doubt; for now we could just be ourselves and enjoy life. That, after all, as the wise men say, is the reason we are here at all.
Shalane mended slowly and so we had packed her and her Rumay fanatics off to Vallia to be cared for by the first sorority who volunteered.
“I rather hope it will be the Sisters of Samphron,” said Delia, smiling as she took in the scent of the bunch of flowers just brought into the rooms in Milsi’s palace where we were quartered. “Or the Little Sisters of—”
“What?” I teased her. “You’re scared of what they might do to your girls of the Sisters of the Rose?”
When she let go of my hair and let me get up, I blew out my cheeks, and said: “One tumble deserves another.”
“We are due for dinner and Milsi’s view of etiquette coincides with mine, you great hairy graint.”
“Quidang!”
At dinner we naturally discussed the points of contention still bothering us. Outside, the river shimmered under the radiance of Kregen’s first moon, the Maiden with the Many Smiles. The service inside was just as smoothly brilliant. Kov Llipton, a handsome numim, and his wife, the lush Rahishta, attended. Llipton ran Croxdrin for Milsi during her absences. There was no sign of Princess Mishti, and while this saddened Milsi, she was aware that the girl still needed time to put the clamorous thoughts seething in her head into order.
There was absolutely no news of the whereabouts of Csitra.
The Witch of Loh had vanished. Our three mages, Deb-Lu-Quienyin, Khe-Hi-Bjanching and his wife, Ling-Li-Lwingling, reported that all trace of Csitra’s sorceries had been removed.
“Do you believe this to be the end of the Witch War, then?” demanded Delia.
“Never, by the Veiled Froyvil! We’ve not heard the last of that black-hearted one!”
“Agreed, dear,” said Milsi.
“I agree, also,” I said. “And you, Delia?”
“Yes, except that...”
We waited and then, as Delia instead of going on with what had been in her mind lifted a crystal goblet of rich red, Milsi burst out: “Delia? What do you mean?”
Delia put the goblet down with precision. Everyone around the table looked politely at her. She wiped her lips with excruciatingly bright-yellow napery.
“Khe-Hi and Ling-Li said they could sense a distinct change in the witch’s — oh, I do not know what arcane words they employ for their arts — in her kharrna, in her center of sorcerous emission. They were uncertain and dear old Deb-Lu was unable to confirm.”
“Confirm what?”
“Would you care to explain what wizards mean when they talk their gobbledygook together?”
“No.”
“It is just that we must expect the unexpected.”
I was about to make the superfluous comment that, on Kregen, one has always to expect the unexpected to stay alive, when Kov Llipton leaned forward to speak.
The lionman spoke gravely. “Forgive me, but you talk, majisters and majestrixes, of Wizards of Loh with great familiarity.”
I sat back.
Yes, what Llipton said was half-true. We tended these days to think of the three mages as our comrades, as friends, before Wizards and a Witch of Loh.
Milsi said on a breath: “We never forget their power, kov, never.”
And that was true, by Krun!
“They are unaccountable folk,” went on Llipton in that serious tone. “What they do they do. They follow their own mysterious purposes. They bow the head to no one.”
I took up a small handful of palines from the silver dish. “What you say is right, kov. Yet I have known a Wizard of Loh much reduced and brought down who served a tyrant slavishly. That was in the Hostile Territories of Turismond.”
“I have heard of them, of course. They are being settled by colonies from all over nowadays, I hear.” Llipton brushed his numim whiskers. “By Numi Hyrjiv the Golden Splendor! majister, what sorcery could thus enslave a Wizard of Loh?”
“Oh,” I said, thinking of Umgar Stro, “I do not believe sorcery was involved. But, as to our
Shalane mended slowly and so we had packed her and her Rumay fanatics off to Vallia to be cared for by the first sorority who volunteered.
“I rather hope it will be the Sisters of Samphron,” said Delia, smiling as she took in the scent of the bunch of flowers just brought into the rooms in Milsi’s palace where we were quartered. “Or the Little Sisters of—”
“What?” I teased her. “You’re scared of what they might do to your girls of the Sisters of the Rose?”
When she let go of my hair and let me get up, I blew out my cheeks, and said: “One tumble deserves another.”
“We are due for dinner and Milsi’s view of etiquette coincides with mine, you great hairy graint.”
“Quidang!”
At dinner we naturally discussed the points of contention still bothering us. Outside, the river shimmered under the radiance of Kregen’s first moon, the Maiden with the Many Smiles. The service inside was just as smoothly brilliant. Kov Llipton, a handsome numim, and his wife, the lush Rahishta, attended. Llipton ran Croxdrin for Milsi during her absences. There was no sign of Princess Mishti, and while this saddened Milsi, she was aware that the girl still needed time to put the clamorous thoughts seething in her head into order.
There was absolutely no news of the whereabouts of Csitra.
The Witch of Loh had vanished. Our three mages, Deb-Lu-Quienyin, Khe-Hi-Bjanching and his wife, Ling-Li-Lwingling, reported that all trace of Csitra’s sorceries had been removed.
“Do you believe this to be the end of the Witch War, then?” demanded Delia.
“Never, by the Veiled Froyvil! We’ve not heard the last of that black-hearted one!”
“Agreed, dear,” said Milsi.
“I agree, also,” I said. “And you, Delia?”
“Yes, except that...”
We waited and then, as Delia instead of going on with what had been in her mind lifted a crystal goblet of rich red, Milsi burst out: “Delia? What do you mean?”
Delia put the goblet down with precision. Everyone around the table looked politely at her. She wiped her lips with excruciatingly bright-yellow napery.
“Khe-Hi and Ling-Li said they could sense a distinct change in the witch’s — oh, I do not know what arcane words they employ for their arts — in her kharrna, in her center of sorcerous emission. They were uncertain and dear old Deb-Lu was unable to confirm.”
“Confirm what?”
“Would you care to explain what wizards mean when they talk their gobbledygook together?”
“No.”
“It is just that we must expect the unexpected.”
I was about to make the superfluous comment that, on Kregen, one has always to expect the unexpected to stay alive, when Kov Llipton leaned forward to speak.
The lionman spoke gravely. “Forgive me, but you talk, majisters and majestrixes, of Wizards of Loh with great familiarity.”
I sat back.
Yes, what Llipton said was half-true. We tended these days to think of the three mages as our comrades, as friends, before Wizards and a Witch of Loh.
Milsi said on a breath: “We never forget their power, kov, never.”
And that was true, by Krun!
“They are unaccountable folk,” went on Llipton in that serious tone. “What they do they do. They follow their own mysterious purposes. They bow the head to no one.”
I took up a small handful of palines from the silver dish. “What you say is right, kov. Yet I have known a Wizard of Loh much reduced and brought down who served a tyrant slavishly. That was in the Hostile Territories of Turismond.”
“I have heard of them, of course. They are being settled by colonies from all over nowadays, I hear.” Llipton brushed his numim whiskers. “By Numi Hyrjiv the Golden Splendor! majister, what sorcery could thus enslave a Wizard of Loh?”
“Oh,” I said, thinking of Umgar Stro, “I do not believe sorcery was involved. But, as to our
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