, artists are the worst,” Benard said. “They keep gazing at you, wondering how to capture your beauty in marble or bronze so that future ages can marvel at it.”
“That’s an improvement. Continue.”
“I like the cut of your dress, but that blue does nothing for your coloring.”
“Her underwear is just hideous,” Dantio said.
Fabia wailed. “Not fair! I’ve worn the same old rags ever since I left Skjar, and I had no chance to visit the Tryfors bazaar. These are the best castoffs I could find in Sixty Ways. Mock me and I shall burst into tears! Then you’ll be sorry.”
Dantio said, “No, we shall be amazed. Personally I think Orlad is more likely to break down and weep than you are. I know I am.”
“Me too,” Benard agreed. “She’s tough as granite.”
“My lady!” Fabia howled. “Stop them! What do I do?”
Ingeld smiled. “You thank the gods, dear. I think it is wonderful that you four have been reunited after so long. They’re just teasing you to show you that they love you.”
“I’d hate to hear what they’d be saying if they disliked me. I’ll get Orlad to defend me.”
“I suspect Orlad’s sense of humor needs work, too,” Benard said. “What do you think, Dantio? Let’s practice on Fabia for the next sixday or so, and then start in on him.”
“No!” Fabia snapped. “Start with him and I’ll help bandage you.”
Ingeld laughed. “Well done! I award that round to Fabia.”
As flankleader, Orlad had claimed first choice of the available clothes-linen trousers and a leather jerkin left open to display his shiny brass collar and a hairless, badly scarred chest. His seven followers were doing the best they could with what was left, but most of them were far larger than river-folk and had to settle for makeshift loincloths. Leaving them amidships, he came forward to join what Fabia was already starting to think of as the family. Why not? Horth was as dear as a father to her; Benard and Ingeld were lovesick loons, and at a pinch Packleader Guthlag could be cast as Faithful Old Retainer. Moreover, the family had been purged of unwanted hangers-on, specifically Cutrath the Unknown Suitor. Gone and good riddance!
Dantio sensed Orlad coming and slid off the bench to make a space. Orlad accepted the seat as his right and Dantio went off to rummage in the cargo. The boat heeled as it caught the main current of the Wrogg.
Orlad bit into a peach and waited for someone else to speak. He was not smiling now, but he did wear a very satisfied, confident air. Fabia supposed it came from knowing he need fear nobody and nothing in the world except other Werists. And he had already changed the flavor of the world by killing Therek Hragson.
“I take it,” she said, “that you no longer approve of my enforced betrothal to Cutrath Horoldson?”
He flashed her a dark glance. “No.”
