Fallon went first. Then it was Shea’s and her guards’ turn. She took a deep breath before following Fallon’s broad back. She looked past him to where Caden and the villagers waited, decked out in their best finery, much as the Trateri were. The generals followed her, then the clan heads, and Daere. Witt and the rest of the guards brought up the rear.
Eckbert stepped forward and gestured, several women breaking from the crowd to step forward with necklaces of brightly colored flowers.
“Welcome, friends. Welcome,” Eckbert said giving them a wide grin.
Shea ducked her head and accepted the flower necklace with a smile, murmuring a thank-you to the young girl who’d placed it around her neck.
“What’s this?” Chirron asked, picking up the braided flowers and examining them closely.
“It’s tradition for the village to greet their guests with the mbel. It’s a sign of their esteem.”
“I wonder if these have any medicinal properties,” he muttered, rubbing a petal between his thumb and forefinger.
Shea’s mouth opened and then closed. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask one of the villagers. They’re familiar with the flora around here and could tell you more about its properties.” She thought a moment then volunteered, “I do know that the bark of the soul tree when brewed at a high temperature can calm a cough.”
She had personal experience with that treatment having had to sit through a few cups after she’d contracted a particularly nasty cough while visiting the area previously.
Chirron’s eyes brightened as he looked at the tree trunk. “I wonder what temperature the water needs to be to achieve the best results, or if the treatment could be replicated in a paste.”
Shea shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I’m sure Eckbert will be more than happy to introduce you to their healer.”
“I’d greatly appreciate that,” Chirron said. The expression he bestowed on her was full of eager anticipation.
“Careful, Chirron. Your tendency to lose yourself in inconsequential things has begun to show again,” Van said, clapping the other man on the shoulder.
Unlike the rest of them, he was not wearing one of the mbel. Shea looked back at the girl who had been the one to approach him. She was staring at the ground as several other women gathered around her and talked in hushed voices while shooting quick glances in Van’s direction.
“A new method to treat a cough or fever is never inconsequential, Lion.” The earlier anticipation in Chirron’s gaze had disappeared, leaving him with a calm expression that bordered on serene patience.
“I’ll be honest; I’m more interested in what kind of warriors they can contribute to our armies. You can treat as many coughs as you like; it’ll never win us the war.” Van’s gaze was assessing as he took in those who had gathered to welcome them to Airabel. “Though from the sight of this lot, I’m willing to bet the pickings will be slim.”
Chirron’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but he didn’t react in any other manner.
“I imagine a treatment for the fever one gets from an infected battle wound would be worth its weight in gold, if it had the ability to restore soldiers to the ranks, when otherwise they’d be consigned to the grave,” Shea said before she could stop herself. Once the words were out, she was committed, and she met his gaze with an impassive one of her own.
Daere turned her body so she was half facing away, saying so only Shea could hear. “Well said. Now don’t push him any further. You’re not the one who will pay the price for his anger.” Daere’s eyes slid to the girl being led away by the other women.
Shea dipped her chin just slightly to show Daere she understood.
Van studied her, his face thoughtful as he pulled at one lip. “That is a fair point, but ultimately irrelevant. You have to win the battle before you have the luxury of treating your wounds. Only after you have been victorious, can the healers treat those unlucky or unskilled enough to be caught by their enemies’ blade. Without the first, you cannot have the second.”
Shea bit her tongue on the response she wanted to give him. His argument was flawed and shortsighted. Yes, winning the battle to then be able to treat your wounded was necessary, but how would you win the next battle or the battle after that if half your force was fighting off infection from non-mortal wounds. Eventually you’d run out of men with which to fight and you would lose.
Not to mention, luck had as much to do with surviving a battle as skill.
Chirron met her eyes from next to Van and shook his head once. Shea almost thought she’d imagined the movement because in the same motion he turned to speak to Braden who observed Shea and Van with a watchful expression on his face.
“General, have you been able to figure out the answer to the question I asked you earlier?”
The question came out of nowhere for more than Shea it seemed, because Braden blinked at the smaller man for a moment before responding, “I’m afraid I don’t have a working theory for how the tree supports the weight of its trunk and branches without collapsing.”
“It’s largely hollow,” a regal looking woman said, stepping up next to the headman. Ilyra had black hair threaded through with white that was pulled back from her face in an elegant knot. She wore the brightly colored garments of the other villagers. “Most of the soul trees are. I believe it allows them to grow to their immense height without being crushed under their own weight.”
“Fascinating,” Chirron said. He did look fascinated. “I would love to discover more about these amazing trees you call home.”
She inclined her head. “I would be happy to share all I know over dinner.” To Fallon and the rest, she said, “If you’ll follow us, we will lead you to the feast.”
“Lead on, lady. My Telroi tells me your feasts are the stuff of dreams,” Fallon said.
