The Other Lands by David Anthony Durham Page A

much timidity in their reaction. Noticing it, Rialus figuratively narrowed his eyes.
    “But you are still in her service?” Sire Dagon asked.
    “We are. There is no reason not to be. If she, through you, allows me to see Ushen Brae again, I am happy to serve her. I will say the words she asks of me.” The Numrek leaned back. “Yes, I will do that. She will not be disappointed. But I don’t do it because I love the smell between her legs.”
    A horrible expression, Rialus thought, one that Numrek men and women both used without embarrassment. It threatened to bring with it a flood of memories, but he pushed them back. Keep your wits, Rialus. He took a sip of the wine and tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible.
    Mulat, Calrach’s half brother, added, “We do it because what is good for the Akarans is good for the Auldek, and we as their cousins want only what is good for them.”
    Sire Dagon accepted a pickled plum from a servant, and then dismissed him—or her, it was hard to tell—with a flick of his wrist. He held the soft fruit in his fingers, sniffing it. “Cousins, you say? I’ve never entirely understood the relationship between the Auldek and the Numrek. Did they not displace you, drive you into the—”
    “No, no, no,” Calrach said, exasperation flaring. He thumped his palm against Mulat’s chest with a force that made Rialus cringe, though it did not really seem to bother the Numrek. “Do not test me again, Leagueman! This thing we don’t speak of. It does not concern you. Stop finding ways to ask of it.”
    Hmm, Rialus thought. So the sires had asked about the connection between the Numrek and Auldek enough times that Calrach had noticed. True, Calrach was sharper than his gruff exterior suggested, but if the league had pressed him on it, they obviously did not know as much about the Auldek as they wished. That was interesting, or troubling, to consider.
    “My apologies,” Sire Dagon said, bowing his head. “Yours are such an interesting people. You cannot blame me for being curious. In any event, you will be an honored member of our delegation. Invaluable, I’m sure.”
    Appeased, Calrach let his large frame fall back against his chair.
    “Excuse me,” Rialus said, “but what was that name you used? Ushebra—”
    “Ushen Brae,” Mulat corrected. “That is the name of our land.”
    “Oh, I’ve not heard that before.”
    Mulat had a handsome face for a Numrek, cut of features better proportioned for human eyes to appreciate. Still, the slightest displeasure made his face a creviced mask that was hard not to cringe from. “That doesn’t mean it’s not so. You call our lands the Other Lands, but why should we do so? They are not other to us. This place here is other. Now that we are to see our home again, we will again call it by its proper name.”
    “Should I—”
    “Do what you wish,” Calrach said. “It makes no difference. Sires, there are two things more about our going on this ocean voyage. One, I will bring my son. Don’t protest. It’s no matter of yours. But I’ll take him to see Ushen Brae. Two, you must bind us.”
    Sire Neen’s head dipped to one side, birdlike, and straightened again.
    That, Rialus thought, was the first genuine show of surprise he had seen yet on a leagueman. He went to set his glass down, fumbling when it wobbled and then reconsidering. He took another sip instead.
    “Bind you?”
    Instead of answering, Calrach shifted, uneasy suddenly. He thrust his chin at his half brother, and it was Mulat who answered. “We abhor the water. In sight of land, as here in the Inner Sea, it’s not bad. But the Gray Slopes … these we don’t care for.”
    The sires responded warmly enough. They understood this well. The Auldek did not care for the sea either. They had, in fact, never once seen one of them aboard a ship, a fact that greatly benefited the Lothan Aklun. “This is why you came into the Known World over the Ice Fields. Hardly an easy