Seg the Bowman by Alan Burt Akers Page B

Pandahem.”
    Incautiously, Seg said: “Then the journey around the island by sea is less dangerous than crossing the mountains?”
    Obolya lowered his wine cup, of polished silver, studded with gems.
    “Of course — as everyone knows. My business associate, a fine brave fellow, Naghan Loppelyer, just managed to stagger back home after an attempt to cross the mountains. He lost his caravan, his guards, his girls, his money, his clothes and escaped only with his life.”
    “You are then from Tomboram?” Milsi looked up.
    “Yes. And a pretty pickle we are in up there, I can tell you.”
    “Yes,” said Milsi. Then, quickly, to Obolya: “If you’d kindly take us to Mewsansmot I have friends there.
    I am sure I could arrange a number of profitable introductions.”
    “My dear young lady! That is splendid! It is a bargain, as Pandrite is my witness!”
    When he had the chance of a private word, Seg said to Milsi: “Look, my lady. You are the lady in waiting to the queen. Why don’t we go straight to the capital? Surely your—”
    “The king and queen are dead. We know that. The whole country is not sure, but suspects. I want to see my friends first, Seg. You’ll just have to trust me in this.”
    “Oh, I trust you all right. Perhaps you do not trust this Kov Llipton who is the regent?”
    “I have no reason not to trust him. Anyway, he will do what he wants to do. I am only a handmaiden.”
    There was something else troubling Milsi, Seg could sense that with a sympathy that aroused his own guilt that he had not fully confided in her. Yes, they might have been shafted by the same bolt of lightning; but he felt sure that when Milsi did at last confide the more important parts of her history he would discover facts that, just perhaps, might better be left undiscovered.
    He considered the interesting notion that she might be Queen Mab herself. He dismissed the idea because he and his old dom had seen the queen dead in the next cell to Milsi’s. And it was certain the queen would be recognized somewhere along the river. If Queen Mab was Milsi and she trusted Kov Llipton — and, it seemed sure that so far there was no reason to distrust him apart from the cynical natures possessed by wandering paktuns — then there would be no need to continue with the masquerade. She could just sail grandly up to her palace in the capital city of Nalvinlad and take over from the regent.
    Maybe, just maybe, if the handmaiden Milsi was really Queen Mab, she might not wish to marry Kov Llipton if that was his intention. She might have another in mind. If that was the case, Seg couldn’t see that other fortunate man being a wandering warrior Bowman of Loh.
    He brushed all this nonsense aside.
    The facts were that the lady Milsi had asked him to be her jikai and to escort her safely to her friends in Mewsansmot.
    This he intended to do to the best of his ability or die trying.
    Milsi joined him as he sat on the central gangway trying to keep his stupid thoughts well away from the continuous hypnotic rhythm of the paddlers to either side, and, equally, away from the fantasy scenarios thronging his stupid old vosk skull of a head.
    She wore a yellow blouse fastened with bone rosettes through loops of crimson thread. The blouse was almost a bolero jacket, its hem reaching to a point just above her navel. She still wore the scrap of blue loincloth. Her hair had been wound up and fastened with an overlarge stickpin whose head was fashioned into the likeness of a spinyfish, one of the delicacies of the river.
    “Well, my Horkandur! You look mighty pensive!”
    “Just wondering how all this will end.”
    “Do not fret. We are well on our way. Look at my new clothes. Obolya is most kind. Why don’t you go aft and ransack his wardrobe?”
    “Yes, yes, in a mur or two.”
    “You are grumpy, Seg!”
    “I crave your pardon, my lady. It is just — just that — oh! I do not know! I know so little of you, and I was just puzzling if I wanted to