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.
Amusement dawned on her face. “High praise indeed from a pathfinder who has traveled most of the known world.”
“It’s only the truth, Ilyra,” Shea said, stepping up to Fallon’s side. “I’ve visited many villages and can honestly say that none of their people have quite the same touch as your cooks.”
“Then it would be a travesty to keep you and your guests from our feast any longer. If you’d follow me.”
Ilyra spun on her heel, her bare feet padding over the well-worn bark of a tree branch that could host three Trateri sleep tents set right beside one another. The path she chose followed the branch back to the trunk, the ground sloping down more and more the closer they got to the center of the tree.
She led the group to one of the village celebration spaces, a large chamber carved into the base of the trunk. The chamber had grown as the trunk aged and showed at a glance just how old Airabel was. The ceiling arched high above them in elegant whirls that followed the grain of wood. The villagers had carved sculptures into the knots, providing columns of intricate artwork as high as the eye could see.
“Your home is breathtaking,” Daere said, her voice hushed with wonder.
Shea glanced at the woman beside her, realizing this was probably the first time she’d been in the trunk. Shea had been part of the negotiations when Fallon first made contact simply because she had a history with these people and wanted to make sure they didn’t end up destroyed because of a simple miscommunication or an overinflated sense of pride.
“I’ve been many places but have never seen anything quite like it,” Shea said, looking around while trying to see it through Daere’s eyes. “Most humans attempt to force nature to flow around them. The Airabel have found a way to exist in harmony—coaxing it here and there into a certain form, but for the most part, existing parallel with it.”
Daere touched one of the carvings just above their head. “They must have lived here for centuries.”
“Longer, I’d imagine,” Chirron said, coming to stand behind them with his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s probably close to a thousand years or more. Though a lack of carvings in some of the spaces higher up speak to the idea that they may have abandoned this home for a length of time before resettling it.”
“I would say you’re correct,” Shea said. “These trees grow painfully slow. It would have taken many years to create this space. My guess is that this is one of the oldest settlements in the Broken Lands. There are only a few to my knowledge that would rival it in terms of history.”
“Oh?” Braden stopped near them. “I would be interested in hearing about these other ancient cities.”
Shea gave him a tight smile. “Perhaps another time.”
“I look forward to it.”
She bet he did.
Fallon came up to her and touched the small of her back. “Are you enjoying baiting my generals?”
“Of course. They are so easy to bait.”
His chuckle was warm against her ear. “He will find a time and place to interrogate you regarding those other cities. Of my generals, Braden takes the saying ‘you can never have too much information’ the most seriously.”
“Not Darius?” The other general had always struck her as more of an information gatherer. The sort to keep one ear to the ground and an eye on everything around him.
Fallon’s eyes were thoughtful. “He also subscribes to that theory but perhaps doesn’t take it to such extremes as Braden. Darius excels at recognizing the best uses for a person’s abilities and then leveraging them to their maximum capability. He’s my strong right hand. Braden, on the other hand, is more like a spider sitting in the middle of his web and spinning intricate plots layered one on top of the other. I often think of him as my strategist.”
Fallon would be the brain and the heart. The one person among all of them capable of inspiring the Trateri to follow him and the person with the big picture.
Shea looked at the two generals with a thoughtful frown. The two men were comfortable in each other’s presence. The slightest smile was present on Braden’s face, something Shea suspected was rare for him. Darius always looked like a man who thought the entire world was a game set up for his private amusement. He was the sort who didn’t take things too seriously. With Braden, he looked more at ease, and the two shared a rapport similar to what she had with Eamon and Buck.
“Darius is the one who thought you might make a good Anateri if given enough time,” Fallon volunteered.
Shea’s head spun so she could give him gape at him. “That was a terrible idea.”
“Was it?” Fallon raised an eyebrow. “I’d thought about making your alter ego Shane a general at one point before I knew who you were. Darius’s idea was better. Many of my Anateri are picked not just for their skill with a blade but for other skills as well. Braden, for instance, was among my Anateri before he claimed the rank of general. Others have gone on to have high offices in my military.”