Silver May Tarnish by Andre Norton Page A

cave but throw nothing about outside. Tarro, go to the hill and watch for her.”
    The man addressed growled. “Why me? Let someone else go. I’ll not let my chances of finding something here slip by.” His tone turned sly. “Let the boy go. You’ll share anything you find with him, won’t you, Captain?”
    Garlen said no more, but nor did he order Neeco to lookout. It seemed as if the man had some authority over those he led, but not so much they would forego the chance of loot, even at his orders. I smiled to myself. All the better if that was true. I’d left loot for them to find. A cry from my cave signaled that they had done so.
    â€œGarlen! Mead!”
    â€œWhat’s that, lad?”
    â€œThose flasks up there. I’ve seen them before. They contain mead. Ithia’s best.”
    A deeper older voice cut in. “Ah, do they? Then we’ll have a sniff at this.” There was a pause and I could imagine him grabbing a flask down, taking a mouthful and savoring the fiery distilled contents. There came a loud gasp.
    â€œWheeoo, Captain. That’s mighty powerful stuff. But by the Gods it goes down so smooth you wouldn’t know until it arrives.” There came a hubbub as the bandits all clamored to taste. Then the one who had drank first spoke again.
    â€œLook, Captain. There’s a fine stew here, mead to drink, and we’re where the girl’ll not see us when she returns. Let us stay here, use her food and drink …”
    â€œAnd then her,” another voice cut in. “Reckon it’d be only right if’n she shares her food’n drink with us. Then we shares us with her.” There was rough laughter and cries of agreement.
    I thought from the sound of their voices that Garlen had
little choice. There was a dangerous note to the demand. I heard his voice agreeing.
    â€œThat’s not a bad idea, Saren. All right, find bowls or use your own. Neeco, share out the stew. And you’ll not be drinking.” He over-rode the boy’s anger. “Saren, wait until everyone has a mug of some sort, then share out the drink. None for the boy, mind.”
    I listened to the sounds as men gobbled down my stew. They smacked their lips thirstily over the mead and regretted that there was not more of it. I smiled bitterly. The five flasks were all which was left after Winter. But they would find there had been enough and more for them. They were used to drinking beer. The rough ale they usually drank would make a man sick before he became falling-down drunk.
    The flasks of Ithia’s mead were twice distilled. Even the mug each of them would drink would be enough to send their wits wandering. Ithia’s mead was usually drunk from thick-walled thumb-sized glasses in tiny sips that barely wetted the lips. If it was offered in larger glasses then it was watered down by many times the volume. But each man would here drink ten or twelve times the usual tiny amounts. Neeco would not have known, when had he ever sat at the high table to see how Ithia’s mead was taken?
    In an hour those within my cave were finding the mead a heady brew. Their voices rose. Then one staggered from the cave holding his belly. He groaned, sinking to the ground unnoticed. Another joined him. Now the voices rose, but no longer in their rough humor. There was fear in the sound now. I waited in my hiding place. At last no sounds arose save Neeco’s cries to them. Those, too, ceased and I guessed he plundered his erstwhile comrades.
    I hummed a silent call in my mind. Winged warriors attended me as I went down to meet our betrayer. He walked from the cave, a bulging pack in one hand.
    I nodded politely. “Neeco.”

    I saw his face whiten as he took in my escort. But he was quick enough of wits. How should he know how much I knew?
    â€œMeive. I—I have ill news for you. How long have you been here alone in these hills?”
    â€œI came here more