Page 40 of Tusks & Saddles
“I’m a cleric,” Welborn said, pausing to push his glasses up the bridge of his wide nose. “I’m blessed with the magic of the All Seer.”
“Theworshipingtype, huh?”
Maybe the All Seer will ask the Sun Bringer to light me on fire so I won’t die from awkwardness.
“Yes,” he murmured, a bit sheepishly.
Not everyone worshiped the gods, nor were they required to. His decision to devote himself to the All Seer hadn’t been the result of impulsive youth. Despite what his father initially thought, Welborn’s desire to follow the path had been born from an accident. The hole in his hand had alluded many as it had healed in a way that still allowed his fingers to work regardless of the missing bones and tendons.
By the time Boone had sent enough money for Larok to take Welborn to a proper healer, the flesh had scarred over. The healer—the best one they could find—had told his father that it had to be the work of divine magic. She had seen many soldiers over the past few hundred years, and the gnomish woman had never encountered anything like it.
“I must say it doesn’t make a lick of sense. By all accounts, it shouldn’t work, but it does! Thank whatever gods were listening, and I’d suggest keeping this covered lest you catch it on something!”
He had followed the healer’s instructions until he eventually came across the one god who had been responsible for saving his hand and, subsequently, his life. It felt natural to show his gratitude by devoting himself to them, even if others disagreed.
“I’ve been a cleric for five years now, but my faith in the All Seer started long before that,” Welborn explained more confidently.
There was no telling what the woman was feeling and the disadvantage made Welborn uneasy. He was spared more awkward conversation when he felt the train lurch. The sound of wheels grinding alerting him and the other passengers that the train was slowing down. Welborn’s prayer—while misguided in his desperation—must have made it to the All Seer after all.
Welborn finished tending to the bandit, collecting his healing supplies back into his satchel with care. He was startled when the woman suddenly flipped the unconscious man onto his back. Her gloved hands gathered the bandit’s arms and she quickly tied his wrists together with robe she had pulled from somewhere.
“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“You think a guy who wanted to rob a train with a short sword and some acid is going to go quietly to the mayor?”
Welborn bit his lip.
“No…”
“Are you askingme or telling me?”
“No,” he said, more firmly.
“Good boy, looks like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders after all—”
The heat in Welborn’s face had now spread to his neck. He was certain he had never been so green in all twenty-five years of his short existence.
“—and the last thing I need is this wild card stabbing you through the stomach because you’re dealing with some moral dilemma. The world’s a dangerous place, preacher. It’s best to be prepared for the worst, lest you end up with your pants down.”
The woman had propped the bandit against one of the benches, his head slumped forward. Welborn hadn’t pegged her to be strong enough to lift a man, but she wasn’t a slight thing. As he moved to stand, he realized he barely had any height on her, confirming his suspicion that she was a tall woman. Welborn stared at her veil and tried to picture what she may have looked like underneath.
Other questions regarding the mysterious woman’s identity quickly filtered through his mind. She spoke with the hint of an accent, though Welborn couldn’t identify it. It was different from the slow drawl that many of the people of Gloomsdale spoke with. He wasn’t familiar enough with local slang, either, but Welborn was confident that whoever this woman was, she wasn’t a local. Most likely a transplant like—
The sudden realization that she was moving nearly made Welborn shout. During his rumination, the veiled woman had taken the now groggy man by the wrists and was pushing him toward the front of the cabin. The passengers had given her a wide berth, understandable shaken by the unexpected robbery.
Follow your curiosity.
It was a tenant of the All Seer, and Welborn was nothing if not a devoted cleric. Before he could think, he was darting after the woman. Welborn followed the trail of her veil and skirts, cutting through the serving cabin and into the luxury cabins without a thought. If they looked at him strangely, Welborn didn’t notice. His eyes were trained on the woman as she paused, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“If you’re going to follow me, do me a favor and grab that large suitcase next to this chair,” she instructed.
Welborn had always been good at following instructions. He bent down, fingers curling around the handle of the leather suitcase. It was long, in a shape that was different than what Welborn had seen when he first boarded the train. The weight of it as he continued to follow the woman to the exit and off the platform was foreign to him. He contemplated what it could be as he hurriedly shrugged his glove back on. Too heavy to be clothes alone, but the probability of it containing treasure felt unlikely as well. Most people kept precious gems in their coin purses and—holy shit, the orc standing across the station was his brother, wasn’t it?
Oh, All Seer.
No doubt, that was absolutely Boone, even with his face partially covered with cloth. Despite the many years without him, Welborn would recognize his frame anywhere. Just like their father, Boone was really hard to miss. And apparently his brother saw him, too.
“—by!”
