slowly.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Hank Ardor,” I said. “Who are you?”
“We’re three and you’re one; we’ll ask the questions.”
“We’re two! ” the parrot snapped. “Are you blind?”
The man goggled. “That bird talked?”
“No,” I said, “I’m a—sure he talked.” There wasn’t any word for “ventriloquist” in my vocabulary, and that was snotty anyhow. “His name is Borgia.”
“A strange man wearing Vardor clothes and a bird that talks—and both of you with funny names.” The man glanced at his bow-bearing companions, then shook his head. “Where are you from?” His eyes were on the chiming watch. I’d supplemented the chain with leather and hung it around my neck. It ran. Backwards.
“Earth,” I said.
“I haven’t heard o that one, either. Where the Dark Power is Earth?” (Dark Power; Power of Darkness: Falkh ).
I swung an arm. “Miles,” I said. “Beyond the mountain on the other side of the desert. Where are you from?”
“Brynda. But there isn’t anything on the other side of the desert. Besides, how could a lone man cross it anyhow?”
I grinned. “It wasn’t easy,” I said. I slapped my chest. “The Vardors didn’t give me this clothing. And the bird was a lot of help. But—Brynda! I met a Bryndoy out there, this side of the mountains. Vardors had put an arrow in his belly, and he had a broken leg. He’d dragged himself into a cave. They’d take his slook and I guess couldn’t be bothered making sure he was dead—he was dying, and couldn’t have got anywhere without a mount. His name was Kro Kodres.”
The man looked at the others. “You know that name?”
One of them nodded. “Of course. He’s a Guildsman—I mean was. Little fellow, bearless and slender?”
I grinned at him. “Uh-uh. Scalplock, short beard, thin mustache. Built big; huge legs and arms. He also had a ring, which he asked me to deliver to a lady he’d left. I did, incidentally killing two Vardors who’d got to her first.”
“A ring! Who was she? Where is she?”
I shook my head. “Brynda, I guess. A lot of gratitude she showed me, for the ring and for saving her from the Vardors, too. She grabbed the ring, slipped it on, and—” I decided to run a test—“you know what happened then.”
“She vanished.”
“Right. I don’t even know her name; she didn’t stay long enough to tell me. She’s the jadiriyah of Brynda. Hair so black it’s bluish, big dark eyes, spoiled-looking mouth, very thin, straight nose—big in the chest and short in the leg.”
Their eyes were big, all three of them. “No wonder she didn’t stop to pass the time with you! That was Sorah!”
“Oh.” Sorah? So what? “Who’s she?”
This time all three of them laughed. “You’re telling the truth, fellow, and you’re certainly not from this part of the country! She’s the daughter of Guildchief Shayhara of Brynda! But surely even she offered Julan?”
“She did. So what? I wasn’t after a reward.”
They exchanged a look. “How did she act?”
“Disturbed, grateful, sort of. Then she took the ring and vanished. She didn’t bother to say thanks, or offer to bring me along.”
The man who’d know Kro Kodres laughed. “No, I’m sure she didn’t.” He looked at the first man. “He tells the truth about Kro Kodres, and certainly about the Shayharan Jadiriyah, Stro Fentris. I—”
“How do we know he didn’t slay Kro Kodres?” the other bowman asked. His partner looked at him as if he should have a parrot on his head.
“Why would he kill a Bryndoy, then ride toward Brynda and tell us he was with Kro Kodres when he died, slook? Hank Ardor doesn’t look that stupid to me.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyhow, Fentris, I’d say we may as well believe the rest of it. It will be easy enough to check in Brynda—if Her Bitchiness will deign to identify him. And another man wouldn’t hurt us, at all.”
Stro Fentris looked at me. “You’re a warrior?”
I shrugged.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Hank Ardor,” I said. “Who are you?”
“We’re three and you’re one; we’ll ask the questions.”
“We’re two! ” the parrot snapped. “Are you blind?”
The man goggled. “That bird talked?”
“No,” I said, “I’m a—sure he talked.” There wasn’t any word for “ventriloquist” in my vocabulary, and that was snotty anyhow. “His name is Borgia.”
“A strange man wearing Vardor clothes and a bird that talks—and both of you with funny names.” The man glanced at his bow-bearing companions, then shook his head. “Where are you from?” His eyes were on the chiming watch. I’d supplemented the chain with leather and hung it around my neck. It ran. Backwards.
“Earth,” I said.
“I haven’t heard o that one, either. Where the Dark Power is Earth?” (Dark Power; Power of Darkness: Falkh ).
I swung an arm. “Miles,” I said. “Beyond the mountain on the other side of the desert. Where are you from?”
“Brynda. But there isn’t anything on the other side of the desert. Besides, how could a lone man cross it anyhow?”
I grinned. “It wasn’t easy,” I said. I slapped my chest. “The Vardors didn’t give me this clothing. And the bird was a lot of help. But—Brynda! I met a Bryndoy out there, this side of the mountains. Vardors had put an arrow in his belly, and he had a broken leg. He’d dragged himself into a cave. They’d take his slook and I guess couldn’t be bothered making sure he was dead—he was dying, and couldn’t have got anywhere without a mount. His name was Kro Kodres.”
The man looked at the others. “You know that name?”
One of them nodded. “Of course. He’s a Guildsman—I mean was. Little fellow, bearless and slender?”
I grinned at him. “Uh-uh. Scalplock, short beard, thin mustache. Built big; huge legs and arms. He also had a ring, which he asked me to deliver to a lady he’d left. I did, incidentally killing two Vardors who’d got to her first.”
“A ring! Who was she? Where is she?”
I shook my head. “Brynda, I guess. A lot of gratitude she showed me, for the ring and for saving her from the Vardors, too. She grabbed the ring, slipped it on, and—” I decided to run a test—“you know what happened then.”
“She vanished.”
“Right. I don’t even know her name; she didn’t stay long enough to tell me. She’s the jadiriyah of Brynda. Hair so black it’s bluish, big dark eyes, spoiled-looking mouth, very thin, straight nose—big in the chest and short in the leg.”
Their eyes were big, all three of them. “No wonder she didn’t stop to pass the time with you! That was Sorah!”
“Oh.” Sorah? So what? “Who’s she?”
This time all three of them laughed. “You’re telling the truth, fellow, and you’re certainly not from this part of the country! She’s the daughter of Guildchief Shayhara of Brynda! But surely even she offered Julan?”
“She did. So what? I wasn’t after a reward.”
They exchanged a look. “How did she act?”
“Disturbed, grateful, sort of. Then she took the ring and vanished. She didn’t bother to say thanks, or offer to bring me along.”
The man who’d know Kro Kodres laughed. “No, I’m sure she didn’t.” He looked at the first man. “He tells the truth about Kro Kodres, and certainly about the Shayharan Jadiriyah, Stro Fentris. I—”
“How do we know he didn’t slay Kro Kodres?” the other bowman asked. His partner looked at him as if he should have a parrot on his head.
“Why would he kill a Bryndoy, then ride toward Brynda and tell us he was with Kro Kodres when he died, slook? Hank Ardor doesn’t look that stupid to me.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyhow, Fentris, I’d say we may as well believe the rest of it. It will be easy enough to check in Brynda—if Her Bitchiness will deign to identify him. And another man wouldn’t hurt us, at all.”
Stro Fentris looked at me. “You’re a warrior?”
I shrugged.
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